#( she's a jar with a heavy lid | muse. )

[vennilavee]

v. ares & aphrodite

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 2.2k

summary: there is a dinner party at ryomen sukuna's shrine and you are invited.

warnings: active cannibalism

If the sea could open herself up and present the sky with her treasures hidden deep under unturned rocks and shimmering pearls, she would present only you in a rush of seafoam and roses. The sun would rise and set with each step you took, if it had the honor to see you emerge from the sea.

As you wander the halls of the shrine, you are unaware of the ravenous eyes on you with every quiet step you take. The walls are decorated with paintings and carvings of lines and shapes that are new to you. It is warm here but not uncomfortably so, despite the balmy heat from the sunlight filtering in through the windows. 

“You look lovely,” Uraume says as they guide you towards the main dining area.

“Thank you,” you murmur, wringing your fingers together. Uraume looks pointedly at your hands and places a goblet of a clear liquid in your palms. It has no odor but you eye it suspiciously. Uraume nearly laughs at your hesitation.

“It’s sake. Lord Sukuna only has the finest of drinks here. Take a sip, if you’d like.”

You nod, continue to glide through the corridors of the demon king’s home, hoping to run into him soon. The fairies have informed you about sake and wine, and the effects it has on humans. You keep the cup at arm’s length as if it will bite you if you hold it close.

You are at the mercy of your own curiosity, but you remain cautious in the den of wolves.

Uraume walks with you as you roam the halls of your own volition. The ruby red is jarring when you remember how the palace halls in the sea looked. Dark greens and blues blending together to match the sea around you as if it was all one and the same.

You don’t think of the palace often these days. But sometimes, it comes in unwarranted bursts, like you are powerless to stop your own memories for a fleeting moment.

Letting your fingertips gently graze the walls, you sigh wistfully.

“For a demon king who despises humanity, Lord Sukuna certainly enjoys human made artifacts,” you muse, touching the molding of a grand tapestry that surely took years to produce. It is a painting of him sitting on a throne of fire and skulls, looking directly at you solemnly. As if the burden of turning the world to ash and fire sat on his shoulders.

“Despises humanity? You misunderstand-” Uraume cuts themselves off as a looming figure that can only be one Ryomen Sukuna emerges from the shadows.

“Sukuna,” you say in surprise, the breathlessness in your voice setting him on edge, “Hello.”

“What are you doing here, so far from the dining room?” he asks roughly but there is no ire in his eyes.

Uraume has left, but neither of you notice.

“I wanted… to see how the great demon king lives.”

“So you resort to sneaking around like a common criminal?”

“Criminal? Is that how you think of me?”

Sukuna says nothing, only allowing his lightning eyes to graze the way that your shimmering dress sits on your frame as if it was a second skin. Pearls lay daintily  hidden in your tresses, as if to replace the heavy crown you would have surely worn in your dark hair had chosen to stay in the sea.

In an unbreakable trance, he reaches for you with heated fingertips and a burning gaze. Your eyelids flutter when he fixes one of the pearls in your hair that has gone astray, nearly falling out. He allows his hand to drift away from your hair and towards the curve of your jaw, pressing his thumb to your chin.

If he can hear the racing of your heart, Sukuna says nothing of it. He drinks you in- your half lidded eyes, the imperceptible parting of your lips and the way you stand in front of him. Wrapped up as a gift from the sea.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly when you grip his wrist with your much tinier hand. You even rub a small circle on the skin there, as if to coax something out of him. Something born deep in the flames of desire that he refuses to admit to himself. Something it seems you already know.

Of course you do. He sneers at you, but it melts away with just one look to your dark eyes.

His thumb brushes over your lips, a sticky balm to your skin. When you gasp in surprise, he presses the digit past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth. 

Sukuna groans out loud when your tongue rolls around on his thumb, your eyes growing wider at the sound. Your teeth scrape clumsily over the skin of his finger, but he doesn’t mind. Not when you look at him as if he’s carved this world with his own two hands. Not when you look like a shimmering angel standing in front of him, at his mercy.

You decide you wish to chase that sound. He pulls his finger out and brushes your lips once more before cradling your cheek in one hand. You lean into his touch, a fire in your belly beginning to set alight with each heated touch he presses upon you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “Come. We have a dinner party to attend.”

Sukuna is fully aware of the obvious stares that you garner as you walk in front of him and to your seat at the dinner table. The entire room goes silent, heads turning to stare down the girl who emerged from the sea as you set the entire room ablaze.

But you seem not to notice, or if you do, you show no acknowledgement of how the worst curses and curse users in existence leer at you with hungry eyes. You’ve learned a little bit about curses in your time spent at the pond. They don’t bother you, perhaps on Sukuna’s orders. All you know is that they are capable of chaos and they only respond to Sukuna.

You wordlessly take your seat next to him, keeping your head up high and showing no fear to the thirsty beasts surrounding you. 

“Beautiful,” a beast with one eye says to you in a low voice.

“I cannot say the same,” you mumble, inspecting your food.

All Sukuna needs to do is send one heated glare to his dinner guests and they all fall silent immediately.

The curse users take a particular interest in you, asking you where you’ve come from. Wordlessly wondering why Sukuna has welcomed you to his shrine.

You have a general idea of why, but you decide to keep your lips sealed and not spill the demon king’s secret to his subjects. Instead, you give them a disarming smile and ask how they found Sukuna. You’ve never spoken to anyone besides your fellow sisters and brothers, pirates and sailors. It is different to be amongst what Sukuna tells you are curses, manifestations of energy that seem to be almost as human as actual humans.

They are enchanted by you, wide, greedy eyes drinking you in to quench something that cannot be. The energy twists and changes inside the dining room as you attract more and more attention and Sukuna laughs to himself in amusement.

Of course. You barely need to try to have these pathetic imbeciles at your feet, and yet you could drown them easily with wide eyes if you so chose.

Sukuna takes you away by the wrist from the bloodthirsty creatures and ignores you when you ask him where he is dragging you to. You receive no answer, only coming face-to-face with a colossal burgundy wooden door.

“So this is where the great demon king sleeps,” you murmur, letting your hands trail along the burgundy walls lined with gold trim. It’s as royal as a man like him desires for- the finest silk and satin and the warmest fur. Not that he needs it.

“Sleep? You think I require something as trivial as sleep?” 

You glide around his colossal bedroom, taking in the weaponry and the trophies of his conquests. A broken sword, a chest with glittering rubies and diamonds laying haphazardly by the bed, a half made clay figure with his likeness to it…

Perhaps a last ditch offering for life.

“I suppose not. Though, perhaps sleep would make you less…irritable,” you reply with a smile. He scowls deeply at you.

The bed feels like a cloud when you rest your body upon it. You sigh happily and close your eyes, sinking into the ruby satin sheets. It is comfortable, but you miss the fresh dew of the grass by your favorite lemon tree. The lemon tree at the edge of the pond near the shrine with its leaves that cast shade on your heated skin and its bright yellow fruit.

Sometimes you take extra care when you are sunbathing by the lemon tree to savor the heat when you feel Sukuna’s eyes from afar. He takes in every movement of your limbs before disappearing back into the darkness. It has been an odd dance since you’ve made a home out of the pond- you catch him watching at strange hours of the day, only for him to vanish before you can call out to him.

On occasion, you’ve been surprised to see a full plate of freshly cut mangoes, peaches and peeled pomegranate awaiting you after your decadent afternoon nap. While these fruits were a delicacy to you before, now you have grown accustomed to the rich taste.

The bed dips slightly and you don’t have to open your eyes to feel the heat from Sukuna’s body. Like a moth to a flame, you draw yourself closer to him. His touch is gentle, despite the brute force that he has used to rip out the hearts of those who are doomed to it. 

“You make this bed your home and yet you do not allow me a taste of you,” Sukuna muses. His hand remains on your arm, the other on your waist, heavy and fleeting. The satin shimmer of the dress is featherlight underneath his fingertips as he craves the warmth of your skin.

“Allow? I did not know that the lord Sukuna required permission from his subjects to take what he deems as his,” you reply airily.

Your laugh sounds like petals flowing into the water. He grunts an acknowledgement and caresses your bare shoulder, as if you might break if he presses too hard.

“You belong here,” he states, “Here in the shrine.”

“Is your pond not enough?” you reply, opening your eyes to meet the fire in his eyes with your own.

“I will not have these fools questioning your place to me,” Sukuna says, “I will have you.”

“Will you?” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, “Or do you have me already?”

His eyes narrow but you look away towards the windows, where the moonlight filters into his bedroom and the sound of the waves rolling to shore fills your ears. She stands regally in the sky, looking down on you almost in contempt.

Why have you chosen to leave your birthright? Why have you not chosen the sea I made for you?

Chosen. 

Sukuna feels your eyes on him abruptly, staring at him as if trying to peer at his soul. You may have been successful, had you only tipped your chin upwards and parted your lips just an inch. 

“You will stay here,” Sukuna says with nearly no room to counter.

“For just one night,” you reply softly, raising your fingers to touch the black markings on his face.

“That will do,” he agrees, removing your hand from his cheek, “I wish to show you something. Come.”

He does not offer his hand to you to help you off the bed.

He turns his back to you, opening the armoire where yet another chest is hidden at the back. It is ornate, framed with gems in colors you are still adjusting to and twinkling gold borders. Clearly, a chest fit for the finest treasures as deemed by Sukuna.

A beating, bloody heart sits in his hand, cradled delicately by the massive palms. A tiny little life sits in the center of his control to be easily crushed or allowed to bloom with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen, a funny little feeling floating around in your belly, especially when you see a rose tucked away in one of the vessels of the heart.

“This is from that white haired fool who was being so bothersome. I’ve retrieved this. For you.”

“Oh,” you reply unsurely, not wanting to upset him, “That’s lovely…”

You hold your own hands out to cradle the warm heart that is still fighting to live. Blood stains your fingers but you pay it no mind.

There are no words for you to say so you tuck the beating heart away in the chest that Sukuna had initially placed it in. Licking your fingers clean of the white haired man’s blood, you offer Sukuna a small smile.

“Help me with this, won’t you?”

tags:  kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @helenas-revenge @aboveasphodel

[everaltair]

characters + tv tropes  → ever altair

[wafflebloggies]

5. a certain slant of light

back - next Mark said nothing.

His body was curled up against the far wall of the little cell, all hunched up and folded in on himself like the shell of a long-dead spider. His face was hidden in the shadow of his knees and his hands were loosely locked in each other. As Antonio took a step forwards, the dust puffed and crunched under his feet, gritty and thick.

“How’re you doing?”

No response. Antonio hadn’t really expected one. Under the circumstances it would have been about as reasonable to expect a reaction from an owl pellet. He paused, then ducked into the narrow cell and settled in alongside Mark against the wall, tucking himself in comfortably criss-cross-applesauce on the grimy floor. There wasn’t really room, but Mark’s personal space had never been among Antonio’s top-priority considerations. Rather the opposite, if anything.

“Let me just scootch in here… there we go. Oh, before I forget- Mrs. Hernandez sends her best, she’s doing good, she said we could come over for dinner anytime. Which... yeah, I know, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Silence.

Antonio coughed. He shifted his backpack- Mark’s backpack, to be more accurate- onto the floor in front of him, unzipped it slowly.

“The channel’s doing so good, Mark,” he said, softly, as he rummaged inside. “Your script for the Sonic video was perfect. I wish I could show you, but…” He pulled out Mark’s phone, waved it in a vague explanatory spiral. “No signal.”

A little more dust drifted down. Mark’s hair was thick with it, the shoulders of his dirty greyish sweater, his hunched back. His arms where they showed, his hands, were dead-pale, not so much white as the colour of standing water, flat and stagnant.

So much had been taken from him, for the spore, for the Muse, for Mother, for the new him that wore his face, what was left had less substance than a worn-out rag, a single-cell battery drained to the very last flicker. The glow- the infection, if you wanted to be clinical about it- had very little left to feed on, very little left to claim. What remained did not require supervision, or even attention, as it waited here for disposal. The very short history of a digested host was everywhere in the big low room, the muffled silence and the empty cells, the heaps of grey dust with their strange, faint, frail shapes lost somewhere underneath.

Mother didn’t like to throw away things that belonged to her, even things that weren’t useful any more. She liked to keep them, poked away somewhere or the other, here in the dark.

The canning jar made a bright clinking sound as Antonio pulled it out of Mark’s rucksack and set it in his lap. He unscrewed the scratchy lid and tipped a couple of small things into his palm.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” he said. He reached out, took Mark’s wrist, pulled until the crabbed fingers detangled and came loose. Mark’s free arm slid to his side in the dust with a soft heavy sound, and the one in Antonio’s grip came easily, unfolding with a creaky stiffness, cold and clammy to the touch.

“This won’t hurt a bit. I promise.”

Antonio would have had to have been blind to have much difficulty finding a vein in Mark’s arm. Coaxing the blood to flow was harder, because although Mark’s veins were too dark and smudgy and stood out like a tangled roadmap in his ashen skin, his blood was sluggish and heavy and refused to easily fill up the syringe, with a stubbornness so classically Mark that Antonio could have laughed if he’d felt anything about any of this was funny.

He didn’t. He found that he couldn’t. As he filled the little glass tube with Mark’s blood he couldn’t help feeling that the clawing thing in his chest was becoming more and more restless, poking long sharp tendrils even further out than before, jabbing at his insides. He found that he had to concentrate to keep his fingers still and steady, his hands moving tidily, withdrawing the syringe from the crook of Mark’s arm and capping the evacuated tube when it was full, tucking it carefully back into the canning jar in a baggie of cushioning gauze. Even freshly-drawn, the vial had no warmth to it. Mark had none left to give.

And that was it. And it was over. And he had carried out his instructions to the letter, he had done exactly as the Muse asked, he had been Good and Mother would be pleased. The ghastly itchy feeling that there was something not-right between him and the new Mark, between him and the Muse; he knew that it would all go away if he passed this simple test. If it even was a test, it could only be as simple as just doing what he was told. After all, what else was Antonio for?

He let go of Mark’s arm. Like an old door on a stiff-closing hinge, Mark’s hands crept up and laced together again in a slow, mechanical action, locking limply around his knees.

Antonio felt pulled two ways, yet again, a terrifying sensation completely at odds with his usual way of navigating- well, everything. There shouldn’t ever be two ideas in his head at once. There should only ever be one. There shouldn’t be two opposing forces- the one that he knew he should listen to above everything, the golden-bright thread of the Muse tugging him away in that strong endless current, and the other, ugly and tangled, tissue-weak, that wanted…

He shifted slightly closer to Mark’s shoulder. Side by side- Mark on the right, Antonio to his left, just like normal- with Mark about as responsive as the wall behind him and Antonio supplying all the enthusiasm, all it needed was a webcam and a script and it was basically a new Cynical Critics video. There was a horrible kind of neatness to the idea.

Antonio thought about how it had felt to make the new video, with the new Mark right there with him, matching his energy, just as bright and focused and eager to get it done as he was, how he had expected it to feel and how- desperately empty- he felt now, about the prospect of doing it again, and again, and again.

“Hey...”

He put out a hand and pushed a little of Mark’s hair gently back from his forehead, brushing away the grey dust. There was a nasty scrape on Mark’s temple, a souvenir from some very, very brief final struggle. Like his torn and missing nails and the new puncture in the crook of his arm, the injury was grey, bloodless, colourless.

“It was all worth it, Mark. Trust me, I know it wasn’t easy for you… but it’s all over now. You don’t have to fight any more, you don’t have to worry about anything. Mother forgives you, even though you didn’t plant the spore.” He patted the canning jar in his lap. “See? She’s even letting you help her right now. I’m… I’m so…”

He couldn’t say it. He tried a couple of times, but it was like the bug had gotten its nasty spiny limbs all the way up into his throat, stopping his tongue. He struggled for a little bit, then closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he said, the word escaping on a resigned, exasperated breath. “Alright… okay.”

He moved, surprisingly quickly, shifting from relaxed and cross-legged to kneeling over Mark’s curled shape, feeling for the crook of his arm where the needle had bitten in. He spread his palm over the near-invisible puncture wound and tried to feel, see with his real eyes even in the crowded dazzling heart of Mother’s domain, the overbright golden glow of Mark’s motionless body and the tiny, muted dissonance of hue hiding right at the centre of it, the tired white-blue-fizzle, a battered shred of a thing that had given up fighting and now just lay buried deep under the voracious glow, waiting to be consumed. He could barely make it out, wouldn’t have seen it at all if he hadn’t known what he was looking for. But he had seen it plenty of times before, when it was stronger and brighter and filled Mark’s body, had used it as an easy locus the few times Mark had been silly enough to try and hide from him, and he recognized it now.

Antonio was vaguely aware that a part of his mind- a pretty large part, that wasn’t used to being out of control- was screaming in panic. You didn’t keep secrets, you didn’t talk to Jared, and you definitely, definitely, didn’t do… this.

The pulling feeling in his hand, in his fingers, was much quicker and steadier under his own power than the spore’s feeble efforts had been. Antonio was a lot stronger, and had much more practice, and as he concentrated he reached out his other hand on instinct and placed it firmly, palm open, over the cut on Mark’s forehead. This seemed to help, like closing a circuit, and he focused harder, his real eyes open just the smallest fraction, drawing the glow from Mark’s unresisting body as if drawing poison from a bite. Not too much- only just enough- and before long he let out a measured breath and let go, sitting back on his heels.

Antonio touched his own face- it was a quick, instinctive motion that was forming itself into a little bit of a habit by this point- and thumbed away a thin trickle of black goop that was threading down from his nose, over his lip. His palms were laced with black, every tiny capillary crawling with it like the scorched and sooty traces of a lightning-strike, but they faded quickly as he flexed his hands, cleared his throat.

“Mark?”

At first, it seemed as if nothing was different. The still figure might as well have been carved from stone, might have been curled up against the wall for years like a statue in a derelict storeroom, colourless and motionless. The first tiny changes were painfully slow, painfully slight. The twitch of a finger, strands of hair fluttering in time with the faint, hitching, struggling sound of a real breath. Antonio waited patiently, and at last the thin shoulders drew up and Mark lifted his head.

His eyes were clouded and unfocused and he looked at and a hundred miles through Antonio as if he was a ghost, and in his haggard face slow-dawning fear and love and incredulous relief mingled and made him look quite strange to Antonio, who had never seen Mark looking happy to see him before.

Mark tried to speak a couple of times before he made any noise. His voice when he finally found it was cracked and trembling and somehow far-away, like the sound of a worn old record creeping in from a distant room.

“… Anthony...?”

Antonio laughed. “No, Mark, you silly goose, it’s me!”

Mark blinked. His eyes cleared a little, widened a little, and as they focused properly on Antonio’s face the bleary, dreaming gladness in them fell swiftly away to an expression much, much more familiar to Antonio, one that certainly proved that Mark recognized him, a wary mixture of horror and disgust.

Antonio felt something, right then, which he couldn’t easily attribute to the weird bug in his chest, because bugs didn’t usually carry knives. A deep, stabbing, sinking pain, the sharpest he’d felt yet, gripped his insides and settled in as if it never planned to let go. His big grin felt like it was pulling on something tender up around the sides of his jaw, and he doubled down on it hard, nailing it into place. There was a kind of heat in his face and his forehead and hands which he would usually have associated with Mark-being-Difficult, but Mark hadn’t even done anything yet, other than look at him and make a short shrinking movement which stopped abruptly when his spine bumped into the wall behind him.

“There you go. Now you remember, right?”

“Get… away… from me,” croaked Mark.

He was shivering now, hunching forward, driving his dirty palms into his face, against his gritted teeth. Antonio reached out, but Mark swatted blindly at the movement and slapped his hand away. A maimed fly could have struck harder, but the intent, the complete rejection of any help whatsoever, couldn’t have been clearer if it had been written up in neon on the crumbling walls.

Antonio sat back, slowly. He was getting tired. Tired of feeling tangled up and out of sorts in his own body, tired of doing the right things and not feeling right about them, tired of doing the wrong things and finding out that they felt wrong too. He felt like he’d been grasping in the dark for something he didn’t know the name or the shape of, something slipping away faster the harder he tried, and this- all of this- seemed to be pushing against him, shoving him back into the current and towards what he knew best.

His insides felt hot, but his voice came out happy-peppy, bright, and just a little too cheerful.

“Come on, Mark, I just thought it’d be cool if we could just fit in a little catch-up, y’know? We’ve both got our own stuff going on, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still hang, right? I- I- look, I missed you, Mark! You’re my best friend!”

“Go… to hell,” said Mark, shakily but quite clearly, without looking up.

For a little while, Antonio didn’t say anything. He just sighed, and after a pause he got deliberately to his feet, brushing dust and grime from the knees of his black pants. The jar clinked quietly as he shifted Mark’s backpack onto his shoulder.

“Fine,” he said, at last. “Have it your own way.”

[cloud-9ine]

Through a Golden Lens (pt 1)

⤷ pairing - hawks x (fem) reader

⤷ fandom - bnha 

⤷ warnings - some language, hawks flirting, reader’s cynicism 

⤷ summary - reader is a bitter, overworked photographer at a hero press agency with little patience for her newly assigned muse- hawks

⤷ word count - 4.5k+

⤷ notes - i have lots of ideas so this is probably going to be a multi-part series. also new to tumblr so this might not be the best

⤷ pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

“Mr. Hawks! Please look this way!” his heavy lidded eyes rolled to the side as another blinding flash burned through his vision. 

“You look perfect, thank you!” it was hard to smile for their benefit, but he managed. Hawks had attended countless of these events for the press. It had been exhilarating at first, with the rush of adrenaline from the cameras and the lights and the endless stream of compliments solidifying his place in the public eye.

Nowadays, it was less thrilling. After a while, they all seemed the same- each one blurring into a senseless flare of cameras and hollow accolades.

He was bored, to say the least.

“Mr Hawks, would you like to come and see? I’d love to hear your opinion on this set!” with a practiced, easy smirk he nodded. It was easier to pander to the artist than to criticise their work. 

He looked good, but when did he not? The shoots were easy to glide through. All he had to do was pull a boyish grin, ‘make love to the camera’ as the photographers always liked to spout. It didn’t really matter what he did: the public would eat up anything with his face slapped on to the front. They all looked the same to him, anyway.

“Looks good,” he wondered why people were so easily satiated by shallow praises, but as he stared at the younger lady’s blush, he couldn’t help but realise that maybe it was him who had something to do with it.

Hawks couldn’t help his gaze from drifting to the door. His skin prickled in the humidity of all the moving bodies in one enclosed space and he longed to take a step outside and stretch his wings in a way that wasn’t to pose for a magazine. 

For a moment, he felt like his prayers had been answered when the door opened, letting in a stream of natural light to breach the artificiality of the modelling room. 

”(L/N)! You were supposed to be here over three hours ago!” the woman in front of him exclaimed, ripping the camera away from his view and marching to the figure that appeared in the light. He blinked in surprise: this entire shoot he hadn’t heard her raise her voice above anything but a low mumble when conversing with him, and now she was positively fuming.

You stared down at your co-worker through honey-tinted shades, expression unamused.

“Yeah, and I was also supposed to be out of this job three years ago. We don’t all do what we’re supposed to, cupcake.”

For a moment, Hawks thought you were a model. Tasteful cream turtleneck tucked into heavily creased mocha skirt, caramel beret perched on your head. There were a few metal, classy looking rings wrapped around your fingers, but as far as he could see, no wedding ring. It was pretty standard style for those who worked in the arts, but somehow you wore it so well. 

Your hair was a little dishevelled, and the dark circles under your eyes combined with the coffee cup in your hand were obvious signs of a rough night. His eyes locked on to the loopy black handwriting on the brown band around the cup.

(L/N) (Y/N)

You were no model, but Hawks couldn’t see the difference.

His wings beat lightly behind his back as he glided over, weaving through the other photographers and models scattered around the area. 

“Hey there, I’m Hawks,” he said smoothly, voice saccharine as he spoke to you. Your attention turned to him as you glanced at him from above the frames of your sunglasses, seemingly unimpressed.

“This the new boytoy, Mizuki?” you asked, eyes raking up and down his figure. Hawks was never one to shy away from the gaze of others, but the way you were inspecting him made him feel so exposed.

“Show some respect,” Mizuki muttered, voice lowered at Hawks’ presence but glare still piercing. You sighed, sparing one last glance at Hawks before snatching the camera out of Mizuki’s hands, leaving her scrambling for the device as you walked away.

“Lemme see what you’ve got already,” Mizuki’s face grew red, half from anger towards you, and half because of the embarrassment of being diminished in front of Hawks.

“(L/N) y-you can’t just come in three hours late and take over! I’ve already done the shoot and Hawks has already expressed that he is pleased with the outcome,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and shooting the shorter woman a glare over your shoulder.

“There’s no way you’re gonna force me to come into work and make me sit here doing nothing,” you sneered, waving the camera around almost teasingly, “you wanted someone actually skilled to do this shoot, and here I am. Let me do my thing,” without waiting for a response, you left, thumb fumbling with the dial that allowed you to scroll through the photos.

Hawks was impressed. You hadn’t bat an eye when you saw him, and while you were very clearly very late, you were confident in your skills and obviously took your job seriously.

“Who was that?” he questioned, wings spreading slightly as his eyes chased after you. Mizuki bowed her head, remorse filling her expression.

“I apologise for her impertinence. That’s (L/N), she was who your original photographer was supposed to be today, but when she didn’t show up I had to take over,” she huffed, “she’s been like this for about a year now, and the boss is prepared to fire her if she keeps it up. So you’d think she’d be able to pull her at together for you, Mr. Hawks...”

After a while, Hawks tuned out her whining, eyes curiously trained on you, surveying your furrowed brows and expression pinched with annoyance as you studied the photos. Although they looked good enough to him, it appeared that you didn’t share the same sentiment. 

Hawks didn’t have time to avert his eyes when you turned your head, gaze locking on to his. You raised a slightly suspicious brow, but otherwise didn’t entertain his actions. 

“Mizuki, why would you use cool lighting?” you called over your shoulder, not even sparing the decency to turn around and face the person you were addressing. Mizuki frowned, moving to your side. Like a magnet, Hawks did the same, peering over your other shoulder. You eyed him from the corner of your vision for a second before tapping the screen. 

“What do you mean?” you sighed at your co-workers words, evidently frustrated.

“Considering you have bird boy over here in dark academia, accented in warmer yellows, using cool lights will bring out too much of a contrast. We need to match the accent colours with warmer lighting, or use a overlay,” you muttered, seemingly addressing yourself more than the two of them. Mizuki just shook her head.

“That would just oversaturate the image,” you snorted, giving her the same patronising look an adult would give a child if they tried to outsmart them.

“Not necessarily. I could spot-reduce saturation in highlight areas during editing. Or, if you really want your contrast, I could neutralise the warmer shades by using a blue, or compliment them using a red,” Hawks didn’t miss the way you said ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. Mizuki looked agitated, her frown growing deeper.

“Even so, we only have white backdrops. That would be a jarring contrast. You’d need something darker or more clustered to make it work. If you wanted a backdrop change you probably should’ve come earlier,” she spoke with a formality that obviously stemmed from Hawks next to her, but you paid no mind. You were silent for a moment, and Hawks could see your eyes narrowing as you were thinking.

“I need a natural background, huh?” you mumbled, thumbing the buttons on the camera. With a shrug, “alright, bird boy, come on, we’re leaving,” Hawks blinked in surprise as you spun on your heel, a grin breaking onto his face. Finally, he got to leave.

“Whatever you say, boss,” you shot him an irritated look.

“Don’t call me that. I’m 22, not 40,” his feathers ruffled up. “Hey, I’m also 22! What a coincidence, right?” he grinned, winking at you. You just responded by rolling your eyes.

Mizuki spluttered, trying in vain to get either one of you to stop as Hawks trailed after you.

“L-Look, you can’t just leave-” you turned, shoving the camera back into her hands, a mirthless smile on your face.

“Watch me,” your voice was cold, goading her to try and stop you, “bird boy, out, now.” Hawks didn’t have to be told twice. Some of the others whispered and muttered as they realised what was going on, but they all fell quiet when you shot them a sharp glare.

He breathed in the fresh air with a content sigh, his chest feeling lighter now he was out the cramped room. The amber glow from the late afternoon sun kissed his tanned skin as he stretched his arms above his head, his forearms flexing slightly under his dark blazer. His eyes shut in bliss and head tilted back, exposing his sharp jawline.

You eyed him slightly, eyes trailing across his features. Now that you had actually left, you were a little lost on what your plan was. You didn’t regret storming out of there, though, nor did you even consider turning back to apologise.

You took your own camera out of the dark camera bag slung across your body, careful not to scratch it on the tripod, and focused the lens on Hawks. It was smaller, a little more compact than the ones Mizuki and the others were using, but you found that it was much better suited for portrait work. 

The click of the camera shutter brought Hawks out of his stupor, eyes snapping open and immediately landing on you. Your attention had already been diverted to the screen, studying your work. 

“The modelling room is stuffy, I’ll give you that,” you mumbled, zooming in on his face, “but you can stretch while we walk,” Hawks leaned over you, eyes sparkling at the shot.

“Aw, you make me look so good, I’m flattered!” you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be,” you took a large sip of your coffee, moving down the pathway as you thought. Hawks scrambled after you, his wings puffing out when he reached your side. You couldn’t help but gaze at the bright red feathers as he unfurled his wings, a small, happy chirping noise rumbling at the back of his throat once they were fully spread behind your back. They were warm, you noticed, feeling the heat through your turtleneck. 

Your vision was filled with a cheeky smirk painted on full lips, Hawks’ face appearing in front of your eyes. Your eyes narrowed as you sized him up.

“See something you like?” you rolled your eyes as he purred. 

“Not in the slightest, bird brain,” his wings beat behind his back, hand clutching the fabric on his chest.

“Oh, how you wound me!” Hawks cried, and you couldn’t help but smile slightly, which you quickly covered with your coffee cup. 

“I’m sure you’ll face a villain that will do greater damage than I could,” he hummed, angling his face towards the sun. 

“So, where are we headed?” you chewed on your bottom lip, slinging your camera over your shoulder. 

“It can’t be anywhere with lots of traffic, you attract a lot of attention, you know?” it was a rhetorical question, but Hawks’ chest still puffed out in pride at your words.

“Thanks, it’s because of my raging-”

“Shut up,” you cut him off, “either way, I have a pounding headache and I do not have enough shits to give to put up with your fan girls today,” with a sigh, you rubbed your temples. Hawks stared at your clenched teeth.

“Hey, why do you-” “I think I know where we can go,” he frowned.

“You know it’s not polite to interrupt people like that-”

“Sunflowers.” your tone dripped finality as you faced Hawks, a brazen determination in your eyes he hadn’t seen until now. It made his breath hitch in his throat.

Breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and eyebrows furrowed when you sped your pace, gulping down more of your coffee.

“Uh, what?” you waved a hand dismissively.

“There’s a sunflower field in Fukuroi City, I think it’s west from here,” the tiniest of grins etched onto your features, “it’s gonna be a lot more interesting than the rest of those blank background. Plus, the yellow will compliment your clothes, and with the sun low in the sky I’ll get my perfect warm lighting,” you explained. Hawks wasn’t sure exactly how much of a difference it would make, but the idea seemed charming, and it was more exciting than being perpetually flanked by a white screen.

“Sounds good,” he chirped, “although, to be honest, you could take me out anywhere and I wouldn’t mind,” you rolled your eyes. 

“That’s a shame, because I don’t intend to hang around any more than I have to,” Hawks pouted, crossing his arms.

“Come on, I wanna know more about you!” you bristled.

“Good for you.” the two of you fell into a beat of silence before Hawks smiled, undaunted.

“I’m sure I can win you over somehow,” shaking your head in disbelief, you lifted the cup to your lips, before looking down disappointedly when you realised it was empty.

“I don’t have enough coffee for this,” you muttered. Hawks’ expression brightened. 

“That’s an easy fix: your agency is around here so you must know there area pretty well,” he spoke nonchalantly, as if he was on a casual lunch date and not in the most expensive outfit you’d seen in your entire life, “what’s the best place to grab a coffee?” for a moment, you looked taken aback, before shaking your head.

“Best café in these parts is the Sunset Hour,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck, “but as much as I have no inhibitions regarding bunking off work, that’s a little too far away. I need to take this pictures before the end of the day or Mizuki’ll submit those crappy ones she took in the studio,” Hawks nodded in understanding, smile never faltering for a second.

“Well I gotta get you your caffeine fix somewhere, so what’s the second best?” your expression scrunched in thought for a moment, before you jutted a thumb over your shoulder.

“There’s a Starbucks across the road,” he snickered seeing your blank expression.

“Not exactly where I would want our first date, but I suppose it’ll do,” rolling your eyes, you shoved the empty cup to his chest, which he gripped almost instinctively. 

“Good thing this isn’t a date, then,” Hawks grinned, sending your empty cup on a feather to the nearest bin before chasing after you as you crossed the road. You didn’t spare him a single glance when he appeared at your shoulder, nor when he reached over above your head to open the Starbucks door from behind you.

“So you’re saying we can have our first date somewhere else?” with a shallow sigh, you shook your head.

“What I’m saying is that there’s not gonna be a first date. Not between us,” his chest tightened. God, you were so mean. He’d be into that.

The inside of the Starbucks was a mix between modern, western architecture and traditional Japanese woodwork. The equipment was all cutting edge, and the tables and chairs were made with a sleek mahogany, but the windows were framed with bamboo shutters, and the backroom was separated with shoji sliding doors. It was an curious blend, one that you studied with an interest. The deep, earthy scent of roasted coffee beans heavily imbued the air, filling your nose with the aroma of something far more familiar. 

Given it was the late afternoon, and most people tended not to drink caffeine after 2pm, the patrons were few and far in between. Good for you, at least. It meant you wouldn’t get- “Hawks? Sorry to bother you but can we get a picture?” your head turned at the voice that rung out.

Two high school girls stood to your left, hands clutched together in front of their chests and a dark pink coating their cheeks. With a small sigh, you took a step forward in the small queue. Hawks smiled with all the faux charm in the world, an obvious change in his demeanour as his pride spiked.

“Of course! And just as it happens, I have my personal photographer here who can make sure your photos look amazing as you two do!” it took you a moment to register what he had said through the excited squeals of the girls before he clutched your shoulders and pulled you forward, causing you to stumble slightly. 

“Your what?” he sent you an audacious smirk, willing you to play along as one of the girls handed you her phone. Your first instinct was to decline, but as you met the eyes of the girls, so eager and bright, you couldn’t find it in you to disappoint them. 

Taking a couple steps back, you lifted the phone, slightly angling it so the picture looked more natural, and not that of a celebrity and their fans (even if it was). You squinted angrily at the poor lighting, but tried to rectify it the best you could. The girls looked a little tense, but Hawks was a natural. A liberal smirk played on his lips and shoulders rolled back, relaxed. Even with the low lighting, the highlights on his cheekbone and jawline were indescribably perfect, and you weren’t sure if the credit should go to you or his god-like genes.

“Wow, that’s perfect!” one of the girls cried, her body appearing by your side. You hadn’t even noticed her moving, “thank you so much!” you just nodded, handing her back her phone and crossing your arms, eyes narrowing at Hawks.

“If that’s all, ladies, we best be ordering,” they nodded frantically at Hawks’ words, sharply bowing and spouting their thanks to the two of you countless times. They left the Starbucks, but even outside you could still hear them fawning over the picture. He faced you with a grin, but you couldn’t muster up a smile.

“Don’t go around telling people I’m your personal photographer,” you sneered. He pouted, looking genuinely disappointed for a second. “What, you don’t wanna be mine?” “Not in the slightest.” 

“What will be your order, Miss?” the barista had directed the question at you, but it was clear his attention was elsewhere. You weren’t surprised, but a small swell of annoyance grew in your mind.

“Can I have a mocha with a double shot of expresso?” Hawks chuckled.

“Might as well have an expresso, you know. You’re basically just taking a shot of caffeine,” you shrugged.

“It’s my favourite drink. I like the chocolate taste,” he looked at you with round eyes, a small squeeze in his chest.

“And you, sir?”

“Oh, I’ll have the same, then,” he didn’t miss the way your eyes darted to him. The barista nodded, tapping for a couple seconds before turning back.

“That’ll be 660 yen,” “I’m paying,” Hawks blurted, even before you could offer. You were silent, a small nod in the affirmative rocking your head. As he handed over the bills, he chuckled. “You know, not that I mind, but usually couples would argue over who’s paying,” you rolled your eyes.

“We’re not a couple,” you watched the barista prepare your drinks, more of a way to occupy yourself rather than a genuine interest, “besides, you’re a lot richer than I am. I don’t mean to be impolite, but I’m sure you can lose 600 yen and still be good,” he hummed happily.

“No disagreements there.” “Are you two eating in or taking out?” the barista asked, in the midst of securing the plastic lids to the top of the cups. Hawks’ eyes sparkled as he turned to you with an excitement you assumed only appeared in children.

“Hey, we can-” “Take out,” you responded, giving a now deflated Hawks a challenging look, “I will leave you here if I have to.” the blonde grinned. “You wouldn’t. You need me for the pictures,” he sang, voice jovial.

“I don’t care about you that much. The sunflowers are probably less annoying subjects anyway,” oh. With no warning, his heart beat sped up, his wings puffing out slightly. Sure, he wouldn’t mind if you were a little nicer to him, but your insults were like a breath of fresh air. There was no doubt that Hawks loved the limelight, loved the popularity he got, but the relentless ass-kissing got old after a while. You kept him on his toes. Even if he was just constantly chasing after you every time you brushed him off, he didn’t care. 

“Put those away, bird brain,” it was then he realised his wings had spread further than he intended, stretched out on either side of him. One was curled right around his face, and he almost felt himself blushing as he pulled them in. It was just animal instincts, he assured himself. 

The rest of the journey was filled with a one-sided conversation of him talking and commenting on what was around you, with no response from you except the occasional witty retort or light-hearted jab at his expense, each one making his heart flutter. It wasn’t too long before you had arrived, the chain link fence around the plot stretching high above your head and corroded with orange rust. 

Rows and rows of bright yellow sunflowers stretched to the horizon, an immense display of summer vitality. The fragrance was potent, a sort of cloying sweetness that you didn’t hate. And just as you were about to enter, you knew you had made a mistake. 

“Oh.” Hawks stared at you incredulously, attention switching from your taken aback expression to the sign posted on the gate.

“You didn’t check to see it was open?” you looked up at him, allowing him to survey a tinge of remorse he hadn’t recognised until this point. 

“Look, how was I supposed to know? This place has always been open at this time since I was a little kid,” you rubbed your arm, brows furrowed. Hawks sighed, rolling his shoulders back.

“Well, the sun’s too low to go anywhere else outside,” he shrugged, “it’s no biggie, I guess. Those other photos weren’t too bad. Hey, now that we’re free, do you want to- what are you doing?” your foot was halfway in the gaps in the gate, the wedges on your heels making it hard to climb.

“I’m not wasting my day for nothing,” you growled, fingers curling around the metal, “get climbing, bird boy,” with a soft sigh, smile gracing his lips and a warm feeling in his chest, Hawks spread his wings.

“I think you’re forgetting something that’ll make this a lot easier,” you felt a cool draft on your back as Hawks flapped his wings, the feeling being quickly replaced by the warmth of his chest as he pulled you in. A foreign emotion coiled in your stomach, but you convinced yourself that it was just the flight.

One arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other supporting your knees, and all Hawks was thinking that such a gentle flight never felt so calming. 

Your feet tapped against the soft soil, sinking in to it slightly when the hero placed you down. You nodded your thanks.

“Let’s go over there, I want the sun coming in from the right,” Hawks nodded, content to just follow your orders. You pulled the tripod from your bag and set it up, adjusting it to your liking as Hawks looked around, trying to think of a pose. 

Once everything was ready, you turned your attention to Hawks.

“I want to humanise you,” he grinned curiously as you walked over.

“What do you mean by that?” he nearly gasped when you grabbed his chin, angling his face to the side and slightly up, towards the sun. You took a step closer, reaching up and running a hand through his hair. He bit his lip, hands trembling as you tugged slightly, trying to mess it up a little.

“All the photos I’ve seen on you always put a huge emphasis on either your wings or your hero status, and I don’t really see why,” you mumbled, placing one hand on his jawline while the other fixed his hair to your liking, letting a few strands fall in front of his eyes, “I think that just creates a divide. If they wanted you to seem angelic they should play that up, not just have it the norm,” you huffed, “anyway, I wanna put the emphasis on you and not your wings. So ideally if you could tuck them behind your back that would be wonderful,” 

Hawks nodded, disappointment filling him as you stepped away. He made sure not to move as he awkwardly folded his wings over each other and pulled them in, glancing at you with a look of apprehension. You just nodded in approval, leaning down to your camera. 

You took plenty of shots, allowing him plenty more opportunities to feel your hands on him (and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it). 

“Hey, why were you so late today?” Hawks dared to question while you were analysing your photos. You were perched on a bench, appreciating your work. The late sun cast a golden sheen on his skin, the spattering of glimmering rays highlighting his face in all the right places. 

“I was sleeping,” you responded, deleting an out of focus shot. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” “Just as it sounds. Figured if they were gonna make me work so I could only have three hours of sleep a night it was gonna be on their time, not mine,” he frowned, taking a seat next to you.

“They shouldn’t work you that hard,” you shrugged with a hollow laugh, blank gaze in your eyes. 

“What am I gonna do? Have them fire me? As much as I hate this job it’s the only thing that pays for my coffee in the morning,” he was silent as you stood up, stretching your arms behind your bag before tucking everything back in your bag. 

“Did you want to be a photographer?” he questioned, only to be met with a forlorn smile.

“Maybe at one point.” the two of you lapsed into silence before you sighed.

“Well, I’ve gotta submit these to Mizuki, and I’m sure you need-” Hawks caught your wrist, spinning you back around.

In the glow of the sunset, you looked almost ethereal. Your eyes gleamed, and cheeks warmed in the orange flare. Sunflowers framed your form, and the words caught in his throat, nearly stopping him from saying anything at all.

“Come work for me.” he blurted. You snorted.

“No.” all he could do was smile as you hopped back over the fence, not waiting up for him.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.”

[randomposterofstuff]

Soldiers by Choice - Chapter VI

Author's Note: So, real life has been stressing me out immensely. Lol. And I really wanted to post this chapter as soon as I could, so please forgive me for any mistakes and any other problems. Haha. In any case, I hope that you all like it!

Also available on Archive of Our Own. Check my tumblr page to click on the ‘Archive of Our Own’ tab!

Tumblr Chapters List can be found here.

CHAPTER 6: Reasons and Apologies

Summary: Mikasa and Levi encounter troublesome Military Police officers while doing a supply run. Meanwhile, at the Cadet Corps headquarters, Eren Yeager and Jean Kirstein have another confrontation.

Year 847 (5 months later)

---

“Tch. They’re out of bleach.”

Levi glares at the empty row of shelves where jars of commercial bleach usually would be. A few feet away to his left, Mikasa speaks with the shop owner.

“Mr. Gale, I don’t understand. Section Commander Hange told us that you usually have stocks of everything during this time of the month.”

The Titan-scientist and Moblit were on the supply pick-up rotation for the current month. But since they were away on another observation expedition with the Research division, the task had fallen to the two Ackermans.

Mr. Gale, an aging man in his early 50s, clasps his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry, Captain. But due to some issues with our supplier, we won’t have stocks until next month.”

The dark-haired woman sighs at the news. “I see. We will just have to make do with an alternative and the other supplies.”

After a few more words and apologetic gestures from the shop owner, she approaches her co-captain, who is still glowering at the vacant racks.

“They won’t restock until next month.”

His frown deepens. “How the hell are we supposed to properly clean without bleach?”

Mikasa cracks a small smile at his displeasure over the absence of the cleaning agent. In the back of her mind, she muses that even after three years of working together, she still finds his pseudo-obsession with cleanliness to be comical to the point of disbelief.

“We can make our own cleaning formula.” She says. “The store has the necessary ingredients, and the budget is enough to cover them.”

The tautness in his jaw relents at this. “You know how to make bleach?”

She nods. “I do. My mother created her own cleanser. The employees at our estate use it.”

His eyebrows raise in mild surprise. “I didn’t know the Azumabitos also dealt in the cleaning business.” He remarks wryly.

She shifts her eyes from side to side before taking a step closer. "It's a closely guarded family secret." She whispers mock-conspiratorially.

He smirks. “Your secret is safe with me.” He speaks in a similarly hushed tone, and she mirrors his smirk.

---

After perusing the store for the needed ingredients, the two officers help the elderly shop owner place all their purchased supplies in eight wooden crates.

“That’s everything.” Mr. Gale comments as he places the lid on the final crate. “I’ll call my boys to help you load them on your cart.”

“There’s no need for that.” Levi says, already readying himself to lift some of the boxes. “We can handle it.”

The proprietor laughs good-naturedly. "Come now, Captain Levi. I know that you’re ‘Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’ and that Captain Mikasa is the ‘Woman Worth a Hundred Soldiers”, but you can’t rea---”

He cuts himself off when the two Ackermans each lift four boxes with little effort.

Mikasa shifts the crates so that she faces the shop owner properly. "Mr. Gale, you've already received the payment from our budgetary officer, correct?"

The older man merely nods, his mouth still agape in shock at the display of inhuman strength.

“We’ll be on our way, then. Thanks, old man.” Levi states, unfazed by the reaction.

The warm afternoon sun greets them as they exit the shop. The commercial area of Trost is filled with chatter from the mass of patrons. Due to the crowded streets, they had to leave their wagon at a fairly secluded area some ways away from the store.

When they finally arrive at where they parked, the crowd has thinned considerably. The few people there are either entering or exiting the complex. The two are in the process of loading the crates onto the cart when they hear the sound of glass breaking, followed by a frightened yell to their right.

They turn their heads to the source see to see a small saloon. One of its front windows is covered by pull-down drapes, while the other one is unobscured. Through the glass of the second one, the co-captains see a middle-aged man and woman, presumably the owners, anxiously speaking to two Military Police officers.

“Whaddaya mean we have to pay?” An MP with light hair slurs loudly while gripping a long-necked bottle.

The woman, who looks to be in her early 40s, attempts to explain. “Sir, you’ve consumed more than two bottles already.” She says, wringing her hands together nervously. “And our store ---”

“Blah!” The other MP, a man with darker hair, sways as he unslings his rifle from his shoulder. Both the woman and her partner take a step back, visibly terrified. “We serve the kingdom!” He yells. “You lot should be grateful! Besides, your stuff tastes like shit!"

He unsteadily aims his rifle at a row of bottles behind the counter while his companion laughs. “You’re right, Ricky!” He shouts, smashing the bottle he was holding against the floor.

The one called Ricky guffaws. "Damn right, I'm right, George!" Slightly swaying, he disengages the safety lock. “I’ve been wanting to try this beauty out! They say this thing can shoot 15 bullets in a row after just one click!” Just as he is about to place his finger on the trigger, he is suddenly struck across the head. The impact of the attack causes him to drop his weapon.

“Ricky!” George makes to unsling his own rifle but barely has time to react before a heavy boot hits him in the stomach. He faintly registers his gun being snatched from him before he is thrown across the room and roughly crashes onto a table and some chairs. One second later, Ricky lands beside him with a loud thud.

They both groan for a moment before raising their heads and seeing the profiles of two other soldiers in the area where they had been standing before. “Hey!” George yells while unsteadily getting up. “What gives?!” He demands, face flushed with both embarrassment and alcohol. “Who are you anyway?!” He trains his glazed-over beady eyes at their assailants.

Levi narrows his eyes, not the least bit intimidated. “You were harassing innocent civilians.” He crosses his arms, leveling him with a look of disdain. "Taxpayer money is wasted on pigs like you.”

“They’re from the Survey Corps!” Ricky exclaims, pointing to the Wings of Freedom on the fronts of their jackets. “You two have got some nerve!” He glares, eyes glassy with inebriation. “Accusing us of wasting taxpayer money when you ---”

Mikasa quietly raises his rifle at him, causing him to cut himself short. Both MPs freeze at the movement.

“P—put that down and g—give it back!” Ricky demands, voice shaking.

Mikasa shifts her gaze from the anxious Military Police officers and to the firearm in her hands. She examines its long sleek frame and swipes her thumb over the grip.

“It saddens me to see that my father’s guns were used to frighten defenseless civilians.” She comments out loud, her tone a cross between pensive and disappointed.

George’s brows scrunch up in confusion at her statement. “Huh?!” The two MPs look at her dumbly, trying to comprehend the meaning behinds her words.

Meanwhile, Levi picks up the second rifle from the floor, ignoring the whimpers from the two pigs. He feels the gun's weight in his hands and notes that it is light compared to other models. He then places his thumb on the butt of the rifle and runs it over the engraved encircled cursive 'A' which serves as the insignia of Lord Mikhail Ackerman's gun manufacturing company. He muses that the emblem looks similar to the Azumabito clan symbol on the inside of Mikasa’s wrist.

“If it’s any consolation,” he begins, still looking at the rifle, “I think that your father did a great job with this gun, Mikasa.” He remarks almost idly.

“Thanks, Levi.”

“Levi? Mikasa?” George repeats their names, a hint of recognition in their slurred tone. “Mikasa… Mikhail A—“. Shock settles on his features as they finally connect the dots. His eyes further widen in realization when they shift to Levi. “… Ackerman.”

“You’re Levi and Mikasa Ackerman!” George exclaims, lips trembling. At his exclamation, Ricky’s mouth drops open as sweat starts to form on his brow. The two men nervously shift their eyes between the co-captains – panic and recognition clearing away the drink-induced glazes in their eyes.

“I mean, my lord and lady!” George suddenly bows at the waist. His companion scrambles to do the same. “Our apologies! We didn’t recognize you!”

Levi’s jaw clenches at their sycophantic gesture. “Tch. Do not call us those.” He hisses. “And quit your groveling.”

They straighten themselves instantly at the vitriol in his voice. “My lord?” One of them squeaks.

Mikasa takes a sharp breath. “We’re not at the royal court.” She states, an edge to her voice. “Furthermore, we’re acting in our capacities as officers of the Survey Corps. So, if you’re going to address us, do so accordingly.”

“Yes, my la---, I mean, Captain!” The same MP yelps. “We’re sorry!”

Mikasa narrows her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re clearly not genuine.” She speaks coldly. “And it appears that the likes of you get your bravado from carrying my father’s guns. Perhaps I should tell him to terminate his weapons provision contract with the Military Police.”

“Please don’t!” They both plead simultaneously, alarm in their voices. Clearly frightened of the consequences should they be the cause of the loss of the contract. “This won’t happen again!”

The disdain in her dark grey eyes indicates that she is not convinced. “I don’t believe you.” Mikasa then grips that rifle’s ammunition magazine. “So, I’m going to take these.”

Following her lead, Levi makes to do the same with the rifle in his hands. “I’ll take care of this one.”

Once he’s done, Mikasa holds out a hand, and he gives her the second rifle. She throws the weapons at the feet of the two MPs. “Take those and leave.” She commands, voice near imperious. “And don’t forget to put your payment on the counter.”

The two men do as they are told. They wordlessly take the ammo-less rifles and practically empty their wallets onto the counter before leaving the saloon with their heads bowed.

Once they were out of sight, the two Ackermans turn to the shop owners, who had been silently watching the exchange from the sidelines with bated breath.

“We’re not from the Military Police.” Levi states plainly. “But all the same, we’re sorry for the trouble they caused.”

The middle-aged man shakes himself from his daze. “Oh, please! You have nothing to apologize for!” He says, a nervous but sincere smile on his face. “In fact, my wife and I should thank you, my lord and lady!” His eyes then widen at his slip of tongue. “I’m sorry, I mean---”

Mikasa raises her hands in a calming gesture. “It’s alright.” She assures him with a smile.

The man’s tension eases, relieved at her assurance.

“Thank you so much, Captains.” His wife steps forward, wearing a bright and grateful smile. “May we offer you something to eat and drink?”

“Oh, we ---” Mikasa begins, about to politely decline.

“It’s on the house!” The husband insists. “It’s the least that we could do for you! We insist.”

Mikasa observes their smiling and amiable expressions before turning to Levi. She lifts her brows, and he gives a slight shrug before taking out his pocket watch.

“I suppose we have time before we need to get back to headquarters.” He comments.

The shop owners beam at the response. “Wonderful! I’m Tim Briles, by the way, and this is my wife, Frances." Tim introduces himself and his wife. “Please, have a seat. The menu is by the counter. Order anything you want!”

"Sure." Levi replies, and he turns towards the turned-over tables and chairs. “I’ll fix the tables and chairs. I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Noted." Mikasa states as she makes her way to the counter. She peruses the menu and, after a minute of deliberating, settles on a sandwich platter and chamomile tea. She vaguely wonders if the tea selection is meant for customers with hangovers.

After an enthusiastic Frances takes their order, she makes her way to Levi, who has just finished righting the disarray of furniture. As she approaches, her co-captain suddenly pulls out a chair and gestures for her to sit.

Mikasa looks at him questioningly, and he tilts his head towards the offered chair.

She decides to play along. “How very gentlemanly of you.” She jests, voice half-coquettish as she moves to sit.

“Only for you, my lady.” He drawls as he pushes the chair in for her.

They both snicker at the mocking references to their noble backgrounds.

“So, what are we having?” He asks as he sits from across her.

“Tea and sandwiches.” He raised a brow at ‘tea’, and she smiles. "I know; I was also surprised to see it on the menu.”

Levi hums. “In any case, it’s too early for liquor.”

A few minutes pass, and Frances approaches their table with their food and drinks. “Here are your orders. Enjoy!”

The co-captains both thank the female shop owner, and they split the sandwiches and tea between themselves.

Comfortable silence ensues as they eat their sandwiches. Levi muses that the saloon’s turkey sandwich is quite good. He takes a look at the sandwich in Mikasa’s hand and deduces from the green poking out from the bread that it’s full of vegetables.

After he finishes his food and begins stirring his tea, a random realization suddenly occurs to him.

“Something wrong?” Mikasa asks, noticing the contemplative furrow of his brow.

“No.” He replies, taking out the spoon from his cup and gripping it by the rim. “It’s just that I realized you actually used the ‘I’m going to tell my daddy’ card.”

Mikasa blinks at the remark. A beat of silence passes before she bursts into laughter.

Her shoulders slightly shake as hearty chuckles flow from her. She laughs in earnest at the absurdity and the truth of the statement.

Levi’s lips curve upwards at her open display of mirth, observing how her usually stern eyes crinkle at the corners and how genuine joy shines through her typically reserved expression.

“I’m sorry.” Mikasa says, still giggling as she adjusts her cravat around her neck. “You’re right, but it’s just so ridiculous.” She remarks, her smile wide. “Come to think of it, I’ve never used it before.” She muses out loud, her lips still twitching.

“At least you used it for a good cause.” He quips, sharing in her amusement.

She chortles at his joke. He also lets out an amused sound.

She eventually sobers down, though a small smile still remains on her lips.

But after a moment, her eyes suddenly become downcast, and her smile disappears.

Levi frowns in concern at the abrupt change in her demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

She takes a breath before directing her gaze towards the afternoon sky beyond the saloon’s window.

“Moments like this…” she speaks quietly as she raises her hand to gesture at their light-hearted conversation, “…don’t come by often.” A sad gleam then enters her eyes. “In a way, it’s… sort of unsettling.”

Levi’s lips press into a firm line at the reality of her words. Every soldier in the Survey Corps knows that every encounter with the Titans could be their very last. Danger, risk, and bloodshed are their constant companions. And the absences of the comrades lost will always be felt by those who live to join the next expedition.

The survivors know that it is their duty to honor the sacrifices of the fallen by carrying on with their mission. Yet, this knowledge hangs heavy over the heads of those who remain standing.

“I know what you mean.” He says, voice solemn. “Enjoying a moment of peace can be hard sometimes, considering the things we go through.”

They remain quiet for a while, the atmosphere suddenly tenser. Mikasa closes her eyes and sighs before speaking again.

“Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like right now if I had stayed in the Capital or joined the clan’s Elite Royal Company.” She stares intently into her cup of tea, wistfulness underlying her tone. “I would probably be promenading with the other nobles in the parks. Or patrolling the grounds at the Fritz castle. Either way, my life would be simpler and less daunting."

A flash of resolve then enters her gaze. “But I already made my choice a long time ago.” She declares with a quiet certainty in her words. “And I’ve chosen to be a soldier for the Survey Corps.”

Levi quietly observes her profile. She sits with the graceful posture of a noble lady – a result of her upbringing. But her shoulders are squared with a soldier’s discipline. She holds her teacup delicately, but her fingers are calloused from years of wielding blades. Had she chosen differently, she could have been a socialite hostess.

The passing thought then prompts a question. “Why didyou join the Survey Corps in the first place?”

Mikasa half-smiles at that. It was a question she was often asked – the daughter of a noble joining any of the military branches was unheard of. Although, she never divulged anything apart from saying that she merely wanted to.

“I could ask you the same question, Levi.” She prompts back.

For all his fame, no one has ever known of his reason for joining the Survey Corps. Not surprising, since he would always brush off anyone who asks by telling them that it’s none of their damn business.

But Levi decides that he wouldn’t mind making an exception for her. “I’ll share if you share.”

Mikasa hums as if contemplating the proposition. “Fair enough.”

A moment passes before she continues. “I joined because of my Asian heritage.”

He raises a brow in confusion. But stays silent and waits for her to elaborate.

“The Azumabitos are the last Asians in the world.” She explains. “Our clan’s records state that our ancestors’ homeland, Asia, was full of rare creatures and mysterious fauna. Unfortunately, just like every other continent, it was invaded along with the rest of humanity by the Titans.”

“My parents gave me everything I needed while growing up. But they taught me that if I wanted something, then I should work to earn it.” Mikasa pauses as her lips twist wryly. “And since I wanted to see the roots of my Asian heritage, I decided as a child that I would join the Survey Corps to help eradicate the Titans.”

“It’s silly.” She remarks, more to herself, amused at her younger self’s reason. “But it’s what prompted me to enlist.”

Her expression then becomes more pensive, and she redirects her gaze to the table between them. “But after my first expedition, I realized that there are things which are bigger than my wants. I suppose you could say that it opened my eyes. Seeing first-hand the dangers and struggles made me understand the weight of the Corps’ mission.”

She looks up at him again. “I still want to see Asia…” she admits with a bashful look. “… and if we can eradicate the Titans during my lifetime, then I’ll be to do that.”

“But even if that won’t happen, I won’t have any regrets about joining the Survey Corps.”

With that, she concludes her piece. Levi remains quiet for a moment, feeling astounded and moved at the revelation.

“I’m glad that you joined, Mikasa.” He says softly.

She smiles at his remark. “Thank you for saying that.” A tinge of levity then enters her dark orbs. “Now, I believe it’s your turn to share.”

Levi tsks, but there’s mirth in the slight quirk of his mouth. “I suppose a deal’s a deal.”

He swirls the contents of his teacup before speaking. “When I was a kid, my great grandfather would always preach about upholding the clan’s tradition of being the Crown’s ‘Sword and Shield’.” He drawls out the last two words.

“Just like you and everyone else in our clan, I was trained to be the best fighter possible – because, of course, the royal family only expects the best to protect it.” He pauses to take a drink.

“Sure, it’s natural for the royal family to have protection.” He concedes. “But our clan’s talents are being wasted. The biggest threats are out there beyond the Walls, and our clansmen use their many years of special training to deal with problems that the Military Police pigs are supposed to handle.”

Levi lifts his gaze to hers. "So, I said to myself, ‘to hell with tradition’.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Of course, you would say something like that.”

He smirks before taking another sip. “So, I decided to enlist in the Survey Corps. Thankfully, my uncle became head of the clan even before my rite of passage. And since he isn’t as uptight and prissy as my great grandfather was, he let me go without much of a fuss. I wanted to put my skills to better use. And what better way to use them than to reclaim the lands stolen by the Titans from humanity?”

“And after everything I’ve seen…” he trails off, a more somber and pensive look in his eyes as he stares at his cup, “…I’m now surer than ever that I made the right choice.”

A quiet second passes before Mikasa speaks. “That’s very noble of you.” She says, her voice earnest.

Her co-captain snorts out a harsh laugh. “If it were anyone else, I’d say that they were kissing my ass.”

Remembering the incident with the two MPs earlier, she likewise smiles in good humor; his words can’t be any truer.

“But since it’s you…” his harsh smirk morphs into a gentler smile, “… thanks.”

Her smile remains as their eyes meet again.

“You know, it’s odd…” she begins off-handedly, “We’ve known each other for years, but this is the first time we talked about something like this.”

He raises a brow. “Is it? I wasn’t aware that there was a standard timeline for sharing things.”

Another light laugh escapes her, and Mikasa wonders if Levi realizes how humorous he can be at times.

---

Chatter fills the air of the communal dining hall of the Southern Division’s Cadet Corps Headquarters – with the main source of noise and talk being the long dining table where Eren Yeager sits with his friends.

“Eren, what you did was really cool!”

“Yeah, I don’t think that anyone else here would’ve been able to do that!”

From his seat at another table at the far right of the hall, Jean Kirstein watches as several trainees crowd around Yeager and pay him compliments for his incredible feat earlier this morning.

Connie sits across the green-eyed recruit with a wide grin on his face. “Eren, you were amazing earlier!” He exclaims. “Being able to balance yourself using defective equipment was incredible!”

Beside him, Sasha nods enthusiastically as she munches on a loaf of bread. She smiles broadly after gulping down her food. "You really did well, all things considered!" She exclaims while not so discreetly trying to take Connie's bread from his plate.

The shaved-headed boy snatches her wrist before she could lift the loaf to her mouth. “Oh, come on! You haven’t even finished your own bread!” He grumbles, exasperated as Sasha strains against his grip.

Eren chuckles at the display before scratching the back of his head with a sheepish expression. Even so, his green eyes seem to glow with pride and appreciation. “Thanks, guys.”

“Congratulations on a job well done, Eren.” Christa speaks from amongst the group that congregated around the table. “Your determination paid off.”

Eren's cheeks redden slightly at her smile. "Thanks, Christa. But I can't take all of the credit. Armin here gave me pointers, and Reiner and Betholdt told me to keep calm and not to give up." He then turns to the male blonde seated next to him. "Isn't that right, buddy?"

Armin’s lips quirk upwards. “It’s true that you got help, but all the work was you.”

“Armin’s right.” Reiner’s deep voice resounds from one side of the crowd. To his left, Bertholdt silently watches the interactions with a small smile. “At the end of the day, you were the one ultimately responsible for your success.”

Jean watches as more trainees give the brunette praises for his resolve and performance. It isn’t until he feels something nudge him in the side that he turns away.

“Just talk to him already.” Marco urges with a knowing look.

Jean scoffs at the comment. “Talk to Yeager? About what?”

Marco simply gives him a half-amused and half-exasperated smile. “You know what I mean.” He then picks up his glass of water. “It’s good that you want to apologize. It’s a mature thing to do.” He says before taking a drink.

Jean grumbles something unintelligible as he observes the sky through an open window. The last rays of sunlight are starting to fade behind the darkening sky. He can see some of their Commandant's assistant officers patrolling the grounds and inspecting the outdoor training equipment to ensure they're still working properly.

As his gaze lands on the row of 3DM gear simulators, Jean recalls how he, along with nearly everyone, laughed at Eren when he failed to steady himself using 3DM gear during his first attempt. He also remembers snidely commenting that Yeager was just "all talk and no bite" and how he brushed him off when he asked for pointers to improve.

Jean then sighs before getting up and walking over to the green-eyed recruit’s table.

---

Armin and Eren were in the middle of speaking with fellow recruits when the blonde sees Jean walking up to their table.

“Uhh… Eren?” He taps his friend on the shoulder.

At the prodding, Eren turns away from Mina and Thomas, who were standing behind him. His eyes narrow at the sight of Jean standing behind the other recruits surrounding their table. “What do you want, horse face?”

The entire room goes silent as everyone turns to Jean. The man in question averts his gaze as his cheeks flush at suddenly being the center of attention.

He stays silent for a moment before speaking. “I’m not here to fight.” He then finally raises his gaze to look at Eren. The crowd parts as he moves closer to the table.

Armin notes the sudden tension in the air as his childhood best friend stares at Jean with a cautious look – he deduces that Eren is not entirely convinced that Kirstein came in peace.

Jean halts when he’s near the edge of their table, just a couple of feet from where Eren sits. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I’ll be honest. I still think that going after Titans is stupidly dangerous.”

Eren's eyes further narrow at the remark. He rises to his feet, but Armin pulls at his arm before he can move towards Jean. "Hear him out first.” The blonde half-pleads.

Eren frowns but nonetheless sits back down. His eyes are still trained on Kirstein, who instinctively took a step back at his abrupt movement.

Jean takes another breath before continuing. “But I now get how serious you are.” He admits, voice quiet but clear. “You have real resolve, and I respect that. And I’m…” He pauses, his pride momentarily stifling his next words.

“… I’m sorry for making fun of you before.”

Some trainees gasp lightly while some simply stare – all surprised at his gesture. Armin sees that even Connie and Sasha have paused their food-related grappling to gawk at Jean. The blonde also quietly muses that the entire room probably half-expected another fight to erupt between the two boys. All eyes are now trained on Eren, who looks astounded with his eyes widened and mouth slightly agape.

Armin then lightly nudges his friend’s shoulder. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

The question shakes the green-eyed trainee from his stupor. He blinks once before rising to stand – more calmly, Armin notes approvingly.

“Thanks, Jean.” The hardened look in his gaze is now gone. “I appreciate you saying that. Apology accepted.” He says with a small smile.

“And for what it’s worth…” Eren trails off as his eyes dart downwards, a hint of shame in them, “… I shouldn’t have scoffed at you for wanting to go into the Interior. After all, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be safe.”

He then looks directly at Jean again. “So, I guess I also owe you an apology.” He admits with a half-smile, hoping that it would lighten the mood.

It seems to have worked as Kirstein offers him a smile. “Glad to know that you can see things my way, Yeager.”

Eren grins more naturally at the response. “So… friends?” He asks, voice tentative as he holds out his hand.

Jean looks at the offered hand in surprise for a moment before observing the other boy’s expression. There’s a mix of uncertainty and apprehension in his countenance – possibly wary of how he would respond. But the look in Yeager’s eyes tells him that the offer of friendship is genuine.

He eventually grasps the hand offered to him. “Friends.” He says while giving it a firm shake.

There’s a smattering of applause as the crowd gives a slight cheer at the show of camaraderie. Armin especially claps heartily at the sight of the usually hot-headed Eren making peace with Jean even as he hears Connie yelp when Sasha takes advantage of the distraction to take a massive bite from the Springer boy’s loaf.

“Well, it’s nice that we’re all finally getting along.” Marco comments with a smile from the sidelines, hands still pressed together from clapping.

Jean sends a slightly annoyed look at Marco, who only continues to smile in return.

---

End Note: So, the 104th gang finally appears! Since Mikasa is a veteran in this story, I wanted to play a little with the dynamics of the 104th's relationships with one another. On this, I wanted Eren and Jean to have a friendlier relationship in this story than in canon. I hope that I was able to execute this idea (as well as all my other ideas) properly. Lol.

In any case, let me know what you think! Critiques and comments are most welcome!

[poisonous-widow]

One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

A/n: Hello everyone! I am back!

So ya'll remember my last bnha angst called 'Good Enough?'. Well I've re-made it to this beaut right here! I'm hoping this will be a short Fan fiction probably 10 chaps be the max (Hopefully) or even lower is possible \(0w0)/. They won't be adults in this one, still in UA and yes - the angst will be there. My Oc will be the main of this, but Y/n is apart, yes that's right - you guys are in this (Don't worry! You aren't the bad guy.......maybe).

I've also made this because I fell in love with Olivia Rodrigo's songs, the ones that I can relate to especially. And for this as well. I hope you enjoy this and tell me what you think in the end.

- Love you guys!

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

Warnings: Cheating, Angst, Crying, fluffy fluff fluff!! 

Additional info: Music videos/audios may be involved (Not in this one) 

Main Characters: Katsuki Bakugou, Amicia Mizuki

Ages: 17-18yrs (Depending on other characters as well and their year)

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

CHAPTER ONE - I still love you

~~~~~~~~~~~

We shared many memories. Love...

She’s been humming tunes in her dorm for the past thirty minutes. Cooped up in the corner of her bed, messy blankets, plushies and four pair of legs tangled together. Amicia cackles lightly, long thick lashes kiss her cheeks, lifting her novel she was currently reading - grazing her light forest green hues to her spiky blonde love. Katsuki releases a long deep breath, his head snugged into the thick comfy padding of his girlfriends thighs, rubbing his head further into her when he felt her cackles.

"What are you laughing at..." He grumbled out, a little muffled since he's laying on his side. Squishing his other face cheek.

Amicia giggled. It sounded so calm to his ears, soothing.

"Nothing~" Amicia mused, a smile playing at her lips as she moved her book to one hand, bringing the other down to caress his tuffs of hair. She gently scratched at his scalp with her nails, caressing in long strokes. She heard another long breath release out of him, the weight of katsuki falling onto her thighs.

There was a shift of movement and Amicia moved her hand, allowing Katsuki to roll himself on his back, eye-lids opening to those crimson daring eyes. "Don't lie to me shitty woman..". Amicia pouted, poking his nose in response. "Don't call me that".

"But you are a shitty woman" He smirked, seeing small fumes appear.

"You’re a shitty man then!" Amicia crossed her arms, looking down at her love with pouting lips and a frown that he would never admit was too fucking cute. He rolled again, this time on his stomach. Arms latched themselves around Amicia's waist, causing her to get a small shock. Katsuki looked up at her, crimson meeting green - summer rays swirling the gold speckles secretly hidden within the glimmering emerald.

Katsuki buried himself into her abdomen, kissing her stomach making Amicia yelp. "Katsuki..!" She squeaked in alarm, her hand touching his head with a tenderness he drowned himself in every moment they got like this. He looked up only to quickly kiss her again, grumpily groaning when she tried to push him away - only for the heavy male to halfway lay himself across her soft pudgy body. "What are you.." Amicia rubs his head, confused.

'You are my shitty woman, mine only." He groaned muffly. This made Amicia stop what she was going to do next. That small spark of shock - forming into love. "I love you too Katsuki" She smiled and hugged his laying body lovingly.

It's a cool night outside, but the room felt oddly hot. Warm candle-light fluttered against the tan wallpaper of katsuki's dorm room that scattered around the large shared futon splayed on the ground.

...Want...

Katsuki sat on the futon, arms wrapped around Amicia's waist. She was on top of him, her knees locked on either side as she slightly hoisted herself a bit taller. Their eyes closed in the moment and lips mounding into bliss, Amicia held katsuki's face as he securely held her in his arms. Parting away to breathe, eyes locking together in a mixture of colours and emotions only they seemed to understand without the need of words.

She peppered and nuzzled his face with tenderness, He kissed her neck and bare shoulder with fierceness. Sighs and contentment settled into her as katsuki removed more of her button shirt to nip at the flesh of her neck.

“Hey..!” She jerked away, opening her eyes and looking over to her shoulder where she could see the way his tongue slid across his row of teeth with that heavy smirk. Amicia shook her head, a smirk of her own appearing when she tugged the back roots of his ash-blonde hair into a small fist, causing a low grunt hiss to snake out of his mouth. “You little sh-”  “Don’t ruin the mood my love~” She kissed a finger to his mouth - angered eyes - turning hooded and heavy. 

Katsuki rolled to the side, toppling over Amicia where she laid on her back, he on top this time.”I hate you...” , She giggled at his words, sighed when he kissed her neck and further down a of his warmth. “I hate you so much, you do this to me...” He breathed against her warm honey skin. 

“I love you too...” She smiles with closed crescent eyes. 

The moment stops when his phone-screen turns on. A message, unknown. Who is it from. She goes to read....he pushes her away and takes the phone - but she had seen the name. 

“Get out. GET THE HELL OUT NOW!!” He shoves her out. 

...Hate....

A glass jar went flying across the kitchen of their shared apartment...

It smashes. There’s more screaming. Words flying at each other, next thing there is something more than verbal - physical.

It’s cold again. 

Katsuki thrusts an explosion attack towards Amicia. It’s aggressive and filled with tendency to hurt - a lot. She dodges it, barely. She’s scared but she still fights for her ground. She refuses to cry and be weak to him. “YOU LIAR!! YOU FUCKING LIAR!!” She reaches him, punches him square in the nose. “YOU SAID SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND!”  She wailed, her throat hurts. her head is throbbing. 

“I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! DOES IT MEAN NOTHING TO YOU!?” Amicia clenched where her heart was buried underneath all that flesh, muscle and bone. Tears flooding down like two large blobs of streams.

“I HATE YOU!! I FUCKING HATE YOU AMICIA MIZUKI!!” 

Blood and water stains the floor-boards. 

“If you hate me that much...Then we are over” 

��...Betrayal...

She’s cold again. 

She felt exposed - naked - even.

Mina hugged her side, the warmth radiating off her pink skin made the honey toned woman comfortable - just a bit - she smiled appreciatively. She was the first to know and your sister Y/n. The other girls who cared enough to visit her dorm in the time of need she really needed them. Then came the boys: Kaminari,sero and deku squad knew first. Then kirishima, he was last because Amicia knew that kirishima was Ka-Bakugou’s best-friend. He hugged her, she cried. 

It’s only been a few days since the break-up. She left their shared apartment and lived with her best-friend. However, the news spread like wild-fire throughout UA - nosy bunches they all are. Amicia hugged her arms as she walked through the long hallways, eyes staring and mouths whispering. 

For the next few days, they all tried to cheer her up:

“Let’s do this, get your mind off things!” 

“You’ll feel better without him, promise” 

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaa! Leeeet’s gooo steeal Mr. Aizawaa’s Beean-Baaag~!”

“Cm’on gurl! Sing for me, i miss that voice of yours” 

“Mizuki-chan...mutter mutter...and then...mutter mutter” 

It was hard. At first. But she managed to smile at least, her heart feeling lighter little by little each day. Amicia could run and chase her friends again. Laugh, cry, cheer, scream. But everyone now and then, she would look over her shoulder to spot any ash-blonde spikes in the distance - none - heart throbbing. She still misses him, the break of a heart still cracking in her chest.

...And the most painful...

Two weeks passed and Amicia feels a little more ‘normal’. Her head is held high, a smile on her face and her walk strides in a soft rhythm. She softens to a stop, green jewels wide as she stares ahead. 

Spiky ash-blonde hair in the distance, baggy clothing and that oh-so-knowing posture spewing ‘dominance’. Crimson eyes, a cold and bored gaze.

Her heart thumps in her chest, her feels for him pulsing at the sight of him. They stare at each other for a long moment. Colours mixing again - like before. She snaps out of when she sees a bob of brown hair, pink chubby cheeks and beautiful big chocolate brown eyes comes closer. 

Katsuki Bakugou.

Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou’s new girlfriend. 

She stops just a few steps behind him, waiting for him to go to her. Bakugou still has his eyes on Amicia. There is a look in her eyes that bakugou can’t seem to read. Same to Amicia. She goes to open her mouth to speak but she purses them and closes her eyelids shut. Sucking in a shaky breath, Amicia straightens her back and lifts her chin, fingers splayed across her heart. She opens her eyes again. 

She smiles, lovingly, softly. It scares Bakugou - just a little - only a little. She mouths something. He turns and leaves with his new girl, through the doors of UA and out of sight. She watched them go - him - go. Her hand drops to her side. Her lip is quivering. She purses it when she hears Y/n call her from behind. 

“Hey! You good lil’ sis?” They look at you, leaning beside you. 

Amicia turns her head, glistening emerald eyes sparkling with sun rays. 

“Yes. Let’s get to class before Mr. Aizawa gives us a detention” 

...Acceptance...

" I still love you "

- Amicia Mizuki

______________________________________

Thank you for reading!

[northern-passage]

sleepy w merry or f!noel?? 👉👈

Saying it’s been a long day would be an understatement. But it’s been a long day. The lot of you barely managed to make it through, stumbling into the tavern half past midnight, cold and soaked through from the rain. The weather has been against you from the start, with a squall forcing all of you awake before dawn, heavy snow collapsing your tents, followed by a constant rain that turned the road into an icy, muddy mess.

You’re grateful to be inside now, despite the long stares you received from every person still awake at this unfortunate hour. But you flashed some coin and they welcomed you in, and finally a little bit of luck for you – enough vacant rooms for all of you to have your own.

But you can’t sleep. Typical. So you sit in the surprisingly comfortable armchair, which you pushed over to be directly in front of the fire, next to the small corner table, your soaked cloak and boots on the floor nearby to dry. Just as your eyelids are beginning to grow heavy, your head slowly nodding forward, a sharp knock on the door brings you back.

Scowling, you stand and jerk open the door, a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“Don’t look so excited to see me, hunter,” Merry says with a crooked smile. She brushes past you into your room, throwing herself down onto the bed with a sigh. She eyes the armchair in front of the fire, and turns to you as you close the door.

“Can’t sleep?” she muses, crossing her legs and pushing her hands into the mattress, leaning towards you as you walk by.

You don’t say anything as you drop back down into your chair, your back to her.

Merry shifts on the bed, and you can hear her feet pad across the floor as she walks over. She hops up on the corner table right next to you, her foot kicking the side of the armchair.

“Don’t ignore me,” she says. You take a deep breath, rolling your neck dramatically to look over at her. She smiles at you, kicking the chair faster now.

“Stop,” you say, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Make me,” she says, leaning forward and smirking at you. You rub your face, pushing your fingers against your eyelids for a moment; Merry’s incessant kicking jarring the entire armchair.

“Merry.”

She doesn’t stop, just laughing next to you.

You drop your hands in your lap and glare over at her. “Stop.”

She gives you her usual crooked smile, her eye looking down at you from the table, half lidded, and she leans forward, her long hair just brushing your arm. “I said, make me.”

For a moment you both just stare at each other, Merry’s leg poised back for a kick, frozen. Then she kicks the chair.

You grab her leg and pull her off the table, and she cackles, letting her weight carry her over the arm of the chair and onto you, and she grabs a handful of your shirt and pulls you forward, and you both tip out of the chair, with you loudly swearing.

You throw your arms out, barely managing to redirect the two of you from not falling directly into the fire. Sprawling on the ground, Merry squirms underneath you, still laughing, but slapping your sides, shoving against your stomach with her knees.

“Ow, shit, stop,” you snap, shoving her knees away from where they dig into your gut. Despite your annoyance, her laughter is infectious, and you can’t help but laugh too, pushing yourself up so you have a hand on either side of Merry’s head. She grins up at you, her hair haloing across the floor, glowing in the flicker of the fire.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” she purrs, and she tugs at your shirt, your elbows nearly giving out at the sudden pull, and you feel your face flush. You quickly scramble backwards, your shirt slipping from her fingers, and you go until your back hits the armchair. Slumping on the floor, you watch as Merry slowly sits up, following you over.

“Merry…,” you warn, and she stops, sitting back on her heels.

“I’ll go, if you want,” she says then, and she starts to move to stand, and before you can stop yourself you reach out, grabbing her wrist.

“No – I… I just,” you struggle to put it into words. Merry doesn’t move, halfway to her feet, just looking at you. You realize you’re still holding her wrist, and quickly let go, dropping back against the armchair.

“Stay?” is all you manage to say.

She smiles at you, and not her usual wicked smile, but soft, and she stands, offering you her hand. You take it, letting her pull you to your feet. You hesitate for a moment, unsure, glancing around the room for a panicked moment before you just throw yourself back down into the armchair, fighting the urge to hide your face in your hands. Merry steps around the chair and you tense as she sits on the arm, her body pressing against your shoulder. You can feel her sides move as she breathes, her hair tickling the bare skin of your arm. After a few moments you relax a bit, staring into the fire. Merry shifts, leaning more into you now, slowly, slowly sliding down the chair, almost imperceptibly at first. It can’t be comfortable, sitting like that.

You look up at her, and swallowing the lump in your throat you reach out for her hand, taking it and pulling her into you. She lets you guide her into your lap, and at first she doesn’t move, both of you tense, unsure, the blind leading the blind, perhaps. But after a few long, painful moments, you shift again, and Merry sinks back into you, and you wrap one of your arms around her. You pray that she can’t feel your heart all but slamming out of your chest, or feel the sweat in your palms. But she doesn’t say anything, and you both just watch the fire.

Sleep evades you that night, like most nights, but Merry stays, her head resting just beneath your chin, sleeping there in your arms.

[obutsuwrites]

work friends (miruko x reader, part 2)

summary: basically, miruko convinces reader to meet at the mall. possessive behavior and fingering ensue. 

warnings: light dom/sub, thigh riding, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, mommy kink

part one

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ko-fi~!

word count: 3,729

A high-pitched chirp pierced the woman’s dreamless sleep. Setting such a deafening ringtone was supposed to be an advantage. Hot stories don’t stop once night falls, an unfortunate truth the woman had already learned. The woman rolled over; tired hands latching onto her phone.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:45 am

ur laugh was almost cute 🤪

Speak of the devil, and she will appear.

Air caught in her throat, somehow worse than a punch in the gut. Crimson eyes burned in the woman’s mind. Cherry pits she couldn’t ignore. She exhaled. The act was almost orgasmic as greedy lungs resumed function.

What… what do I say? Naturally, words came to the woman like magic. A gift she attributed to countless All Might articles. All Might. His name felt heavy somehow now. The woman sighed and typed a short response.

「XXX」 | 12:47 am

This is Miruko, right?

Three dots appeared as half lidded eyes struggled to maintain focus. What does this stupid bunny want this late? Her mind felt fuzzy, as if she hadn’t slept at all. Exhaustion was rooted in her bones; a slow ache.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:48 am

wats ur addy

Of course. Wait. Is… is she trying to hook up? A lump of disgust and anxiety swelled within her stomach. Casual sex wasn’t foreign to the woman. It was a concept she celebrated, but the image of hungry, crimson eyes plagued her. Carnivorous orbs that threatened to eat her alive.

「XXX」 | 12:49 am

You woke me up. It’s *midnight*. I can interview you tomorrow.

This was a bargaining chip. Perhaps ignorance would save her. Or maybe I’m committing career suicide, she mused. Rumors and whispers of reporters doing “favors” for interviews wasn’t unheard of. Morality wasn’t a concern for the perfect article.

The woman stared intently at her phone, eyes bleary and heavy. Dread mounted in her stomach as minutes passed. The woman rubbed her eyes. Maybe she’s asleep already. The thought brought her comfort as sleep dusted over her. Fatigue had won.

≛

A hearty exhale left the woman as throbbing muscles stretched against morning light. Another dreamless sleep with a side of awkward sleeping positions. Nothing out of the ordinary for her. She layed in bed, determined to absorb the early sunlight. Eventually, the woman rolled over and began to check emails. Ignorance was a blessing. The woman’s phone vibrated in her hand, the motion jarring and obnoxious. Right. The rabbit.  

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 - INCOMING CALL

Red eyes flashed through her mind. Soft hands trembled, knuckles white and taunt. Her finger hovered over the answer button. The notification was imposing; a beast that dwarfed her. An electrical wave crept through the woman’s spine. Anxiety now rooted in her stomach.

“H-hello?”

The pro hero snickered. “Finally ya answer, kit. Think you owe me your name for the wait.” She could almost feel Miruko’s hot breath through the phone. A sweltering gust that starved the room of oxygen.

The woman swallowed, saliva thick and tongue bulky. She muttered her name like a prayer.

“Cute name, kit. You never replied to my text. Still game?” Miruko’s voice cut into the word kit, as if it were an insult. Belittling.

She shifted in bed, words unable to become tangible. Prey caught in the powerful jaws of a predator. Shivers continued to assault the woman as she opened Miruko’s text.

「UNKNOWN NUMBER」 | 12:55 am

watever. meet me @ hiro mall.

Hiro Mall. Hiro Mall! She giggled; the sound unnatural and falsetto. A laugh she hated. Hiro Mall was thirty minutes away via car, but… I don’t own a car. No reliable transportation!

“I don’t live near Hiro Mall. S-sorry, can’t do it.”

Miruko’s thin lips pulled a mischievous grin. “Don’t apologize, it’s annoying like that laugh. I’ll pick you up,” the Rabbit Hero insisted, tone assertive and deep. Like rich chocolate.

A sour expression spread through the woman’s features, panic in her veins. An icy chill ran into her skull. The beginnings of a migraine.

“N-no it’s fine. You’re probably too far away.” She glanced around, desperate to escape the call. “We can arrange an interview later in the week.” A mall is too unprofessional anyway.

“C’mon. I gotta scoop for you, little kit.” Miruko sounded almost eager. A tight edge to her voice.

Another laugh left the reporter as she spoke, “Listen, M-Mi-Miruko… I appreciate this offer I really do. I just can’t today. I have -- I have other arrangements today.”

The Rabbit Hero released a hearty chuckle. Playing hard to get, huh?

“Can’t clear your schedule for an interview with the number seven pro hero Miruko?” She teased.

She feigned a smile. “I did agree, didn’t I? O-okay. I’ll text you my address.” There was no escape from the rabbit. Coils of anxiety refused to unravel within her gut. Painful, hot bundles that tore into her.

“Good kit.” A click followed the rabbit’s voice. The woman released a pent-up whine.

Are all pro heroes this rude?  

≛

“I like your hat,” the woman mused, her sentence punctuated by a gentle chuckle. Miruko’s ears twitched at the sound.

Pro hero Miruko stood before her in casual attire; denim shorts, a plain t-shirt, and a brown baseball cap. It felt almost wrong to see the number seventh hero like this. Vulnerable. Human.

“That laugh was cute. Why don’t you laugh like that?” The ghost of a smirk rested against Miruko’s lips. Blush for me, kit.

A yell echoed through the mall before the woman could reply, “Hey! It’s Miruko! Miruko, can I get an autograph?!” Like magic, a young boy appeared in front of the couple, his smile was sunlight. Too bright to ignore. Pen and paper in tiny hands.

Crimson eyes observed the child with anticipation. She was not a rabbit, but a peacock. A peacock that revelved in attention.

“Sure!”

Miruko bent down and lightly grabbed the parchment from the boy; signing an indecipherable signature. The action seemed too gentle for the carnivorous woman. She’s creepy when she’s nice, the reporter thought as a shiver crawled down her skeleton. Like a dull ache in her bones.

The boy’s face broke out in a boyish grin; a smile too big for his face. Curious orbs drifted from the mythical hero and stuck to the unfamiliar figure beside the rabbit.

“Hey… are you a hero too? Are -- are you Miruko’s friend?” the boy prodded, his voice soaked in excitement and stars in his eyes.

The woman awkwardly shuffled and inspected her shoes. A pit began to widen in her stomach. The feeling left her empty and anxious. Starving. “Sorta. Work friends.”

“What’s it -- “

Before the child could ask, Miruko interjected. The woman’s tone was hard and rough, like sandpaper. “Sorry kid. We gotta bounce.”

Calloused hands reached for the reporter, finding purchase around her waist. A quiet yelp was exhaled from the woman; the sound sharp and sudden. Maroon rage bubbled under Miruko’s intense gaze as she ushered the woman away.

“Friends?” Miruko hissed, a dangerous glint in her eyes. The woman felt like injured prey, ready for the slaughter. “We’re not friends and you fucking know it.” Snowy ears twitched in annoyance. Little kit doesn’t know her place. The thought was venomous and ravenous; a lion starved and wild.

Her hand burns.

"Miruko… Are we not friends?" Curious eyes locked onto the rabbit. Begging for Miruko's attention. Was a pro hero a liar? Her brain felt branded by the question. Burnt. Ruined.

Large hands released the woman. Strong arms encased the woman; like a dragon hoarding gold. A wolf with teeth trained on a young doe. Poised, prepared. Miruko's heart threatened to leap from her chest, the sound like thunder. The woman couldn't ignore the roar against her.

The hero swallowed. "I want you to call me Usagi. No, Usagi. It'd sound cuter coming from you." Miruko grinned, lips too tight and teeth too sharp.

"Usagi, let me go. This is too intimate," the woman stated plainly. The situation was too familiar. Too similar to last night.

"You like my hat?"

Gross hot carrot breath.

Silver strands hung over muscular shoulders as a confident voice tickled the woman's ear.

"I'll try some on for you, because it's you!" Stars danced in Miruko's eyes. Crimson orbs now enveloped in joy.

≛

The couple sat on a bench, both parties tired from a day of giggles and coy smiles. Hidden signs of affection between the two. A genuine laugh from the woman made Miruko’s ears twitch in excitement. It was the same feeling she experienced before; the hero’s stomach was in knots. A hot, tangled mess that stung.

Miruko watched as the reporter gingerly checked her emails. She demanded a detour to rest and get her bearings. Miruko peered over her shoulder, unaware of the anxiety that began to bubble in the woman’s throat. Like mucus stuck in her nose. Thick and suffocating.

The woman turned to her, lips tugged into a curt grin. Too formal, too polite.

“I was thinking,” she began; still enamored by work, “you promised me an interview. We can grab lunch and I can pick your brain.” Finally, I’ll get my story. The woman vibrated with elation. It was a buzz that warmed her down into her bones. Her dreams were within reach; so many opportunities.

Miruko’s calloused palm slid across the woman’s thighs, creeping along as if to memorize the supple flesh. The rabbit wanted to bury herself between them. Pillowy thighs that touched deserved to be worshipped.

She caressed the woman’s thigh as she spoke, “Don’t live too far from here… You like your coffee black?” The hero’s casual attitude left a horrible taste in her mouth. A bitter, rotten taste. Miruko’s hand was scorching against her thigh, a juxtaposition to her clammy skin.

“No, tea. I know… I know of a cafe not far from here.” Words were impossible again. Intangible things. The woman’s sentence was punctuated with a shrill chuckle, another sign of internal concern. A part of her dreaded being alone -- in a private space -- with the hero. Famished eyes still regarded her as prey. Oval cherries.

“Got tea, too. I think you’re just scared. I don’t bite!” Much, Miruko thought, playful lips stretched into a lop-sided grin. She was desperate to taste the woman, to spread her apart and worship. Miruko kneaded the doughly flesh underneath her, as she waited for a response.

Finally, the woman looked away; too ashamed to face the rabbit.

“O-okay.”

≛

Miruko’s apartment was unexpected. It was plain -- almost unbelievable to imagine a hero living here -- much less the number seventh hero. The only noteworthy addition were flowers, as if the room had exploded in a bomb of flora and perfume. They looked out of place with morning dew still fresh on vibrant petals. Was she anticipating this? Hints of flowers assaulted the woman’s nose; the smell was nauseating.

“I redecorated!” Miruko blurted out, a move uncharacteristic for the headstrong woman. She felt exposed like this. The object of her desires was so close -- and yet the rabbit had to be vulnerable. It wasn’t uncommon for Miruko to bring a woman home, but a sea of flowers wasn’t her normal. She was inexperienced in...  this. The hero’s heart began to tremble again, the sound booming, leaving her breathless.

The woman only nodded, as if aware of the lie. “Flowers are pretty, aren’t they? I suppose we can start with the first question; Miruko… you don’t have a scoop for me, d-do you?” Her voice faltered as the woman lost her conviction. Plush lips quivered, afraid of the answer.

Her lips look so soft. Without thinking, a tanned finger brushed against the woman’s lips. Miruko quickly withdrew her hand. A muted pink dusted her cheeks, like a child caught. The hero’s snowy ears burned with embarrassment.

“Do it again.”

“What?” Miruko asked, hungry eyes wide. Saliva pooled in her mouth. A predator drooling over wounded prey.

“D-do it a-again.” The woman’s tone was pleading, in need of attention.

My attention, Miruko thought as she swiped a thumb across delicate lips. The flesh reminded the rabbit of her thighs. A familiar heat began to pool in the bottom of her stomach. The rabbit inched closer; the woman’s chin cradled in her palm, thumb still caressing her lips like ritual. Touching the woman was electric. A shock that left Miruko in a daze of want.

Hot breath tickled the woman’s nose as Miruko spoke, “I’m going to kiss you.” Chapped lips collided against the woman. The kiss was forceful and hungry. A lion finally ravishing a meal. Miruko continued to lean into her, as if trying to establish dominance. Gentle hands rested against the rabbit’s toned chest. Miruko tasted like carrots and mint. An obvious attempt to hide the vegetable. The weight of Miruko caused the woman to stumble, and the pair landed awkwardly on the carpeted floor. Miruko landed on top of the woman, hard muscles pressed against delicate flesh.

“Sorry, kit. Guess I got a little too excited. Are you okay?” Miruko’s tone was laced with worry. The genuine concern was new to the woman. Humanizing. Patches of red decorated the woman’s cheeks and her heart pounded against her ribcage like a drum. The sound was deafening.

Red orbs watched with interest and long strands of silver hair settled across small shoulders. Her hair tickled. The woman tried to stifle a chuckle and nodded, even now her soft frame was dwarfed by the hero.

Abruptly, Miruko kissed her again, grinding wide hips into the woman. The rabbit’s hands transversed the woman’s body, starving for her touch. Calloused palms cupped large breasts and massaged. Miruko’s touch wasn’t gentle like a lover’s, but rough and greedy. An involuntary moan slipped from the woman, who was now unable to keep composure. The hero took advantage; seeing the moment of weakness as an opportunity, and jammed a wet tongue into her mouth. Miruko’s hot tongue explored the damp chasm. She wanted to commit every part of the woman to memory.

The rabbit pulled away, the act only to allow her companion fresh air. Lungs gasped for air. Hungry and starved. Before she could force in another lungful, Miruko pressed further against her, and roughly grabbed tiny wrists. The woman was puzzled by the action until she felt the warm presence of Miruko’s finger hooked around her waistband. Miruko licked her lips in anticipation as drool threatened to leak out.

Crimson orbs locked onto the woman, as if to ask permission.

“Please,” she begged. Her voice was small and quiet. Too ashamed to admit the burning ache that settled into her core. The need for Miruko hurt. The woman was racked with impatience. She wanted needed the hero’s greedy fingers in between her.

A thunderous laugh vibrated from Miruko as she discarded the woman's undergarments. “You’re so cute. Submissive and begging for Miruko the hero.” The rabbit shoved a thick finger in between large thighs -- thighs Miruko wanted to dig into. Miruko’s finger curled inside the woman’s craving, wet core. Vicious teeth were bared in a smirk; she could just eat the woman. Devore her whole. On instinct, Miruko’s mouth latched onto the woman’s neck. Her pulse was rapid against the hero’s tongue as Miruko began to suck upon the supple flesh. Erotic sounds of pleasure escaped the woman. Her face was flustered and on fire, a sweltering heat that ravaged her.

Determined fingers pumped into the woman’s slickness. She lifted her hips into Miruko, franic for the hero. Her stomach twisted as shivers shot through her spine.

“Tell Mirko the hero how needy you are. Beg for me.”

"U-Usagi --"

"Miruko," the hero corrected, her sentence punctuated by a second finger. The sudden intruder caused the woman to gasp. Such a cute noise! Miruko curled the second finger and pumped both digits in rhythm. The woman continued to lift her hips, greedy for Miruko's touch.

A low whimper drifted from the woman, "Mi-Miruko, please, please, please … Kiss me. Claim me." She shrunk under the rabbit's gaze. The heat across her cheeks felt permanent. The woman quickly turned away, too embarrassed to allow Miruko a peek.

Miruko grabbed her hips and shoved the soaking woman against her. A small puddle began to pool against the rabbit's shorts. The woman -- too enthralled by Miruko's fingers -- was blissfully unaware of her mess. Delicate wrists were released as sturdy hands palmed the wet spot.

"Look at what you did, kit," Miruko said, placing the woman's hand against the puddle. Gentle orbs locked onto the mess; her cheeks now a vibrant red. Like poppies on her cheeks. She quickly withdrew her hand; as if the puddle was fire.

The woman's voice was muffled and hushed. "I’m s-sorry…” she mumbled, her face hidden by trembling hands. Embarrassment was segmented back into her reality; the woman left too conscious of Miruko’s gaze. It was uncommon for strangers to see the woman so… exposed. Even past lovers weren’t afforded the treat.

“You’re just leaking for me. So fucking wet for Miruko.” She wiped a finger across the mess and used another hand to free the woman’s sight. “I want you to watch.” Miruko’s sentence was entwined with lust. An insatiable need. The rabbit brought her juice stained finger to her mouth and sucked, cannibalistic red eyes locked on the woman. Her pink tongue swirled around the digit. A line of saliva connected the rabbit’s finger as she slowly dragged the apendenge from her mouth. After teasing the woman, Miruko shoved the spit covered digit into the woman. Her cunt now ached with three thick fingers. It felt like too much; her core stretched around Miruko.

The hero didn’t continue to finger fuck the woman. Like a predator playing with injured prey. Enjoying her meal.

Pleading eyes bore into Miruko as she pulled her soaked fingers from the woman. Lips held a dirty smirk. “Rub your clit against my thighs, mommy wants to feel your cunt.” The woman winced at the word. It sounded so dirty, so inappropriate… and yet she shivered at the hero’s words. Desperate for relief, desperate for stimulation; the woman began to rub her slickness against the hero’s exposed thigh. Her face almost sizzled with a crimson blush. She felt the heat up to her ears. Molten lava.

The woman was unable to face Miruko’s starving eyes. Cherries that wanted to rip and tear into her. Muffled sobs racked the woman; the sensations of embarrassment and pleasure blended together in a blur of pathetic arousal. Her body betrayed her as she grinded harder into Miruko’s thigh, the stimulation proving not enough for her swollen clit. The woman could feel the hot blood that pulsed through her core.

“Mi-Miruko, f-fuck me,” she begged.

“Look at you, kit, using such dirty words. You call this begging? This is pathetic. Tell Miruko how much of a slut you are.” Her tone was aggressive, as if the woman’s pathetic nature was an offense.

She swallowed, her mouth devoid of spit as she sobbed, “Please, Miruko! I’m such a slut; I need your fingers! Please, please, please.” The woman’s sentence was chanted, almost like a mantra. A perverted prayer.

Sharp teeth clashed against the woman’s ear. “Sit on my face. Wanna fuckin’ drown in you.” Miruko’s voice was no higher than a whisper. Like a secret between friends. Without hesitation, the woman nodded and stood up as Miruko positioned herself between pillowy thighs. The rabbit’s mouth salivated in anticipation. I’m going to fucking devour you.

The woman slowly lowered herself onto the hero, afraid of injuring her. She wasn’t small and fit like Miruko. She was big and jiggly. Like jello. A body Miruko wanted to grab fistfulls of as she fucked her into a mattress; letting the woman know how beautiful she was. Her aching, wet cunt finally made contact with Miruko’s pink tongue. Sandwiched between gigantic thighs, Miruko began to run her tongue down the woman’s folds. The woman released a lustful moan. She clamped a hand to her shy mouth as Miruko’s tongue slipped into her. She yelped at the sudden action. Miruko snickered underneath the woman, her sounds were like calls from heaven. Honey that coated her ears in a thick sweetness.

She worked at the woman’s mound, only encouraged by her lewd sounds. The woman could no longer muffle her moans; her body stuck in a sea of shivers. Her tongue -- her tongue felt so fucking good. Wide hips grinded into Miruko, hungry to have her tongue deeper within. Two thick fingers plunged into her hole, replacing Miruko’s tongue. The rabbit’s digits slapped into the woman’s drenched thighs. Her tongue wandered up to a swollen, red clit. She took the bud into her mouth and swirled the blood filled nub.

“F-fuck…” A long moan punctuated her sentence as Miruko began to suck on her clit; her fingers scissoring within her, stretching her. The woman’s greedy walls contracted around Miruko. The woman’s large chest heaved as breathing seemed impossible. Hot, short breaths mixed with wails of ecstasy. Miruko continued to suck on the woman’s clit, treating her puffy nub like a treat. Her tanned face now slick with the woman’s juices. The room was filled with the sloppy sounds of the woman’s cunt and her moans. Miruko’s ears couldn’t help but rapidly twitch, the rabbit almost too excited.

“Stop… stop, I’ll cum!” The woman whined, her voice lecherous and heavy. Like a fog. Her confirmation caused Miruko’s fingers to ramp up in speed, fingers now curled inside. An audible pop sounded as Miruko released the woman’s puffy nub. The rabbit’s sharp teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. She alternated between sucking and nibbling the woman’s clit. The woman felt an uncomfortable tremble crawl through her stomach, settling at the bottom. Her body begged for release.

A string of profanities erupted from the woman as she came, juices squirting down Miruko’s chin. The hero licked her lips, still hungry. With her moment of bliss gone, and her body weak, the woman gingerly stood up. Her ears and face were a bright pink; like cotton candy.

Miruko gazed at the woman, a lop-sided smirk ghosting her face. “You got me drenched in your pussy. C’here and clean it up, kit.”

[dust2dust34]

maaaaaaan bre it's been years and I've read it like 8 times already but Wanna Be Yours is Still. So. Good !!!!!

Thank you so much, beautiful anon! I am so happy to hear this!! Re-reading is the highest compliment I could as for as a writer. Also, I just really love that fic so much. It’s everything I love about Olicity. There’s a touch of angst, and it’s all because of what they assume, and we get Smitten!Oliver (my favorite Oliver), and they’re just so soft when they admit their feelings.

Guh. 

Can I share my favorite part with you? It’s in Chapter 5 when they’re being all cute in the kitchen: 

“You wanna help me cut these up and then we’ll go outside?”

“Before my stomach eats us both?” Felicity asked. His stomach gurgled next and she laughed. “Or each other.”

“Eating each other,” Oliver mused. “I was just fine with what I was eating upstairs.”

Felicity’s eyes widened for a very different reason this time and she smacked his arm. He grinned, shooting her a wink before she moved to the sink to wash her hands.

That was mistake number one. Well, no, actually his bringing up how his face had been buried between her legs just a few minutes ago was the first mistake. The second mistake was he didn’t look away when she sauntered over to the sink, so he caught every single bit of her shapely legs where they were encased in the thin black pants, as well as the hint of skin at her back when she leaned over for the soap. It occurred to him that he hadn’t spent nearly enough time worshiping the damn fine shape that was her ass. God, she had to have been working out since the last time he saw her, or maybe it was the pants? Either way, that needed to be rectified.

He should probably clean his hands again.

Yeah. For health reasons.

Just as Felicity turned on the water and started soaping up her fingers, Oliver stepped up behind her and reached around, covering her hands. She made a startled little noise before letting out a tiny little laugh when his fingers laced with hers, getting just as soapy.

The sound morphed into a gasp when he pressed the length of his body against her backside.

It was bold and a little dangerous considering how close to the edge they’d been upstairs, but Oliver didn’t care, and neither did she. A burst of euphoria hit his chest that he was able to do this at all as he pushed her into the counter, dipping down to rub the bulge in his jeans right against her ass. The joy mixed with the pleasure, making him feel faint in a way that had him gripping her hands for strength. She held him back just as tight and he nuzzled his way through her hair until he reached her neck. Her head fell to the side, and he took complete advantage of it, his tongue darting out to taste her.

She rotated her ass right against him, and he was so fucking sensitive that he shuddered, his eyes fluttering shut with a moan.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

Common sense flew right out the window a second later, though, as she whispered his name, her fingers tightening around his as she moved to grip the edge of the sink. Using it as leverage, she lifted herself up, rubbing against him.

Stars exploded against his lids, the combination of her soft ass and the tough denim against his painfully hard dick sending spiking pleasure straight through him.

Oliver hissed out a series of unintelligible curses and he dug his face into her throat, dragging his face up her jaw, his cheek brushing against hers.

“We should…” she started, her voice strained, fading, the opposite of convincing.

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, his breath sending spare strands of her hair brushing against his lips.

They should stop, but for a second he had absolutely no intention of doing that. No, his mind was already jumping ahead a couple of spaces, running through all the various places on the main floor he could pull her into and ravage her. It didn’t occur to him that they still didn’t have a condom, or that people were waiting for them outside, or that they had things to do. He just didn’t care. All he cared about was the woman in his arms, that she was here, with him, and that his feelings for her combining with the lust racing through his veins was exhilarating.

But he should stop. Because he didn’t want to do that to her, he reminded himself. The sappy side that she’d just teased him about wanted to make it as special and perfect as possible, preferably in his bed and with protection so he didn’t give himself a goddamn heart attack afterwards wondering if he’d pulled out soon enough.

Oliver suddenly stopped moving, pinning her to the counter. She whimpered her displeasure, just as caught up as he was - and god, that alone had him positively fucking floating - but she didn’t move either. At least not the way he thought she would.

Felicity let his hands go and spun in his arms, looking up at him from under heavy lids. It was too close to a come hither look and he groaned, falling against her, his lips slanting over hers. Her soapy hands landed on his chest, curling in his t-shirt as he grabbed her hips with equally soapy fingers, pulling her close.

He was so damn insatiable for her. She burned through him, scorching through his veins, setting him on fire in a way that he’d never felt before. That was addicting. That made him want more… and more she gave him. Felicity kissed him back with equal ardor, using his shirt to tug him down to her height. She moaned, just loud enough for him to hear, and it sent him into overdrive, notching up the need between them to blinding levels.

Neither of them heard the balcony door opening, or the sudden buzz of conversation outside, or the sound of someone’s exasperated sigh.

“Oh my god,” Tommy said, and that was loud enough to pierce the bubble they were caught in. They broke apart with heavy pants, Oliver jerking away from her like he’d just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tommy was trying his hardest to keep from smiling as he pointed at them. “I’m separating you two. You guys are not allowed to be in the same room without supervision, you obviously can’t be trusted.” The words hung in the air between all three of them, right before Tommy burst out laughing. It was a loud boisterous noise that had both Oliver and Felicity chuckling with him. “Hell has frozen over,” Tommy declared. “I’m cockblocking my best friend in the worst way possible. I’d be sorry, except I’m starving, so at the same time…”

“Right,” Oliver said, nodding. He moved to scrub his face, but his hands were still soapy.

“And you, Ms. Smoak,” Tommy said, walking around the counter towards Oliver’s girlfriend, “are coming with me. Well, if you want it done right, at least.”

Does anyone else have any favorites?

[atypicalacademic]

The Lilac Hour

(A/N: Tl;dr: Haider’s Wazim’s parents are precious, and I had to share a snippet from their courtship.)

Words: 1147

Warnings: None.

Thasveer Wazim’s family are renowned wandering poets and bards hailing from the Fennekh desert. Unfortunately, this is not a talent that he shares.

Fortunately, Zainaba’s more than perfectly fine with that.

*

“Any moment now.” Rolling up his neatly inked calligraphy practice and offering it to a servant, Asghar winked at his daughter. Zainaba ignored him, turning pointedly to her cloth-bound book to scratch out a few figures, and write them again in her looping, slanted script. “It’s almost sundown.” Her father sing-songed.

“Astute, Baba.” She retorted dryly.

Asghar laughed, cradling his chin in his hands, elbow propped up on his teakwood study table. He took a long sip from the cup of black tea beside him, still regarding Zainaba with a mischievous gleam in his brown eyes. “I only think it’s curious, darling.” He said lightly. “I thought you liked to time your more elaborate experiments in the morning.”

Looking anywhere but at him, Zainaba shrugged. “Ingredient prep.” She tried. “Takes time.”

“I see.” Asghar stood up and stretched, stepping into his wooden sandals. “Nothing to do with certain Fennekhi-“

“Baba!” She yelped, bringing her finger to her lips. “Your voice carries!”

“Okay!” Her father dropped his tone to a theatrical whisper. “So it does have something to do with him.”

Zainaba rolled her eyes, and, marking her page with a strip of silk ribbon sewn into the spine,  snapped her book shut.

“He’s a far better calligrapher than he is a poet,” Asghar mused, carefully putting his brushes away. “But you’ve got to admit that Veer’s sweet.”

“It’d be a lot more charming-” Zainaba capped her ink bottle decisively, rising from her perch on her own wooden bench, “if he’d just-“ Realizing her mistake by the way her father was beaming at her, she bit her lip.

“Zainu-“ Asghar’s eyes were sparkling with delight.

“I’ve got to get to work.” She choked out. Before her father could say another word, she ducked her head, tucking her book her under her arm, and scrambled out of the study.

Zainaba tiptoed past the living room, so as to not wake her mother, who was fast asleep on the divan with a book clutched to her chest. When she parted the beaded curtains and stepped into the kitchen, her maid, Karthika, waved her over from where she was standing sentinel by the stove.

“No trouble?” Zainaba asked her, lifting her white headscarf from where it had fallen to her shoulders, and stepping closer to peer into the pot bubbling on the stove. The brew was a shining, rich shade of lilac, it’s berry scent wafting up in glittery smoke. “None at all, Zainu-di.” Karthika stood by her, clasping her hands eagerly.

Anxiously, Zainaba scooped up a ladleful of it, narrowing her eyes to scan for any grain of unevenness. None. Even better, a rich glow surrounded it, glinting gold at the rim of the ladle.

Magic.

Zainaba nodded to her maid, bouncing on her heels as she flipped a drop of the brew to her open palm to taste it. Tart, luxuriant, and softened by a touch of honey. She puffed up, grinning proudly, and opened her book to tick at the recipe with a small piece of charcoal.

She was reaching up on her tiptoes to open the floral-painted, overhead wooden cabinets to pick out a lidded jar, when she heard it.

“Make haste-“

She startled, nearly dropping the jar.

“Like a kite cut loose, my heart takes flight-“

Beside her, Karthika burst into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth.

The lines were in clumsy, inexperienced Prakran, long-drawn where it should be shortened and cut short where it should be sustained, weighed down by his heavy, native Fennekhi accent. There was no mistaking the source of them, either. From the same spot, on the terrace right over the kitchen, timed exactly as the sun went down, as it had been for the past two weeks.

“It just gets worse-“ Karthika whispered.

“I run over, a river without a course-“

“What the hell?” Zainaba tried to school her face into an expression of displeasure, but found that she couldn’t hold it. So she pressed her burning cheek to her shoulder, trying to hide the flush reddening her brown skin, and her smile, in the folds of her headscarf.

“You are the ocean that awaits.”

She let out a breath.

“For a fortnight more, shall I lie in wait?”

Alright.

This was getting ridiculous.

Zainaba set the jar down, slowly, carefully, on the counter, and thrust her book at Karthika, who took it with a knowing smile.

“Be right back.” She told her, not waiting for answer as she swung out of the kitchen through the back-door. For good measure, she threw a glance at herself in the glass fixed over the door. She wiped a drop of lilac brew from over the beauty mark on her chin, and a smear of kohl from the corners of her golden-brown eyes. 

Smoothing down the creases in her light brown, full-sleeved kameez and her white, cotton salwar, she adjusted her headscarf, and climbed up the narrow wooden stairs leading up to the terrace.

Zainaba’s heart was in her throat by the time she stepped off the last stair, something nervous and excited turning her stomach ever so slightly.

It didn’t take her long to find him.

“If only I could-oh”

Thasveer Wazim’s hands fell by his side, his dark skin tinting instantly with a furious blush. The rosy twilight caught upon the many copper bangles on his wide wrists, and the beads securing his long, dark braid. Mahogany eyes, wide as a doe’s and just as startled, landed upon Zainaba for a moment. Then, he swallowed, backing a step away, swaying back and forth and playing with the pale blue fabric of his kaftan.

For a moment, Zainaba just stood there, caught breathless, blushing deeper when she met his eyes, and yet, unable to look away.

Her fingers finding purchase again in the folds of her headscarf, she cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “Wazim.” She said simply, taking a step closer.

He looked mortified, nervously scratching behind his neck as he attempted a smile. “Uh- Zainaba, I didn’t see you-“

Zainaba raised a dark eyebrow, folding her arms, her lips twitching around a laugh. “Really?”

“Um.” He spread his arms helplessly, even as his eyes roamed over her face as though he couldn’t help it.

Now she really did laugh, covering her mouth with the hem of her headscarf.

At that, Wazim smiled back, wide and sweet and sheepish, dimples deepening on either side of it.

“You’ve got something to tell me.” Tentatively, Zainaba took another step forward.

Swallowing again, Wazim nodded.

Zainaba’s breath stuttered, but she powered through it, though her mock-consternation gave way to another, giddy smile. “Say it, then." They were face to face now, and the evening breeze, and his proximity, raised goosebumps over her palms and wrists. “Say it to my face."

[everaltair]

characters + instagram posts  → ever altair

[chelsfic]

Pawn to a Queen - Dracula/Agatha Oneshot - Dracula 2020 fanfic

A/N: This is my love note to Dracula/Agatha. I adore this ship.

Rating: Mature/slightly explicit? It’s pretty tame by my standards, but it does end with the scene from the end of The Dark Compass.

Summary: Agatha’s spirit lives on in the place where Dracula keeps all of his victims. She keeps him company during the long years of sleep beneath the ocean’s surface. A deeper look at Agatha’s experience of what I lovingly refer to as “Dracula’s Blood Palace.” 

***

“When did I lose so many pieces? I was winning…”

“No, you’ve been losing from the start.”

Agatha. Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, unflappable Agatha. She feels a fog of confusion dulling her senses and slowing her thoughts. Finding words to respond to her leering, arrogant opponent is like swimming through molasses. Her tongue is heavy, her reflexes slow, a shiver crawls up her spine. Her eyes dance over the chess board but the pieces blur together, indistinguishable. 

The Count sits back in his chair, cradling the goblet of hot, thick nectar in his hands and regarding Agatha with a look of mingled affection and amusement. How he loves to watch his pets work it all out. It’s adorable, seeing their little human minds fit the puzzle pieces together. Agatha, though, is his finest conquest. So much intelligence, passion, wit, humor. She really is a delicacy and he’s so pleased he hasn’t rushed her. But time is almost up. All good things must end.

He guides her gently towards the realization. Answering her stammered questions and watching as she paces, hands trembling and eyes alight in suspicion and fear. 

“Are you drinking my blood?”

She’s worked herself up to the question, knowing the answer but still fearing to hear it spoken aloud. Poor Agatha. She spent her entire life searching for her God, crying out in prayer for intellectual proof of His existence. And now just as she’s found Him she’s torn away by a demon. Trapped in the beast’s domain and given a cruel mockery of the eternal life she was promised by the Church. It’s enough to make one weep. Or laugh.

Dracula can’t help himself, he stands up and stalks forward invading her personal space, looming over her and mocking her. He draws a finger dripping with her blood to his lips and sucks the sweet essence before her horrified eyes.

***

He comes back gradually to himself, perched over the nun’s weak body and lovingly lapping the spilled blood from her neck. Oh, Agatha, he muses nuzzling her pale cheek. If things were different I’d make you my bride. And how magnificent you’d be.

He hears footsteps and voices coming from below deck. Time for a show.

***

Dracula doesn’t feel the cold. He watches the flickering light of the burning ship as his body is swallowed up by the frigid waters. He turns his head and catches sight of a dark shape sinking below him. The last box of Transylvanian earth. His salvation. He moves through the water and reaches the box just as it hits the ocean floor creating a cloud of sand. As he opens the lid he feels a shiver on the back of his neck and looks up instinctively. She’s gorgeous. Dark tresses floating around her head like a halo, her face serene in peaceful sleep. Agatha’s body takes longer to sink to the bottom and he knows that the tide and the natural process of decay will not leave her undisturbed for long. Still, he likes that she will rest here beneath the waters with him. He watches her body settle into the sand beside the box. He does regret that there hadn’t been time to work on her, to make her like him. But, after all, death is not a parting for Dracula and his victims. He’ll be seeing her again soon.

He takes one last look at Agatha’s face, peaceful in death as he lowers himself into the box and moves to close the lid. His lips quirk in a smile as he goes to his rest.

Check mate, sweet Agatha.

***

There’s a fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth. The room is cozy, lined with shelves full of books in more languages than Agatha has dreamed of. She doesn’t remember how she got here. This should trouble her but she finds it doesn’t. She walks along the walls of overflowing shelves, running her fingertips along the spines and finally choosing a volume to take with her to the plush chair before the fire. She settles into the seat with her feet propped up on a low ottoman and the book nestled in her lap. There are two chairs placed in front of the hearth. Agatha looks over at the empty seat with furrowed brows, her mind grasping for a name, something she’s forgotten. At the sound of his voice everything comes rushing back and her spine straightens in alarm.

“Hello, Agatha,” Dracula’s voice lilts in a singsong tone as he enters the room from some unseen door and takes the other seat by the fire. “This is rather nice, isn’t it? To finally rest?”

She remembers everything. How Dracula attempted to frame her for the murders he’d committed. The desperate attempts to protect the remaining crew and passengers from him. Feeling at the last that she’d finally beat him. But no. She tastes the sour tang of failure and a miserable frown fills her face.

“You’ve killed me,” she states, struggling to sound matter-of-fact but hearing the tremor in her own voice that betrays her emotion.

Dracula shrugs his shoulders and steeples his clawed hands before his face, regarding her with a gimlet stare.

“It would appear so,” he sighs and then smiles at the memory, “And what a pretty corpse you made, Agatha, let me tell you.”

“Spare me,” she hisses with iron beneath her brittle voice. She stares into the fire for a long moment, thoughts spinning incoherently in her head. Or...or is it Count Dracula’s head? Does Agatha still exist as her own being or does every part of her belong to him now? 

“Why?” she asks, panicked desperation in her voice. “Why am I still here?”

Dracula quirks his head and regards her with a pitying look.

“It’s not so bad here, is it, Agatha? I’ve tried to make it pleasant for you,” he gestures at the room around them. “You have every book I’ve ever read. And look, behind you you’ll find a workshop where you can continue your studies.”

Agatha swivels to look over her shoulder and, indeed, where before there had been a solid wall of books now there is a little alcove with a workbench, notebooks, beakers, Bunsen burners and racks of specimen jars. She turns back to him, her expression stony. She will not allow him to feel as though he is being somehow magnanimous by giving her a pleasant prison.

She whispers her next words with fury, “And this is where my soul is to reside? Not with my Lord but with my murderer?”

Dracula furrows his brows in a mockery of sympathy, “I did tell you, Agatha, that I would carry you in my veins into the new world. Did I not? You’ll live with me, be a part of me, forever. But it needn’t be a torture for you.”

Agatha takes a long, shaky breath. She's determined not to show him the depth of her despair at those words.

“Why? Why have you made this place for me? Why care for my comfort?”

“Surely, after all we’ve been through... You didn’t think I’d let you suffer, Agatha?”

***

How long has she been here? There’s no way of measuring time in this place. It seems to act differently here than it did in the mortal realm. Agatha might choose a book to read, sit down for a moment in the warmth of the fire, and then rise later having finished the book with no memory of the time passing. On other occasions it feels as though she spends days at a time pacing the room in tight circles. Dracula responds to these bouts of anxiety and restlessness from her. He always appears shortly after her despair takes hold. She came to terms long ago with the fact that his presence has become a comfort to her. 

“Agatha, darling,” he whispers, grasping her shoulders in his strong hands and arresting her momentum in mid-stride. She’s in the midst of a nervous episode. He frowns down at her and rubs his palms along her upper arms. He’s found that his touch, his voice, offers comfort to her in these times. For all he delights in possessing her soul, he doesn’t wish for her to be restless, disturbed in this manner. “What’s bothering my brilliant Agatha today?”

“How long? Count Dracula, how long have I been here?” she straightens her spine and meets his eyes with the fiery bravery that first drew him to her.

He guides her to the armchairs with a hand on the small of her back and they take their usual seats before the fire. 

“What does it matter, darling?” he argues. “Counting the hours of an eternal life will only lead you to despair.”

Agatha ignores his pleading tone and carries on, “I wish to know how long it has been since my death. Excuse me, since my murder.”

Dracula rolls his eyes at her, “A little dramatic, don’t you think? Aren’t we friends now, finally?”

Agatha knows he has a point. They’ve shared hours of contented silence seated before the fire, days of deep conversation discussing the books she’s read. Dracula has held her as she sobbed in despair and he’s made her laugh telling the story of his life in the dry, sardonic tone that perfectly matches her sense of humor. There are days at a time when she can forget who he is, what he is. Not today.

“I wish to know,” she replies simply.

Dracula sighs and rubs a hand over his brow, “I’m...not sure.”

“What do you mean you are not sure?”

Dracula holds her gaze for a long moment. His dark eyes gleam unnaturally in the firelight, orbs of silver like a wolf’s eyes shining in the dark forest. A predator’s eyes.

“I’ve been...asleep,” he finally answers.

“What?”

“When I leave this place and return to my body I can feel the water on my skin, the packed earth beneath my back. I am still underwater, Agatha. Resting in the place you felled me.”

She feels a flash of victory but it’s short-lived.

“But...you live, still,” she states.

Dracula smiles wickedly, “Oh yes, darling. And I will walk again. It’s only a matter of...time.”

***

She feels the difference right away although she doesn’t understand the significance at first. Before, even when his form wasn’t present in the room with her, she could still feel his spirit very close by. When Dracula comes awake once more into his physical body, his presence, his spirit, feels more remote to Agatha. There’s still a connection between them but it's stretched over a greater distance. 

It’s time to return to work. She enters the workshop and begins pouring over her old notebooks, cross referencing every fact, every legend, every story about Count Dracula and his powers. As she works she feels echoes of his thoughts and emotions sweep over her. The frenzied lust that signals his first feeding in a century, the sense of wonder he feels at the new age in which he’s found himself, the calculation of a master predator and manipulator. 

He returns to her when he sleeps. He lays his body down on the sensual silk sheets of his new bed, protected from the sun’s burning rays in the stark, modern apartment that Renfield assisted him in obtaining. He closes his eyes and seeks her out. Agatha.

He finds her tinkering in her laboratory, more animated and determined than he’s seen her in ages. 

“What are you up to, dear?” he murmurs as he saunters into the room with more of the predator in his step than she’s seen in a long time.

“What does it look like, Count Dracula? I’m working, once more, to foil your evil schemes.”

Dracula’s eyes light in amusement at her words and he leans over to peer down at the notebooks over her shoulder, “Charming. I’m glad to see you’re so lively. I wonder if the blood feeds you as well….?”

Agatha cringes at the thought and steps away from him, snapping the notebook shut and hugging it to her chest.

“Not for long I hope. I’ve been dead and trapped in this purgatory long enough. I’m ready to sleep. You’ve fed from one of my descendants. I can feel her, taste her just as you have. And I can help her stop you once and for all.”

Dracula takes a playful step backward as if her words have physically struck him, “Well, by all means, Agatha I wouldn’t have it any other way. My darling antagonist.”

She narrows her eyes at him and turns back to her work.

***

When the answer comes it is divine in its simplicity. She hears it as a voice inside of her, the voice of God speaking the words, He fears only death.

He lives eternally in shame. A warrior whose father, brothers, and countrymen all gave their lives on the glorious battlefield. But he is too cowardly, too terrified by the hereafter to release his stranglehold on life. So he feeds on the lives of others, stealing their souls so that he may cling to life.

She watches through dear Zoe’s eyes as Count Dracula flinches from the sunlight blazing in through the ostentatious window of his apartment. She sees the moment he realizes that the light cannot hurt him. Watches the existential confusion settle on his face. Pain wracks her form, but she forces this body to stand upright. She has sent Zoe away, giving her this last gift of taking her pain and suffering away and enduring it for her. Dracula’s gaze shifts to her as her breath wavers in just the smallest indication of the overwhelming physical struggle.

“You’re in pain,” he states, his voice laced with concern and she recalls the years they spent together in the liminal space of his psyche. His arms around her, soothing her in her despair. They are adversaries, yes. But partners in the end, it seems.

She gathers her self-control and responds, “I am equal to it.”

Agatha nearly weeps when Count Dracula finally steps into the light, allowing himself to bathe in the warmth he’s been denied for more than five hundred years. His face goes slack in wonder and she sees a glimpse of the boy he might once have been. It’s a beautiful sight for her last, she thinks as she collapses into the leather chair.

If she dies in this body, will she finally be at peace? Will she finally return to the kingdom of her Lord?

Orange light glows on the backs of her eyelids. Agatha opens her eyes to a world of pulsing, molten light. Flames lick at her skin but do not burn. Dracula is with her and instead of feeling repulsed or betrayed she feels a soaring joy that they are together at the end. He holds her in his arms, laying fierce kisses to her naked skin and rocking against her in an ancient, primal dance that she’d forsaken in life. She arches against him, returning his kisses, his touches. She thinks if she’d known it could be like this she might not have followed the path of a nun.

“This isn’t real,” she murmurs against his lips. It’s a dream. He’s drinking my blood. But that would mean...

“After all this time... did you think I’d let it hurt?”

His hushed words ring between them, vibrating along the bond they share and touching a place deep inside Agatha. She feels his care, his love. Indeed, after all this time, the monster...the man is capable of love.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she whispers, their motions are slowing and she feels both of them beginning to fade into the flames.

“Yes,” he answers in a shaky breath. “Will you hold my hand?”

“Of course,” she responds. She takes his hand in hers and they walk away together.

The End

Dracula Tag list:

@charlesdances​

**Note to folks on the tag list for Inherited. I didn’t automatically assume you’d also want to be included on this one. If you want me to tag you in all future Drac fics I’ll try to be organized enough to maintain two lists.

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

‘All that’s best of dark and bright’ - a Draco x Hermione x Theo story

Summary:

Hermione returns to Hogwarts for her 'eighth' year without Harry and Ron, with the horrors of the war still fresh in her mind, but determined to start anew. Malfoy seems subdued, altered by the events of the past year or so, though he's not without his acerbic tongue. Assigned Theodore Nott as her patrol partner for their prefect duties, she finally has the time to get to know the two Slytherins, and discovers that there's a whole lot more to them than the prejudice of their past and the snake on their house badge.

Slow-burn Draco x Theo x Hermione, endgame happy trio with lots of fluff and smut. Title taken from 'She walks in beauty' by Byron. Also posted to my Ao3.

___

Chapter One - A fresh start

She didn't mean to flinch.  

“Granger,” Malfoy said curtly as he sat down beside her in their first Advanced Arithmancy Studies of the new term. His usual sneer and bravado were somewhat lacklustre though, like the colours of a tapestry bleached and robbed of their vibrancy by the power of the sun.  

Still, she really didn’t mean to flinch. After all, she’d seen him once or twice since that last battle - the now infamous ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ - so it shouldn’t have been so jarring to see him back in his ordinary school robes, with an ordinary Slytherin tie on and an ordinary white school shirt; a quill in his hand instead of a wand brandished…  

But it really was jarring.  

He was a young man in a schoolboy’s uniform and it was frankly ridiculous. It felt somehow like they were trying to pretend as if nothing had happened; like there weren’t huge gaping holes in friendship groups and families, even if the masonry of Hogwarts castle had been restored almost without blemish. The word gouged into her left arm burned dully beneath her blouse. It was ridiculous to pretend; none of them would ever forget what they’d endured in the past two years.  

Malfoy looked older than he should have done at eighteen, and there was something serious, even dolorous, about the set of his brows and his hard, grey eyes. She’d grown so used to seeing him stalking around the halls and corridors of Hogwarts like a spectre; dressed from head to toe in severe black, accentuating the white-blond of his hair and rendering the silver of his eyes colder, the shadows beneath them deeper. His once gold-tinged blond hair had faded to completely, starry white now, and it even had a slight wave to it, which actually went some way towards softening him a little around the edges. He’d apparently realised that an overabundance of hair oil did nothing to ease the slimy impression he gave, and she surprised herself as she snuck a quick glance at him in the classroom to find that she thought the softer look rather suited him.

What little colour there had been in him to begin with, though, had faded to ink and paper monochrome. 

Now, as Malfoy turned away from her to glare at the front of the classroom and slouch across the desk, resting his sharp chin in a graceful, long-fingered hand, she shot another sidelong look at him and weighed him anew.  

The last time she’d seen him before the start of school had been at his trial. He’d looked truly awful then - worse even than in that dreadful pause during the battle, that holding of breath before the final screams began, when they’d all believed Harry dead and Voldemort victorious. Malfoy had looked like a standing corpse in the empty embrace of Voldemort.  

Gaunt and haunted in the Ministry courtroom docks, it was obvious that he’d been held in the cells in Azkaban for nearly a month before being brought to London. He’d turned eighteen in those cells, no doubt alone. That particular thought made her chest ache. No one deserved to come of age in utter isolation in Azkaban; and certainly not Malfoy of all people. He’d saved their lives in the end, and she’d testified to that in person. He’d refused to identify Harry at the Manor, even though it had been painfully obvious to anyone who’d seen Harry even once who he was, and he’d surrendered his wand to Harry after their brief skirmish. The protest he’d put up had been so farcically thin, it was a miracle that no one had seen right through it. Even in the midst of chaos, he’d done what he could to make it right. The Ministry had said she could make a written statement for them to read out, but Gryffindors didn’t flinch away from difficult situations, and so she’d spoken her testimony aloud in front of everyone.  

Malfoy had stared at her the whole time with those lifeless, ice-grey eyes. His gaunt face was a porcelain mask behind the rune-inlaid bars of the magic-resistant cage which they’d locked him in like an animal while his mother had wept and Hermione had been cross-examined almost to tears herself. They’d made her feel like she was the one in the dock for daring to state the truth about how he and his mother had saved them all. Then again, to have a mudblood defend a family like the Malfoys might have been one stretch too far for most.  

He’d clawed back a bit of weight again in the months before school started up again, but he was still on the leaner side of slim. He still had dark shadows under his eyes too, and the lids looked heavy and almost bruised. His profile, as she now saw it in the classroom, was all sharp angles and hard plains. His jaw was set and a tendon in his neck jutted like a guy-rope, pulled taut and thrumming with the ever-present tension in his body. It seemed to be the only thing holding him together. Even his shoulders were hunched and solid. He looked caught between expecting a blow to the back of the head and being half a second away from drawing his wand. In short, he still looked terrible.  

She stared too long.  

“Waiting for me to bare my arm and cast the Dark Mark above the castle, Granger?” he sneered sidelong at her under his breath. “I think I’ll have to disappoint you.” She thought she heard him mutter something else under his breath, but she didn’t catch it.

Closing her eyes briefly, she looked away without responding. He was just lashing out and she wasn’t going to rise to it. A seventh year in the row in front had gasped at his words, and began a hushed and scandalised whispering with her neighbour, but Hermione remained silent, staring unseeing at her open textbook. No one really knew what it had been like for any of them - the ones at the core of it all - regardless of the side they’d been on.  

What had McGonagall said in her welcome speech in the Great Hall the night before? “Hogwarts is entering a new age of openness and tolerance, of compassion and companionship, where walls must be torn down and old grudges laid to rest if we are to heal and move forward as a whole - as a unified community -  in both school and society at large.” She wasn’t wrong. If Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy could sit side by side in a classroom without disrupting the space-time continuum, there was hope for everyone, she mused, allowing a tiny smile to play across her lips.  

A moment later, someone slid into the lecture hall benches on Malfoy’s other side and she caught a glimpse of Theodore Nott, before Professor Vector swept in amid a billow of robes, and the class of mixed seventh and ‘eighth’ years fell quiet. The movement of his silver-blond head told her that Malfoy had been staring at her since his little outburst and had only just looked away.

The room was not overly full, and she had been a little surprised to find that Malfoy was taking Arithmancy this year as one of his N.E.W.T. subjects. His strengths had always lain in the practical rather than the theoretical. Not that he wasn’t smart in either field; he’d matched her almost grade-for-grade in nearly every subject they’d taken together since first year. Nott, however, she wasn’t at all surprised to see there. He was the only one who’d ever beaten her test scores - though admittedly only once back in third year when things had been somewhat more… hectic for her. Between the three of them, they probably made up the brightest minds in the student body at that moment.

Nott leaned forward as Vector began her introductory spiel, and ducked his gaze beneath Malfoy’s chin to sneak a look at her. When Hermione’s eye was drawn by the movement, he met her gaze and flashed her a grin that brought dimples to his cheeks. He was then promptly and unceremoniously shoved back against the classroom bench by the flat of Malfoy’s palm. His back connected with a soft ‘oof’ and he laughed under his breath before falling silent under Vector’s dark glare.  

Hermione frowned, but quickly lost herself in the beautiful and relative complexities of higher level Arithmancy.  

At the end of the class, she packed up her belongings and filed out of classroom 7A alone, heading for the Great Hall and lunch with a growling stomach and a strange knot of tension in her chest. It showed no signs of loosening all day. It felt odd to be walking the halls alone, without Ron on one side and Harry on the other to share a joke or a worry on their way to the next fixture. She ached at their absence, and wrote them each a short letter over her lunch break to tell them how her first morning had gone. She left out her musings over Malfoy, however, and concentrated on the work and how the castle had been restored almost perfectly to its condition prior to the takeover, save for the memorial to the fallen in the courtyard.  

Long after supper that evening, having completed her first Arithmancy assignment already, she headed up to the newly-repurposed Prefects’ Common Room for their first meeting with Headmistress McGonagall. That ball of tension in her chest had gnarled itself tighter and tighter around her heart and lungs, but it wasn't until a first year actually squeaked that she finally realised why people had been shying away from her all afternoon in the corridors and in the Gryffindor common room. Her scowl had become as fierce as a basilisk’s stare. She almost snorted at the idea, especially since her route to the common room had taken her past the girls’ bathrooms, where all the chamber of secrets chaos had found its focus. Famed war heroine Hermione Granger, the brains of the Golden Trio, was glowering like a thunderhead, and people veered away as if she might start spewing acid.  

“Ah, Miss Granger,” McGonagall’s lilting voice called as she finally reached the prefects’ common room at about a minute to nine. “Wonderful. Now we’re just missing Mister Nott, and then we can begin.”

“Nott’s a prefect?” Hermione hissed at Ginny, and the head girl nodded. “Since when? He wasn’t one before…” All anyone had to do was impose a certain inflection on the word ‘before’ and all the implications were well understood.  

“He was given Malfoy’s badge,” she whispered back. “Can’t very well have that Death Eater ferret stalking the halls at night, can we? McGonagall picked Nott to fill out the Slytherin numbers since Pansy Parkinson and most of the others didn’t return this year.”

“Ex-Death Eater ferret,” Hermione murmured pointedly, recalling his subdued glower in the classroom that morning, and Ginny pulled a face as she conceded the truth.  

“Still a bloody ferret though,” she huffed. “And he’s here on probation don’t forget. If he fucks up, he’s going straight to Azkaban to join his father.”

Mulling it over, Hermione fell silent, and a moment later the door opened again and Nott stepped inside.  

She’d never really taken the time to look at him before; he had been a part of Malfoy and Pansy’s little gaggle of Slytherins since the beginning, apparently having known Malfoy since early childhood, but she’d not known him to take part in many of Malfoy’s petty cruelties. He seemed rather bookish, but definitely not shy; aloof but not arrogant. If he hadn’t aligned himself with the Malfoys, he might perhaps have been someone with whom she could have got along. Intellectually, of course. He was still a Slytherin and the son of a convicted Death Eater…  

Now as he stepped into the cosy little room and apologised for his tardiness to the headmistress, and also to Ginny with a quick flash of his eyes, Hermione took stock of his high cheekbones dusted with a plethora of freckles, his sapphire blue eyes that noticed everything and revealed almost nothing, his floppy, dark brown hair that curled attractively in a somewhat old-fashioned and timeless manner and glimmered with gentle highlights in the dancing flames of the fireplace. He was tall too at almost six foot - taller than Malfoy by a good few inches - and a fraction broader at the shoulder. Gone was the skinny, lanky, coltish boy whose robes had hung off him like he was no more than a wire coat-hanger. Merlin, she thought, he’s actually quite handsome now.  

A second later, he caught her staring at him and her cheeks flushed unexpectedly hot.  

Still oddly flustered, she looked away and focused on McGonagall as she began to inform the newer prefects of the duties and expectations of the role, before going on to assign patrol partners. Even in the flickering warmth of the fire, the headmistress looked tired and drained. No doubt the most recent toll on her had been the immense effort of readying the blasted and battered castle for the start of term after the Battle of Hogwarts.  

“In the interests of continuing and promoting congenial inter-house relations, I’m going to be splitting the patrols up. You will no longer be patrolling by house. You will meet in the entrance hall and begin your patrols from there. Now, Padma, you will pair with Hannah; Ernest with Anthony; Cho with Michael; Hermione with Theodore; the rest of you will find your pairs on the rota, and of course the heads of school will patrol together. Any questions?”

Hermione glanced across the room and found Nott staring at her with a strange quirk to his mouth that was almost a smile. He was leaning against the carved masonry of the door frame, ankles and arms casually crossed - the very picture of nonchalance. She raised one eyebrow at him, and his expression blossomed into a full grin, all white teeth and dimples. Rolling her eyes, she looked away, hearing a very low, faint chuckle.  

“The rota will be posted here in the prefects’ common room, along with the upcoming password for the door,” McGonagall went on. “Anyone found abusing their position, or caught docking or awarding points gratuitously, will be permanently and immediately removed of all privileges. Thank you, and goodnight.” With a flourish, she sent the parchment with the rota fluttering across the room to pin itself to the cork board, and left.  

The younger prefects huddled around it, keen to see which nights they were on duty and someone called, “Granger, Nott! You’re up first!”

“Wonderful,” Nott purred suddenly standing at her elbow. “I didn’t get a chance to say hello properly earlier.”  

Good Godric, he really was tall, she realised as she turned slowly to regard him and tilted her chin up. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken,” she said carefully.  

“I don’t believe we have,” he returned with an easy, genuine smile. He had all the politeness and poise of a pureblood, trained from birth to schmooze and glide his way through social situations, and she reminded herself not to be charmed by it. He was still a Slytherin, and his father was a notorious and sadistic Death Eater, even if Theodore had mostly stayed out of it himself. He held out his right hand and she stared at it. He had ink stains on his thumb and first two fingers, just like she did. “Theodore Nott,” he grinned. “Call me Theo.”

With another roll of her eyes, she acquiesced to his playful little farce and shook his hand as if they’d just met. “Hermione Granger.”

“Everyone knows who you are,” Ginny snorted, sidling up and digging her in the ribs, the gesture making her yelp and lurch towards Nott. He steadied her with a hand on her upper arm and smiled. Ginny glared at him and he let go, still chuckling. “If you fuck around with her, Nott,” Ginny glowered, her face darkening.  

“Ginny,” Hermione said softly, turning to her. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s not as if I don’t know how to take care of myself anyway…”

“I know that!” Ginny countered hotly. The red in her cheeks eclipsed her freckles for a moment before she took a deep breath. “The same goes for everyone else,” she snarled as she sensed they had an audience. “If anyone pisses around or puts a single bloody toe out of line, I will hex it off, McGonagall will hear of it, and you will be out of here. Got it?”

Her outburst was met with a mixture of nods and snickers, and with that, she left.  

“Come on,” Hermione said with a quick, awkward laugh. “Let’s get going.”

“Eager, Granger?” he chuckled, holding the door open and ushering her through first. The gesture didn’t seem facetious, and she nodded curtly at him in thanks as she stepped out into the corridor. “I assume, since you’re an old hand at this whole prefect thing, that you know the routes and the hot spots better than anyone. Lead the way…”

“Why did you get made a prefect?” she wondered aloud instead of responding. “You’ve never shown any interest in anything relating to school spirit before.”

“That’s not fair,” he countered easily, striding to catch up with her after softly closing the door behind him. “I watch Draco play quidditch on a regular basis. Have done for years.”

“Watching sports doesn’t count towards the wellbeing of the whole school, Nott,” she sniffed dismissively, turning left at a portrait of a white haired old witch who appeared to be having a discussion about astronomy with her kneazel, and hopping onto a staircase before it decided to move.  

He sprang after her easily enough. He might not have had seeker reflexes, but he certainly wasn’t clumsy either. “Of course it does,” he said. “If no one showed up, morale would plummet faster than a dropped quaffle and you know it. But you’re right; I haven’t shown much interest other than that… No time like the present,” he added a little breathily.  

“Indeed. I heard Malfoy is trying out for seeker of the Slytherin team this year. Ginny says he’s good.”  

“Mmm.”

“You’ll be able to bolster your already admirable school spirit then by being a prefect as well as continuing to support him from the stands then,” she said sarcastically.  

Nott only laughed lightly and strode along beside her, but after a while he cleared his throat and said, “Listen, about earlier in Arithmancy… Draco told me what happened… what he said…” He scratched his jawline and grimaced. “Don’t mind him…” he faltered. It sounded like he was aiming for a light tone, but he missed a mile. “He doesn’t really mean it when he says things…” he didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to.

“I know,” she said, pausing to listen at the end of a shadowy corridor. As she glanced up at him, she witnessed a flicker of surprise in Nott’s dark blue eyes. “Malfoy’s always lashed out like that when he’s feeling defensive. And it’s no wonder he had a go at me today - it must be hell for him being back here with everyone staring and whispering.” She sighed. “Better than the alternatives, I’m sure, but still. It’s brave of him to come back to Hogwarts.”  

Theodore blinked twice, and then a slow, dazzling smile dawned on his handsome face.  

Merlin, had he always been that good looking? She refused to let that of all things become a problem on their first patrol, and so, fighting to keep a blush off her cheeks, she marched off down another corridor before he could say another word.

It was true, although it had taken her actually speaking the words aloud to realise it. Malfoy had always had some pithy, nasty, venomous comeback whenever he was cornered, his words designed to inflict enough showy, hurtful damage to allow him to escape. In a world where he’d been rendered all but helpless by others, buffeted this way and that by more powerful players, and with impossible choices forced on him, his sharp tongue and hard, silver glare had been some of his only defences.  

He really is like a snake, she thought wryly: beautiful, quick, and deadly, but… perhaps largely harmless if left un-threatened.  

To her surprise, it took Nott a brief moment to catch up with her. 

___

Part Two

If you enjoyed, please reblog and share! I’m new to the fandom on here and appreciate all the help I can get!

___

writing masterlist | Ao3

[captainjimothycarter]

For the prompt + trope ask, prompt #5 with royal au for thundershield? Pls?

I have waited far too long and can’t find the prompt you were talking about but let’s just go with royal au?  I think it was “I just needed a change of scenery.”

Please be kind, I rarely write thunder shield. This may not be what you wanted and I am so sorry?? It just came out.

--

The bed was moving. Rocking side to side in a gentle motion that could almost card the young prince back into a well-deserved slumber.

He almost did too, until the memories of the last few days struck him and Steve found himself quickly sitting up. His body screamed in pain, tense muscles moving faster than he should. A wound that had been stitched together tugged and he stilled, not wanting to rip a stitch. His eyes fell to the room - a simple boarding room inside of an elegant boat.

He’d know that symbol carved into the supporting pole anywhere.

Odinson

Groaning, Steve pulled himself to his feet, shoving his feet inside of a pair of worn boots. He got three steps away before it hit him that these were not his clothes. These were elegant, well made, cared for, and stitched with love. They were comfortable and not the clothes he had last remember wearing that were rags by now. 

Looking down at the tights, Steve heaved a soft sigh and shook his head. He needed to get to the bottom of this and stat. 

The rocking made sense as he climbed the stairwell, fingers tracing over hand-carved designs in the walls. He recognized a few designs, a few done by magic, and traced over with a knife to give it that rustic look. It told the story of how the kingdom of Asgard came to be and how they defeated the violent tyranny known as the ice giants and laid claim to the throne. 

A story told to kids to lull them to sleep at night, covered in a blanket of their lies.

The deck was empty of people, no staff, no one manning the boat. He was greeted with great, white sails, the wind pushing them closer to their new destination. An inky black sky welcomed Steve, the smell of the salt in the sea opening his lungs up more than they had been in the slum of the city. For the first time, he felt like he could breathe, that he had some sense of relief.

He leaned into the side of the boat with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to just enjoy the rocking. How long had he been out? More than a day, he had to guess. His body was sore and aching from that amount of rest. They had to be miles away from home by now. He didn’t even get to say goodbye…

Before the anguishing thought laid on him, Steve jumped when he felt a warm hand lay on his shoulders. His heart lurched into his throat and he turned around to see Thor, the prince, and heir to the throne of Asgard standing above him.

Thor was everything his father wanted him to be - a foot taller than Steve’s 5’4 height, a mass of bulging muscles from spending days in the field, and slaying monsters for sport. His hair was swept from his face and braided back, charms hanging from the few braids that hung around his face. He’d neglected to shave as of recent, stubble growing in around his flushed cheeks. Despite the power this prince held, how he could easily slay Steve by just breathing on him, there was a kindness in his eyes. A softness that had first betrayed Steve and made him fall for the prince. 

And for once, the prince was without his battle adorned armor and his family weapon - a thick hammer that he had named Mjolnir. 

His head tilted to the side as he watched Steve, concern growing in his flushed face at the way Steve started to panic for his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, frowning slightly. “I thought you had heard me coming. I didn’t mean to scare you. Here, my mother made this for you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small jar with a cork lid on it. He pulled the lid off and held it to Steve’s face, letting him breathe in the intense fumes. The smaller blonde choked on the sweet smell of lavender and chamomile, but his panic slowly subsided, his breathing returning to normal.

“Remind me to thank her,” he muttered, watching Thor pack the jar back into his pocket. “Where are we? What in the hell happened?”

It was a question Thor wanted to avoid, his brow pinching as the events of the last few days played over in his head. “I made the necessary decision to save you. You were now safe within Asgard’s walls, so I am taking you elsewhere.”

He wrapped Steve in one arm, leading him away from the ledge to walk slowly around the ship. His eyes lit up at the man controlling the ship - a taller brunette with silver eyes, pointed ears, and a metallic left arm. He made a sound as he ripped from Thor’s arm to throw himself at his best friend, knocking them both to the floor in the process.

Thor’s echoing laugh bounced around them, reminding him of thunder rumbling in the sky. “I see that you have met our new navigator. He was determined not to leave your side, a promise he had made to your mother before she had passed. Promises are dear and sacred to my culture, Steven. I didn’t want to break that bond.”

Steve sat up from Bucky’s arms, trying to pretend he wasn’t crying. “I thought-I thought you...I...left! Odin had said…” He stopped at the anger that flashed across Bucky’s face, following the man’s eyes as Thor shook his head from where he controlled the wheel. 

“Odin doesn’t matter,” Bucky purred, cupping Steve’s face. “You heard your prince - promises matter. Odin won’t stop me from following you. Besides, someone has to stop you from doing something stupid - like attempting to attack a king.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink, the memory slowly ebbing back into his vision. He had attacked Odin with nothing but a simple dagger. But why? Odin controlled the very Kingdom he laid in, even opposing the king meant a death sentence. How was he still alive?

“Father had it coming,” Thor mused in a distraction, pulling Steve and then Bucky up. “Your friend, Friend Bucky, your boyfriend awaits for you in your chambers. The boat can man itself with Loki’s spell still on it, so you may rest. Steven?” 

Steve looped his arm around Thor’s when offered, giving one last confused look to Bucky before he was lead down a set of stairs. He was taken to an empty kitchen, being sat at a sturdy table while Thor went about heating broth and toasting a roll.

“The doctor says you must start light with your meals if you are to get an appetite back. I apologize but the drug my mother was forced to use had knocked you out for a few days now, just to allow your body to heal. You might find yourself struggling for a few days, but he assures me that you will be fine as long as you rest and eat.”

Setting the bowl in front of Steve, he walked around with his goblet and set it between them. One tap of the stem and Steve knew inside was the sweetest glass of boysenberry juice that any soul could want. The magic Thor possessed, however, limited compared to his little brother, still astounded him.

“Thor…” Steve sighed after a few mouthfuls, not wanting to press his luck with his appetite. “What happened? I need to know the full story. Where are we going? Why am I not dead?”

Thor sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He took the goblet himself and drank a few sips, making a face at how sweet the content was. “Tis not easy, Steven. You might’ve as your friend says - made a stupid decision but a necessary one. You tried to kill my father.”

He raised his hand to stop Steve’s initial panic, pointing to the bowl. “You eat, I talk.”

“You were not raised a prince, as I was. You were stuck in the far lands, in a small fishing village, correct? But you are a prince. You are the prince that Heimdall has prophecies that I will marry. He has said that I should marry you, a nameless blonde prince at the time, and learn to become a better man, to rule over my people with grace and a firm hand, to be better than my father. You were hidden from me on purpose, my father’s doing. If it wasn’t for Loki, I wouldn’t have found you. And he only found you by mistake when one of your drawings had reached our lands by your friend Barnes.”

“Bucky...joined the military - only way he could be useful, he said.”

“Yes, he attempted to. I’m afraid he didn’t get very far in the processes thanks to my doing. I pulled him from the very school he was attending to track you down with Loki. I should’ve known that we were being followed. When I found you...you were dying. Your wounds had bested you, your health. Loki did all he could with my mother’s knowledge passed onto him. It was touch and go for a while. I stayed by your side. I did things I had never done before, I cleaned your home, I talked to your neighbors and learned about you, about Bucky, I learned to fish and garden, and to assist in your small farm. I learned what it was like to be...not me. Things my father had insisted were below me to learn because my path was royalty and not something a mere farmer should do.

When you started to recover, my father visited. He brought with him trusted soldiers, friends of mine. He attacked you, claimed you were enemy to the kingdom, conspiring with me and Loki to turn against him. You were not in your right mind. You were still delirious with a fever. We tried to argue for your sake, to prove to father that he was wrong. In truth, he is upset that you were found, that the prophecy is becoming true. 

When he went after Bucky, after Bucky’s little sister, you attacked. You are not but ninety pounds and yet you attacked a man who has more power than he knows what to do with. When you touched Odin, you were knocked back by the magic he possesses in that staff. It nearly killed you, fried you from the inside out is what Loki had said. You are correct you say that you should be dead, Steven, but you are not.

Loki and I escaped with you and Bucky. It was only through my friend’s help in keeping Odin distracted and one getting a message back to my mother, Frigga that you were saved. They had lead Odin in the opposite direction, allowing us to return to the castle. Frigga helped you with her best knowledge, putting you to sleep with ancient words. She had planned for this day and had prepared us a ship and crew. She had planned to meet you too, under better circumstances, but this is the best that we can do. She helped us escape in the dead of night. My father lives, but he is now claiming that his only children are enemies and will be killed.”

The air was heavy around them. Steve’s mouth had hung open, every last memory rushing back to him. He had attacked Odin with a simple dagger, it was almost funny compared to how large the man was. He could remember the pain, the muscles in him seizing up, the blinding, white-hot pain that made him wish for death above all else.

He could remember Thor during the time before it, taking care of him, nursing him back to health. Smelling of the rich soil and bringing home Miss Juniper’s fresh-made rolls. He can remember Frigga - the floral, sweet-smelling woman with a kind face and eyes who had risked her life to care for her son’s prince, someone she did not know. Someone she trusted. 

And this boat...being on it for days, while asleep and recovering, despite it, he still felt exhausted with the story in his head. Thor and Loki had risked it all for him - little, old him who has yet to recover from the knowledge that he was a prince and not a simple farmer. 

Silently, Thor rose him from the bench and lead him back to their chambers. He tucked Steve into bed and slid on top of the covers beside him. Thor had crowded him, yes, but it was in a manner that didn’t seem so forceful like he was smothering him. He welcomed his presence and the warmth he brought with him.

“That...I…” Steve sighed as he rolled to his side and looked up at Thor. He was overcome with such emotions from grief to being thankful, to just utter terror of having done something so stupid. He had attacked Odin and for what? Because he was to die anyway so he might as well prove a point. 

“It’s okay,” Thor rumbled in response, dipping his head down to brush his warm lips over the downy soft blonde locks. “You do not need to speak. You have been through something traumatic.”

“No. I...I...thank you.” Steve didn’t know what possessed him to throw himself at Thor, to press his face into his chest, but he was glad he did. The man smelled like the sea, like tanning leather that warmed his body from the inside out. He could feel the man rumble as he purred. 

Feeling the surprisingly smooth hands on his cheek, he looked up to see the prince’s smiling face above his. His lips gently pressed against his and a shock ran through Steve. Every nerve in his body lit up, thrumming to life. He felt alive in a sense he has never felt before.

Exhausted, but alive.

“You deserve a chance at life and not to be burdened by my father and his mistakes.” Leaning up on one arm, Thor sighed and closed his eyes. Exhaustion seemed to melt from his features with Steve so close.

Steve watched him breathe, counting the number of breaths he took. His chest expanding the straining shirt. “You haven’t explained where we are going? We can’t outrun Odin forever and far as I understand, any other kingdom close enough to us is no alley of yours.”

“Hm, that is a good point, but…” The man groaned as he flopped back onto one arm to look down at the scrawny prince with an amount of pride that made Steve start to feel uncomfortable. “We are not heading towards another Kingdom. Legend has spoken of Asgard. Not the kingdom in itself, but a whole new world in the sky. We are to find it.”

Steve’s mouth hung open, perhaps to dismiss this fairy tale. He’s heard about this Asgard in the sky but didn’t believe it. Only children believed such lies. Yet, Thor sounded so sure that he could just nod his head in agreement. 

Silence hung between them, only broken by the crew slowly waking up and causing the ceiling above them to creak. The sound of the water lapping over the side of the boat. Steve rested on Thor’s chest, despite the exhaustion seeping into him, he couldn’t rest. He had questions, but only one remained heavy on his mind.

Thor purred, rumbling in his chest as his hand rubbed up and down the smaller blonde’s back. “Speak, little one. You won’t offend me with your question.”

Steve snorted, giving a roll of his eyes. “I’m not worried about offending you. I just…” He sat up for this, regretting the action because it made him dizzy. “Do you regret it? Any of this? Going against your father? Putting you and Loki in danger?”

A smile pulled on Thor’s lips, lighting up his face. His eyes shined with life in them, lightening reflecting in his vision. “My dear Steven, I regret nothing when it comes to you. Besides, I was overdue for a change of scenery.”

[just-absolutely-super]

The First Crack

@soulxmakaweek

Day 4, Laughter featuring baby (and by baby I mean they’re, like, 12) SoMa. Enjoy!

Summary: It was the first time she had ever heard him laugh like that... Maka, Soul, and a kitchen mishap

FF.net // AO3

Maka had only known Soul for a week and she was thoroughly convinced he was emotionally constipated.

Seriously, the only form of raw human emotion she saw out of him came in the form of his playing the piano. It was like he had opened a window into his soul, one she had peered eagerly into and accepted wholeheartedly. But then he had decided that she couldn't see any more and firmly shut the window before nailing a bunch of two-by-fours to it, making him impossible to read again.

It didn't help that all their interactions afterwards were in the form of arguments. She'd try to get to know her new partner only for him to make scathing, teasing comments about her appearance and her affliction for reading books. This would cause her to lose her temper, leading to a chop before they'd go back to their respective rooms to do their own thing.

It was rather frustrating. She wondered if all boys were like that. She dismissed that thought, though, when she remembered the other men in her life: her father and Black Star.

Her father had no trouble expressing himself. He often wore his heart on his sleeve (as well as a different woman every day), sobbing big fat tears whenever his darling daughter gave him the cold shoulder. Meanwhile, Black Star spent most of his time crowing about how awesome he was and how he'd surpass God while Professor Sid yelled at him to get off the school's roof before he hurt himself.

No, she deduced that all boys weren't as opposed toward expressing themselves. It must just be a Soul Eater thing.

She could have tried harder to get to know him, but her mother often told her that partnerships were so fragile during the beginning stages. Even if you clicked right away, there was always that risk of things becoming strained and awkward the more you got to know each other. The best plan of action was to always go slow and to not force yourselves on each other.

Maka didn't want to try and search for a new partner—one who was a scythe at least—so she hung herself back and allowed Soul to be his moody, closed-off self. If things worked in her favor, he'd open up to her sooner or later…

"Hey, Mama sent me a blender as a housewarming gift. I'm gonna make a smoothie, do you want one?" she asked him one afternoon, poking her head in his room.

Soul was in bed lying on his stomach, some magazine in his hands. He lifted his head up to acknowledge her, "Yeah, sure. You got strawberries?"

Maka nodded, "Of course! I'll let you know when I'm done."

Soul gave a grunt in reply as Maka bounced into the kitchen. She was excited. Excited because not only was she going to try out her newest appliance, but she and Soul would have another reason to bond with each other. Sure, it may end up as them drinking their cold drinks in the living room while aimlessly flipping channels, but it was better than nothing. Maka liked to think of the glass half-full during these occasions.

After setting the blender up, Maka hummed as she brought the ingredients onto the counter. Following the recipe she had looked up at the library, Maka put everything in the jar. Placing the lid onto the jar, she eagerly pressed the start button…only for nothing to happen.

"Huh?" she said, turning every which way to figure out why the appliance wasn't working. She thought she had everything in place. It should turn on!

After fiddling with it for a while with no results, she got frustrated. She yelled out, "Soul! Could you come in here and help me?"

"What's the matter?" she heard him ask from his bedroom.

"I can't get the blender to come on."

"Are you serious?" he complained. She heard his heavy footsteps. "It's a blender, Maka. It's not like they're hard to use."

She pouted at him when he rounded the corner into the kitchen, "I know that! But I can't get it to turn on!"

Soul rolled his eyes, "Move aside. Let me look at it."

He inspected it. She watched him take the lid off of the jar to look inside, probably making sure nothing was jamming the blades if Maka had to guess. Deducing that the blades were fine, he detached the jar from the base and set it on the counter before picking the base up to examine it. Maka was thankful he had done that; she didn't want to worry about him accidentally spilling the contents of their smoothie onto the floor. After a brief moment, he placed the appliance back on the counter before turning to his meister.

"Found the problem. It's battery operated. You didn't put the batteries in, genius." He said, letting out a chuff at her incompetence.

Maka flushed in embarrassment. She was torn between hiding her face in shame and punching that infuriating smirk off his face.

"I… I thought they were already put in!" she defended.

Soul snorted, "Obviously not." He checked the box Maka had opened when she received the package from her mother. "Oh good, your mom included some batteries. Let me install them then we can work it."

Maka watched him place the batteries in, her cheeks still burning from the shame of making an utter fool of herself in front of her weapon. She hoped this didn't give him second thoughts about agreeing to partner up with her.

"Alright, here we go," she heard Soul say. She looked back to him and saw he was about to hit the "on" button. What she also noticed was in his hurry to make smoothies he had forgotten to put the lid back on the jar.

"W-Wait, Soul! Don't—"

Too late. Soul pressed the button and Maka watched his red eyes widen comically at the realization of what he had just done. Both weapon and meister squealed in shock as the contents of what would have been their fruity drinks exploded over them and their kitchen.

"Shut it off! Shut it off!" Maka screamed, running over to the boy.

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" Soul screamed back, strawberry and yogurt and whatever else had gotten into his eyes, clouding his vision and inhibiting him from hitting the correct button.

"Let me!" she said, forcing the appliance closer to her and managing to find the "off" button. She sighed in relief at hearing the whirling blades die down.

"Man, so uncool!" Soul groaned, running a hand through his hair and grimacing in disgust when it came back covered in pink goop.

Maka blinked at his appearance. The pink tinge of the smoothie and random chunks of strawberry worked really well with his white hair. It practically dyed it. Before she could stop herself she gave an unattractive snort before bursting into uncontrollable giggles.

Soul scowled at her, watching as his meister leaned forward in laughter.

"It's. Not. Funny." He growled.

Maka said in between giggles, "Oh…yes it…is! Hahaha, you look ridiculous!"

"Yeah, like you're any better!" he fired back, gesturing to her own smoothie-covered appearance.

"Yeah, well…" giggle, "at least my hair isn't pink now. You look so uncool!" she then fell onto the floor. The comment might have been mean, but after a week of hearing him call her breasts tiny, it felt like a breath of fresh air to make fun of him for a change.

"We'll see about that…" she heard her weapon say. Maka stopped her giggling upon hearing the underlying threat in his words. Looking up to him, she saw he had a maniacal grin on his face, a handful of pink goop in his hands.

"Soul Eater, don't you dare—" Maka's attempt to threaten him turned into a squeal of shock as Soul dived onto her to rub strawberry smoothie into her pigtails.

"Who's got the pink hair now, huh?" Soul taunted, making sure to slather the chunks of strawberries onto her face for good measure.

"You are DEAD!" with a battle cry, Maka tackled Soul.

The two wrestled each other on the kitchen floor, using whatever they could find among the mess as their ammunition. Various noises coming out of their mouths—screaming, threats of bodily harm, and most of all, laughter.

The laughter was mostly consuming them, to the point they disentangled themselves from their brawl to spread themselves out onto the floor. Maka was clutching her stomach as her sides were starting to hurt.

"Ceasefire, ceasefire!" she pleaded, her guffaws too much for her.

"I can't believe I forgot to put the lid on!" Soul said, "That's like…the number one rule of a blender. You'd have to be a stupid cartoon character to make that mistake! And now I'm covered in all this crap!"

He then turned onto his side as he broke into more infectious laughter. Maka would have joined him if she weren't overcome by a sudden revelation.

This was the first time she had ever heard Soul laugh.

Sure, he would snicker at a crude joke Black Star would tell him, or chuckle if he heard a funny joke on television, but as for genuine bone-deep laughter? This was definitely the first.

She just marveled at the site. His sharp teeth fully on display; his deep red eyes closed tight, crinkling at the edges in his mirth; and if she looked closely, she could see tears forming in the corners because he was laughing so hard.

He looked so natural and carefree. Like he didn't have the world's biggest chip on his shoulder. Like he wasn't worrying about how he looked or presented in front of others.

He looked…happy.

"Hey, what's with that look on your face?" his voice drew her out of her musings. He was trying to glare at her, but it was offset by his still present grin, "If you think I look bad, you should see yourself, nerdbrain."

Maka stuck her tongue out at him, "I wasn't staring!" (She ignored how unconvincing that sounded.), "I was just thinking about what a pain this was going to be to clean up, is all!"

Soul sighed, rolling onto his back again before cringing as more of the smoothie substance seeped into his shirt. "Yeah, that's gonna suck… Well, I'll let you take care of it. I'm gonna hop in the shower."

Maka gave an indignant noise, "Oh no you don't! You're the one who caused the mess, I get the shower while you clean up!"

"It wasn't my idea to make the smoothies!" he shot back.

"Well, I'm a lady and ladies go first!"

Soul snorted, "Funny, I thought 'ladies' had more sex appeal—"

"MAKA CHOP!"

"OUCH!"

While Soul nursed his aching head, Maka used the opportunity to run to the bathroom. "I'll help once I'm done showering. Then you can shower and I'll finish what you started!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever…" she heard him grumble as she grabbed some clean clothes and shut the door.

As she peeled off her stained clothing, she thought she heard more of his distinct laughter from his place in the kitchen. She felt herself smile.

It may take some time, but she felt hopeful that she could crack the sturdy exterior that was Soul's metaphorical walls.

Hopefully it wouldn't take too many mistakes and messes for that to happen…

[viatrixed]

Meme.

@mcnoceroscaeli​ asked :  [ seduce ]  For your muse to touch mine sexually.

It’s a battle of tongues with no room for breath , her arms clasped about his neck to hold him close. Her fingers grasp and gently tug at the ends of his hair while her mouth is busy claiming his. As she meshes her lips with the harbinger’s she’s alerted to the sharp taste of iron . . No doubt from the countless nips she’d left upon him. It was unavoidable given her teeth were a bit sharper than most , but it shouldn’t have been a problem. After all , as he was so eager to inform her when it came to wounds , pain was proof you were alive ; And if there were any time to feel alive , well , it’d be right now wouldn’t it ?

She can feel the hands that had been on her mid-riff sliding down to her waist and with their movements a shudder follows. For a moment she breaks away , tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth before releasing. Out of breath , she’s on the verge of panting to catch it. The air felt heavy and muddled , it felt . . Hard to think , but that was fine. She knew what she wanted to do , and that was all she needed.

Iffrita’s eyes remain half-lidded , pupils blown wide with an affectionate gaze , her face tinted pink from the lack of air and other . . Obvious reasons. She takes the moment to survey his face and form . . Her awareness of his hands , now rubbing her sides slowly , is raised. For someone so violent , he had a way with gentle touches . . And when had he become so . . Soft ? And pleasant to touch? 

With one last puff for breath , she leans back in ; One of the hands in his hair gripping firmly and tilting his head back. Warm and damp , her lips press against his jugular before her tongue slides along his skin. Her attack on his neck is slow and methodical - A kiss , a lick , a bite , then repeat. Sometimes in the same place multiple times until his skin turned red from attention. Throughout this , she keeps herself close , hips pressed to his , grinding for friction with each smooch.

By the time she’s satisfied , he’s marked from his collarbone upwards , and softly she retraces each mark with another kiss. It would seem at times like this her possessive side shone through . . There was no way to hide all those even with his scarf.

Then , she pushes her face into his shoulder , a loud rumbling purr coming from her throat before the Noah begins working her way up to his ear with another trail of kisses. Biting at the lobe , her form arches into his after she takes notice of his hands bunching the fabric of her blouse up. She gives him little trouble as he slips it up , over , and off . . Albeit , she wasn’t sure why she had no bra on but , his hands sliding back up her abdomen to paw at her chest gains him a breathy whimper beside his ear.

They were warm . . And despite the fact he was being particularly gentle , the natural callousness of his hands was there , but even that felt good. Attempting to push her chest against his hands , she’s surprised to find her vice grip hold on him being pushed away. The hands he’d moved to her shoulders slide back to her waist as soon as she’s eye to eye with the ginger.

Confused and disappointed at the loss of warmth , she locks eyes with Childe , searching silently for an answer but receiving none until he shoves his face between her breasts. She’s startled , and it shows , the fluster on her face darkening . . But she doesn’t stop him. One of her hands shifts again , raising to sprawl her fingers through the red fluffy mop on his head.

His hair was soft too . . The momentary peace is broken as she registers a sharp nip against her chest , immediately looking down to find him with a smug grin on his face. 

Normally she’d have smacked him over the head for that . . In fact . . Why didn’t she ? Why were they doing this ? Now that she thought about it . . When had she even come to his room ? Where was this room ? Where was Paimon ? ? ?

And with that last thought , Iffrita’s eyes shoot open , her body waking itself with a jarring jolt that has the Noah a bit winded while her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room around her. Glancing to one side , there was Paimon with a hold of her right hand . . And to the other side , there was Childe , fast asleep.

She felt . . Sweaty , and hot. Her body felt twitchy but she was going to chalk that up to being suddenly woken like she had. The sensations from her dream still lingered . . Though now they only made her cringe.

A dream ? No , more like a nightmare. In what world would she ever let something like that happen ? The longer she stares at his sleeping face , the more she’s reminded of what she’d been subject to in sleep , and the more shame filled rage begins to rise in her . . Gradually turning her face red.

With a deep breath in , she takes hold of the pillow she’d been snuggling in her free hand , raises it , and brings it down with force onto the snoozing harbingers face.

“ WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED ON THE BED ! ? GET OFF ! ”