#AND RUNNING JUST CURLED AROUND THEM BOTH LOOKIN SO CONTENT

[spottyissleepwalking]

Here you go for part one!

MottledBrindleFlight my beloved ^^

WAAHHHHH I SAW THIS A WHILE AGO IN MY INBOX BUT HAVENT HAD THE ENERGY TO REPLY

BUT IM GOING FE RAL OVER THEM L OOK AT THEM AAAHHHHHHH HSJBFJRNFBFNR

[seigephoenix]

hey lovely, we both know what fandom i'm requesting, aren't we? So I'm requesting Fallout Ghoul fluff/smut, which Ghoul you can decide. I love all of them with my whole heart xD I trust you. Prompts I would like included: Forehead kisses, laughing, knife play (as explicit as you like), Use your teeth, “You make me nauseous.” “It’s called love. You’ll get over it.” (Generally add some snark, I know you're damn good at it xD). Godspeed! Love you haha

It is finished! I used my Sole Survivor for this cause I love her so much. She and Hancock fit well together.

Content Warning: snark, blood mention, wounds, first aid, oral, p in v, more snark. Length: 2.3k

Goodneighor’s neon sign flickered as the roar of an alpha Deathclaw echoed through the night.  “Deathclaw!” The cries from the residents broke the brief silence that followed.  No one would be stupid enough to take on a Deathclaw would they?  That’s what the residents asked themselves as they quickly rushed forward to reinforce the gate against the beast.

That was the exact question Georgia asked herself as she darted around the corner with the Deathclaw hot on her heels.  Her lungs burned from her sprint through the middle of Boston.  Roughened voices yelling about popping her eyeballs out reached her over the growls of the Deathclaw as she passed by the super mutant stronghold.  I could sure use Strong right about now actually.  Georgia chastised herself for going it alone, she hadn’t even let Dogmeat go with her this time.  Somewhere in her mind she had wanted to keep everyone safe…  To the detriment of her own health.  Georgia wheezed as a bullet grazed her ear.  She briefly felt the flash of pain in her side, one that almost stole her breath from the impact, but she forced her legs to continue.  Her body acted on instinct now, she just needed to go.

She zipped around a corner and saw an open doorway.  Thank fuck.  She curled down out of sight as the Deathclaw ran further down the road.  She knew the things could track her smell, but she hoped this one was just enraged enough to not notice she wasn’t in front of it anymore.  Georgia almost pitied the raiders that grabbed its attention but never had she been more relieved to see the crazy sons of bitches.  She used the distraction to rush through the piled streets and found her way to Goodneighbor.  The door was sealed.

“It’s me!  Georgia!  Let me in!” Georgia heard the chain and locks shuffling and soon she almost stumbled into the location as the door swung open.  She scrambled out of the way of the door and breathed out as she saw the chains and locks being put back in place.

“You sure chose a shit time to come calling.” Georgia gave Daisy a halfhearted thumbs up.  “That wound looks nasty.  Come on and patch up at the shop.”

“Thank a million Daisy,” Georgia wheezed as she slowly stood up.  Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp throbbing pain stole her breath.  She just hoped the bullet had been a through and through, skilled doctor she was not.

“I’ve got it from here Daisy.” Georgia wanted to groan as she heard him.  That whiskey rough voice that had captured her attention the first time she’d visited Goodneighbor.

“You sure Hancock?” Daisy asked as the mayor joined them.

“Yeah, I think we can handle this one at my place.”  Georgia assured Daisy it was fine.  She shuffled off next to Hancock who wrapped an arm around her waist.  She groaned and glared at him as he put pressure on her bullet wound.  She knew it was going to be beneficial in the long run, but it hurt damn it.

“Lookin’ a little green there peaches.”  Georgia glared at him for the nickname.

“You make me nauseous.”  She eased her way up the steps with Hancock’s help, leaning on him just enough.  His laugh felt like a shot of whiskey, burning on her nerves but with a warm finish.  She clenched her teeth and looked at the flight of stairs ahead of her.

“You know what they call that around here?”  His voice in her ear did not give her any help in making it up those steps.  Heat unfurled in her belly that had nothing to do with the bullet wound.  “Come on sugar, you know what they call it.”  Georgia gave a dry laugh as she put one foot in front of the other up the stairs.

“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me mister smarty pants.”  Georgia hissed as she eased herself down onto the wooden chair by the kitchen counter.  She groaned when she pulled at her shirt to get to the wound.  She huffed when he beat her to the punch and lifted the shirt off her.

“Let me look at it.”  He crouched down between her legs, poking the wound despite her cursing.

“Is it a through and through?”  He looked at the back and saw the exit wound.  “Good Lord, at least one thing is going right.”  Georgia breathed and he gave her a look.  The same look he got whenever her accent thickened.  “Don’t.”

“You sound like molasses.”  Georgia arched an eyebrow as he reached for the first aid kit.  He leaned down until his mouth was right next to her ear.

“Slow and sweet.”  She gave a short laugh that morphed into a pained hiss when he applied the antiseptic.  Georgia sent him a vicious glare over her shoulder.  “Easy there, peaches.  Don’t make more work for me.”

“Call me that one more time.”  Georgia could hear how thick her accent was and she had to laugh at herself.  Only when she was mad, in pain, or around other southerners.  She’d gotten all sorts of ribbing from her companions, especially Hancock and Deacon about the way she sounded.  Even back before the war, the people she knew in Boston and C.I.T. would tease her mercilessly about her accent.  She was too used to it now.  Georgia flinched as he wiped the wound clear of anymore oozing blood.  She released the breath she was holding once the Stimpack was applied and bandage was wrapped around her.

“Thanks Hancock.”  Georgia smiled at him as the pain was settling into a dull throbbing ache.  He ran his hands up her sides, resting them on her collarbone as he leaned in.  Georgia’s heart kicked up a notch as heat zipped along her nerves.

“Only you can make my name sound sinful.”  Georgia flashed him a grin as she felt the pain easing from the wound.  “Let me get that ear looked at.”

“Ah damn.  I forgot about that.”  She looked at him with a sardonic smile.  “Had other matters to concern myself with.”  His hand brushed against her cheek, tilting her face until he could see her ear better.  Georgia swallowed around the lump in her throat as his thumb stroked over her pulse point.  She knew he could feel her heart racing, he was probably enjoying it.  The little shit that he was.

“Still feeling nauseous?” Hancock laughed at the cutting glare she sent him.  “Come on peaches, don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t push it Hancock.”  He leaned over her neck, right where her shoulder began and opened his mouth over her pulse point.  Her body threatened to melt under his touch when his tongue pressed against the warm spot.  Every time, she was so weak for this man.  She felt the moment his teeth nipped at her throat, fuck.  Georgia let out a sharp gasp, but the bite wasn’t painful, instead she felt her body heating up in a different way.  Her thighs squeezed together for some relief.  “Couldn’t have given a girl a shot of Rad-X?”  Hancock merely grinned against her neck before his hand slid down and cupped her breast gently kneading the softness earning him a swift gasp.  Her chuckle ended on a groan and her fingers dug into his coat.  His thumb pressed down on her nipple, teasing and toying with the hardened point.  Her legs trembled with need.  Too long.  It had been too long since they’d had time to do this.

“As many times as we’ve done this princess, I don’t think you need it.”  Georgia groaned as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to her feet.  His mouth pressed against her uninjured ear.  “Don’t you protest now.  You know what happens when you do.”  His hand slid lower until he grabbed the curve of her ass as they walked towards his bedroom.

“You love it when I fight back.” Georgia hissed as he eased her onto the bed.  A shaky moan left her lips as his fingers pulled down the old cargo pants that had seen better days.  Hancock pressed his mouth against her panties, already soaked from her arousal.  His tongue trailed up until he pressed it flat against the little bundle of nerves.  “Fuck.”

“Only you could make that word sound like a benediction peaches.” Hancock murmured before he pulled the soft fabric to the side.  His tongue slid inside her earning a keening cry from Georgia.  Her head fell back as her hands sought his shoulders for some leverage.  “No fighting me now.”  Hancock turned his head and bit hard on the inside of her thigh.

“Hancock,” Georgia whined as he toyed with her clit, lapping everywhere but the spot she so desperately needed him at.  “Please don’t tease me like this.”  Georgia’s head fell back as he turned his full attention on her.  Teeth and tongue toying with her until she felt that heat coil low and tight between her legs.  The warm throbbing was as addicting as any chemical, and he was the only one who knew to trigger that high.  Georgia’s legs tightened around his head as she clawed her way towards that edge.  Her neck arched, his name on her lips; she was right there.  He lifted his head just as that coil was about to burst.

“Not yet darling.” Hancock smirked as he rested his cheek against her leg.  Frustration cut her razor sharp and she bared her teeth at him.

“You absolute dickhead.” Georgia hissed between her teeth as she struggled to look down at him.  He pressed an open mouthed kiss against her thigh, just above the mark he’d left which was already turning a dark blue.

“Now, now.  Where’s the fun in calling me names?  All you have to do is use your words.”  He grinned as he heard the vicious curse leave her lips.  “Peaches, that voice of yours does things to me that shouldn’t be considered legal.”

“Hancock, put that mouth of yours to good use damn it, and let me come already.” Georgia whined as he rested his chin just above her aching clit.

“Now what incentive do I have to listen to you?” Hancock smirked as Georgia practically growled at him.  “Say please.”

Georgia narrowed her eyes at him as he merely smirked at her with those impish smile on his face.  Her body screamed at her pride to just say the damn words already!  Georgia clenched her jaw and glared at her lover in frustration.  “Please.”

“Please, what?”  Georgia huffed in outrage as Hancock chuckled.  “You can use your words, can’t you peaches?”  Georgia sneered at the ceiling but she had been so close.  She took a deep breath.

“Please fuck me Hancock.”  He rose to his feet and she already missed the feel of his body heat.  Georgia yelped when he picked her up and switched spots with her.  Her knees rested on the mattress on either side of his hips.

“Fuck yourself on my cock yourself princess.”  Georgia splayed her palms across his shirt as his cock nestled between their bodies.  She shook her head but he merely folded his hands behind his head.  She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You are so evil,” Georgia whined as she reached between them for his cock.  She slid his cock inside her body, relishing each thick inch that spread her lips.  “Making me do all the work after getting shot.”  Georgia’s head fell back as she sat down, moaning at the stretch of him inside her body.  Hancock grunted before he grabbed her hips.  She rocked back and forth, desperately trying to gain that friction against her clit again.  She wanted to chase that high with him.  Her body tightened around his cock as she found the rhythm.

“Good girl.  Who’s the only one who can fuck you like this?”  He grasped her wrists in one of his hands, holding them tight against his chest.  She groaned as her hips ground down on his, finding that friction against her clit.  Her back bowed as that languid heat coiled tight inside of her body.

Her body tensed with that familiar heated knot.  The steady climb towards release was all she sought.  The world fell away to just the two of them as she rode his cock despite the pain in her side.  That pain only added fuel to the fire in her belly, heightening the pleasure to overwhelming levels.  Georgia felt the tears welling up as her body was right there, but she couldn’t bring herself over the edge.  She needed him.

“Hancock.”

“Fuck peaches, you make my name sound like something holy when you speak it with that angelic voice of yours,” Hancock whispered as he reached between their bodies with his free hand.  His thumb pressed at just the right angle and Georgia almost sobbed as her released washed over her.  His name fell from her lips in a litany as the waves crashed over her in languid pulses.  Georgia registered that he arched his hips against hers but the heat and pleasure consumed her senses.

Sweat plastered her hair against her forehead and she leaned forward heedless of the pain from her wound.  Her lips brushed a trail of kisses over his chest and up to his neck.  Hancock gave her a weak chuckle before he eased her off him and settled her next to him.  Her breathing was choppy as she came down from that pleasure high.  Georgia turned so she faced him in the tiny bed.  His arm slung across her waist, careful of that wound.

Her fingers traced over his face, now so familiar and comforting to her.  He was her place of solace in this shitty new world she’d stumbled out into.  A respite against the chaos of the wasteland.  She smiled as he looked down at her.  “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Nothing much.  Just thinking nauseating thoughts is all,” Georgia teased as he smiled down at her.

“Well now peaches, that’s what they call love.”

[because-she-goes]

gallery

warnings: light swearing, matty being jealous, otherwise fluff. Enjoy!

Matty nervously straightened his tie, running a hand through his perfectly gelled salt and pepper curls. Sitting on their bed, and facing the bathroom door, he hears the blow dryer whirring and Nora singing softly to her music. His knee bounces in anxiety, checking his watch to ensure they are not late for her big night. The gallery down the street from them in London was putting on an exhibition of local artists, one of them being his very own Nora Downey. A small gallery sure, but that didn’t matter to Nora. In the bathroom, she was gleaming as she put on her suit. Matty had pulled a few strings with some fashion people he knew and got in contact with Thom Browne who agreed to make suits for the lovely couple. Nora’s being a beautiful, buttery soft camel brown wool one with gentle round shoulders and blonde lapels. Matty’s being a navy-grey pin stripe with matching tie. Both haven’t seen the other’s suit since she had to attend meetings for the event and Matty was in New York at the time of the fittings while hers were with the brand’s UK team here in London. She smoothed over her collar one last time and pouted her lips, touching up the nude lipstick she had selected, emphasis being her cinnamon eyes. Hearing the door knob to the bathroom shuffle, Matty fixes himself like a schoolboy about to take his crush to the prom. He clears his throat and out walks the most dazzling woman he has ever seen. His heart for real skips several beats. He holds a hand to it and his elbows drop to his knees. He can’t believe her. He can’t believe she is his. In awe, his hand now rests on his lower lip.

As if she couldn’t be any more perfect, she says in her peach sweet voice, “Ya know one day you’re gonna catch flies in your mouth if you gape at me like that all the time.” She teases him. He blushes tomato red. All the bravado and machismo of Truman Black slides off him like a sheet, revealing the adorably soft and sentimental Matty Healy. Not that she would ever tell anyone he gets like this around her, she finds it too cute to share – wanting to keep this boy-like wonder only known to her. Her sweet Matty. “Lookin’ sharp, handsome.” She compliments, now pulling him up by the tie for a kiss. His cheeks now crimson.

“Y-You as well, Honey. My god, I feel like marrying you all over again. You’re so beautiful, baby. Leaves me speechless. I can’t believe your my date to this tonight, that I get to walk you in and take your coat and kiss you all night. Now, shall we be on our way, Mrs. Healy?” He praises her as if she is god herself and adding the question she’s been dreaming of him to ask her since they started dating all those moons ago.

“Why, yes. Yes, we shall, Mr. Healy!” He sighs contently, hearing the title roll off her tongue with ease – like she had always been meant to say it.

at the gallery:

“Handsome, look at this one! You have to get a picture infront of it, please?” Nora asks as she sees a sign that says “you don’t have to look like a twat to be an artist.” Matty roles his eyes and stays cemented in his spot. “Oh come on, its funny! It’ll be over in a second then you can go back to pouting, and you might get a reward…” She bribes. He begrudgingly goes and stands infront of the sign pulling a face. Nora laughs in victory and sends it to him. “Oh the fans are gonna love that one, baby.” She says to him teasing. Then she spots someone a few feet away…

“Matty, this is Linda from Tate Modern. She is who I met in Vegas. I think someone told me they may be putting some of my art in there next spring!” Nora pulls him towards the older woman. Matty hasn’t understood a single thing anyones said the entire evening – the only word he’s recognized anyone say so far is postmodernism, but that was a given. Matty is just ticking down the minutes until the gallery presents each artist and lets them explain their work presented that evening. Now thinking, he hasn’t heard Nora’s speech - she must be terrified. Matty kinda loses focus of their conversation after greeting the woman and when he comes back into himself, Nora is no longer with him but talking to a guy across the hall. Suddenly much more interested in the evening and feeling much more flirtatious, he walks with a swagger in his step towards Nora and the mystery man who is standing a bit too close to her for Matty’s liking.

“Oh honey, this is Calvin from the Metropolitan Museum of Art! I knew him in college, he graduated the year before me.” Nora acting as the middle man here.

Calvin stretches out a hand – Matty clocks the Rolex watch a mile away, everything about the guy screaming rich douchebag. “Oh Nora, this must be your boyfriend Matthew, is it?” Matty wants to punch him. Badly. He eyes Nora, raising his eyebrows as if to say “is he for real?”She shrugs.

“Actually, I’m her husband, mate! And my name is Matty.” He spits, venom seeping through every syllable. Nora shivers, never seeing him so quiet, yet fuming. She then catches a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there a few seconds ago…jealousy? Nora delights, she’s never seen him jealous before so this should be fun.

“Oh, apologies. I believe the invitations said Matthew Healy and Nora Downey. Didn’t know you two were married!” Nora now notices how he didn’t even congratulate them? Nothing? They were newlyweds for gods sake, who doesn’t wish a happy couple a good future? Now, she is angry, but not over the invitation mishap, but his blatant disrespect towards her relationship. As if in sync, they both mutter under their breaths “oh for fuck’s sake..” They share a look and Matty smirks, getting an idea.

“Well, we must be taking our seats now… what with her being honored and all. How exactly did you get invited to this again, with being from an american gallery and all? And let’s be honest not even the good one. Mate, you and I both know the Guggenheim is leagues better. Anyways, have an… evening!”

Calvin bumbles. Matty has succeeded, wrapping his arm around Nora’s neck and kissing her forehead they take their front-and-center seats. She giggles at how possessive he can get on the flip of a dime.

“And our first honoree of the evening, the incomparable and tour de force of abstract and avant garde art, Nora Downey!” The crowd claps as Nora confidently steps forward. She’s practiced this so many times, she could do it in mandarin – well if Matty wasn’t staring at her, eyes locked onto her own. A shaky exhale, a fidget of her hands as she pulls her papers in front of her and places them on the glass podium.

“Avant garde – new, unusual or experimental ideas. In my works around this gallery I have aimed to deliver this message while connecting it to my own ideas of the word and how it relates to me as an artist, as a friend, as a daughter, as a wife.” She glares at Calvin as the last word leaves her lips. “What I have realized is that my life was relatively normal, going on the regular course of life events for a ‘painter’ or ‘abstract artist’ until I met my husband. I was on a work trip and met him after a meeting that evening, and in that moment my whole life was thrown off one course and onto another. Onto an avant-garde one. Off the typical often tragic life of an artist and onto one of being a human who not only made art, but was now able to experience a different form of it and saw that art progress from notion to production to promotion. I have had the incredible experience of seeing how one form of art can interplay with another and heighten the experience for the subject or viewer. I tried to accomplish some of that in my work – using text from literature, phrases from propaganda as well as my own paintings to create a larger, more thought provoking experience.

Now, if I may speak a bit about my inspirations and what brought this idea forward exactly and how I came up with these ideas, I’d like to mention my ever loving husband Matty Healy – a musician. He has taken my previously quiet, lonely, often nocturnal life and nourished it, accepted it, and supported it. He has turned my solitary and introspective life and made it into one that is lush and vibrant, one that is open to different experiences and expressions. He has taken me and my lifestyle and made me into the artist you see before you. Someone confident in my work, proud of it in all its flaws and imperfections and even someone who is no longer too modest or self-effacing to be honored at a gathering like this. He has helped me see not only my own value, but the value of my life’s work and for that I will never be able to thank or repay him enough. Matty, may the only words I speak for the rest of my life be I love you. Thank you again for the honor, everyone!” She exhales, eyes brimming with tears. She sees Matty’s eyes are also glassy and she melts. Every word from her speech being the whole truth, meaning every last letter with every fiber of her being. She knew all of this from the first second she laid eyes on him. She knew she loved him before even meeting him. She knew he was the love of her life like she knew her own name.

Everyone applauds again, Matty jumping to his feet teary-eyed. He couldn’t be prouder, happier, more excited for her. If anyone in his life deserves to have their work be praised and honored by their colleagues it is undoubtedly Nora. She is the most hardworking, passionate, interesting person he has ever come across. He recalls the countless nights of him bringing up mugs of peppermint tea and cookies to her studio while papers and sketches sprawled across the room, not even an inch for him to stand. He recalls all the nights where they would make love and suddenly he’d find a swatch of dried paint on her skin, paying special attention to it. He recalls the first time he ever went to one of these events where someone had bought her work and displayed it, in shock over how people would flock to the museum to see her art. How people would get her pieces or fragments of them permanently etched on their skin, how she cried each time she saw on on her social media or walking around New York and meeting a young art student who was a fan of her work.

He recalls the first time one of his own fans ever brought her up at a signing and how he blushed and gushed about her with the young college student. How he realized in that very moment that she is the most magnificent thing that has every happened to him. Without her, he would never be opened up to this world or half of the stuff he has made references to in his own art. Without her, his own work would be empty, desolate, robotic, completely without all the mattyisms it is known for today. Without her, he would be a shell of himself. It is dizzying how much he loves her. How he got lucky enough to call her his wife is a mystery to him, but for whatever god sent her to him he is thankful…

Thankful for his Nora. His wife.

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

Family Cuddle Pile

a/n: I actually wrote this a while ago but it was perfect for the request. Theirs like, no content for this ship an I love it so much! Thank you for reading :) @arodynamic-enby

Pairings: romantic Anxceitmus and kid!Patton also super background Logince

Warnings: tattoos, less than ideal parent mentions, food mention, and light cursing

Word count: 1,844 

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Remus flopped out of bed, throwing his body carelessly across the room. He hastily threw on his clothes. Short shorts, ripped fishnets, a vest that was more patches than original material, really big clunky shoes, and a ripped up band-t. He also hooked his favorite bone earrings in his tattered earlobes. 

He stomped into his apartment’s kitchen. He grabbed a stale piece of bread he soaked it in coffee. Yawned and grabbed his bag, racing out the door. 

His brother was waiting for him at the tattoo shop, sketching a new idea. Unlike him, Roman only had a few tattoos, including not one, not two, not three… but three Disney quotes, a frog on a mushroom, a rose on his arm, and a constellation. Most of his tattoos were covered by tasteful burgundy overalls and a white button-down shirt.

Remus’ tattoos were also mostly covered by his clothes. But he had a tattoo sleeve depicting the garden of Eden, a matching frog on a mushroom, a quote from one of Roman’s books, medically accurate bone structures on his hand, a realistic spider on his neck, and a snake wrapping around his non-sleeved arm. And those were just the visible ones. 

Suffice to say, the twins were very different. 

Remus threw his bag onto the floor in the backroom, “Ro, when’s the first appointment!!” he yelled. “Your’s? At 11. FYI, Jan n’ Pat are coming over at 12, for motivation” Remus smiled, fuckin’ superb. 

He busied himself in collecting the ink and preparing the tattoo gun. The client wanted a fucking orange on their wrist, it should only take an hour or two but Remus was not excited to do a frickin’ orange circle. 

The prissy orange bitch came in and Remus got to work. They didn’t move much and only cried a little bit when the needle started jabbing at their skin. Remus liked this part of the process, stabbing people consensually was his favorite thing ever… also the art part but stabbing people!

Almost exactly an hour later the door jingled open. “Dada!!” a tiny voice called back into the store. “I’ll be there in a minute patty-cake” Remus called from his spot hunched over the client's arm.

He added the final touches to the fruit and helped the orange bitch off the chair. Roman swept the client away, Remus practically ran to greet his partner and son.

Janus wore a leather corset over a black collared shirt and baggy pants, their long platinum hair framed their face under their signature hat. They were holding hands with a toddler wearing mostly pink and blue, his blond hair (that matched Janus’) was a mop of curls barely held together by a few butterfly clips. 

“Dada, Dada!!! I got you a flower” the little boy cried, letting go of Janus’ hand and stumbling towards the tall man who scooped him up. Patton giggled and held out a sweaty flower clenched in his chubby fist. 

Remus accepted the flower with a gasp, ”this is really for me?” he said joyfully. Adjusting the small boy in his arms Remus turned towards Janus who was looking at the pair with a disgustingly sappy expression. 

“What are you lookin’ at hot stuff?” Remus teased. “Shut it you,” Janus said, pressing a kiss to Remus’ check. Patton made a noise, “icky” he said pushing Janus away. They laughed, “yes darling, we’re very icky”. 

“When’s verge-“

“he’ll be home at 4” 

“Dope”

“Stop by the Sleepy Café before you bring Pat to the apartment?”

“Can do scootal-lo!” 

Remus turned back to the little boy in his arms, “looks like you're stuck with me squirt”. Patton beamed and snuggled into Remus’ chest. Janus smiled again, “I’ll see you, boys, at dinner,” they said, ruffling Pat's hair and peaking Remus on the lips quickly so as to not upset the toddler. “Bye-bye Janny!!” Patton called after Janus as they left for work. 

“Righty-o,” Remus said, carrying Patton into the back room. “I know Ro’s got a couple coloring books, wanna do those for a bit?” Patton nodded and reached towards the ground to be put down. Remus plopped Patton on the couch and pulled out the book and pens as well as a sketchbook off his own. They sat together coloring and drawing until Roman came back to hug Patton. 

“Ah, my favorite nephew!” Roman said, scooping up the little boy. Patton laughed and pulled Roman’s hair. “Roro, can I color your arm pictures??” he asked, pointing to Roman’s rose tattoo. Roman plopped the toddler back down on the couch and handed him a pen. 

Patton went to work on the rose, scribbling reds and pinks and greens across his arm. Roman gave him complements each time Patton paused, and each time Patton shushed him and went back to work. Remus finished up his sketch, adding it to the pile of tattoo ideas they were eventually going to put up-front, and sat next to the toddler. 

“That’s really good pat-” 

“Shhhhhhhh”

Remus nodded and mimed zipping his lips. He liked spending time with the kid. They weren’t biologically related but who gives a fuck about blood, unless it’s outside of your body, then it’s fun. 

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“I don’ wanna” Patton wined his dad sighed “I know bubbles but we gotta go home to Papa and Janny, isn’t that fun” Patton considered this, “but Roro’s pretty arm picture” he argued. Remus scratched the back of his neck, “Pffffff- Ummm, how about this, we go home now and I’ll take you back to the shop tomorrow after pre-school” 

Patton brightened considerably, “ok” he chirped. “up please” the toddler’s chubby hands reached towards Remus who obediently scooped him up with a coo. After all who was he to say no to uppy hands. 

“See ya tomorrow, have fun on your date with the nerd” Remus sang as he snatched his bag juggling the still fussy Patton in his other arm. “Fu- Frick off Re. Say hi to your partners for me,” Romans said affectionately and waved as his twin left the building. 

Remus happily trotted out into the road. The tattoo shop was located on a quaint little street in the more commercial segment of their town only a short walk from Janus’ job. 

A light drizzle floated around them and the air was warm and comforting. Patton squealed as a large drop of water hit him in the head, prompting a laugh from Remus.

A jingle sounded through the peaceful cafe, the brown room was illuminated by those cool old fashion lights and a lovely array of pastries made the air smell of chocolate and blueberry scones. But the scones, as delicious as they were, weren’t the snack Remus was here for

“Hey babe- Remus why are you soaking wet”

“Puddle” Patton screeched. 

“Kid’s right, Puddle.”

Janus pinched their eyebrows, “ya know what, I’m not even surprised anymore. Just make sure Patton doesn’t catch a cold” they scolded. 

Remus nodded and saluted in mock seriousness, “yes captain” he said and pressed a kiss to Janus’ face over the cash register, “I’ll see ya in a bit” Remus grinned and led Patton back out of the cafe. 

Janus sighed lovingly as they watched their boyfriend and son turn to cross the street, Patton’s hand clasped around Remus’ happily. “Stop looking so happy, you're scaring the customers” Remy teased from across the counter. “Ha, Ha,” Janus glared and went back to work” 

Janus’ apartment was a cute two-bedroom space on the fourth floor of the building. The furniture was an interesting combo of vintage and things from the side of the road. The vintage parts came from their parent’s house, their father had died two years after Janus’ had run away and hadn’t thought to write them out of the will. 

The three of them had made a date out of customizing the few pieces that Janus wanted to keep. The customization mainly included darkening everything and adding more gothic touches. Virgil had done the fabrics, Remus the painting, and Janus moral support/ director. 

The three partners had also painted the kitchen/dining room/living room black with one yellow wall. Janus and Virgil’s room was dark purple instead of black with highlights in the same yellow. Patton’s room was the only one that didn’t  look marginally like a cave. 

The walls were a cream-yellow that lit up in the morning sunlight. After Janus announced that they were going to have a baby Remus had spent three hours painting the grey ceiling with white fluffy clouds. It was one of his favorite projects. 

Patton of course had no regard for the work put into the entirety of his home and was the usual menace of a toddler. And today a toddler with cheerios, truly a sight even god would tremble before. 

Remus plopped down next to Patton who was pushing cheerios around his highchair tray with an intense focus. He smiled at the little boy and flicked on the tv, “got any requests pip-squeak?” Remus asked. Patton looked thoughtful, “dead lady!!” he cried excitedly hitting the tray with his fists, cheerios flew everywhere. Remus nodded, understanding, “Corpse bride coming up!” he picked a few cheerios from the couch “you really are Verge’s kid” 

When Janus got home Patton was curled up on Remus’s chest. Both slept soundly despite the dead folk on the screen in front of them singing about the wedding. 

Janus smiled, their family was fucking adorable. They slipped off their shoes and snuggled up into Remus who hummed happily and pulled Janus into the hug still asleep. 

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

Three hours later Virgil trudged up the four flights of stairs huffing indignantly with each step. Of course, he could take the elevator… but it might break down and he would be stuck for hours. Or someone could get into the elevator with him and he would have to interact with a stranger. So stairs it was. 

He rummaged around his baggy hoodie, running his fingers through his dark purple hair in annoyance when he couldn’t find the key. Once he found it Virgil carefully (as he did everything) opened the apartment door. His combat books clunked satisfyingly against the hardwood floors as he entered his house. Virgil felt the tension leave his muscles, he was home. He glanced across the room, looking for his family. 

Virgil’s face lit up like a god damned Christmas tree. 

Across the room, both his partners and his son were curled up sleeping happily. Drool covered Remus’ face and Janus was snoring, they were the most precious thing Virgil had seen all freakin day. 

The three of them woke as Virgil wrapped his arms around them, Patton squealed in excitement. “Hello, darling” Janus mumbled sleepily into Virgil’s arm. Remus just groaned and nestled into the hug. The toddler wriggled between his dads squealing profusely. “Shhh, s’ sleepy time” Remus mumbled, rolling deeper into the cuddle pile and shutting Patton up. 

Virgil smiled and pressed a kiss to his partner’s cheek. “Mmm, love you” they purred. “Love you too Jan,” Virgil said, nestling his face in their neck. Virgil knew he would have to start dinner soon but that could wait, for now, cuddles.

[chaotic-tired-bastard]

Rex Marksley x Male Reader

CW for mentions of homophobia, crying, and mentions of alcohol

You sighed, snuggling your face into your pillow. Rex was curled up right behind you, his face buried in your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your waist. It was the first time in a while you two had a moment of peace and privacy, and you were determined to make the best of it. You had been on the road, doing whatever you had been doing for about a month or so. This was the first time in a while you two had actually been in a bed, and it was heaven to both of your backs.

The bed you were cuddled up in was some rickety, old hotel bed, the moth-eaten sheets rolled up and bundled on the floor and the lumpy pillows smushed underneath your head and Rex’s shoulder. The blanket covering you two was one you had bought somewhere, a thick, brown-dyed woollen blanket with a few dark stains from spilled coffee. Rex’s hat was hanging from one of the bedposts, his gauntlet and glove perched on the aforementioned sheets. Your shoes were by the door, Rex’s boots right next to your own.

You turned around, manoeuvring yourself so that you and Rex were face-to-face. Rex slowly opened his eyes, looking at you for a second to let his sleepy brain catch up to what was happening. “Lookin’ at somethin’, Doll?” Rex mumbled, smiling lazily as he moved his arms up to wrap around your chest and bring you closer.

“Only you,” You hummed, shifting yet again before settling back into his arms, burying your face in the collar of his shirt and inhaling deeply, blowing it all out in a contented sigh.

Rex smiled, putting his chin on your head as he held you close to him, your legs intertwined with his and your arms wrapped around each other. You could hear his soft, even breaths, how his heart beat in its even, rhythmic pattern beneath your hand. You could smell the dust and sweat he had yet to wash off from the past few days on the road; there was no doubt you smelled the same, or worse. Despite everything, this was the best you had felt in a while.

Actually, you had only ever felt this good with Rex. Life before that was cautious, tiptoeing around conversation and desperately hiding your not-so-accepted attractions. It was full of nights of manic freedom and then weeks of sitting up at night, waiting for someone to barge into your cheap hotel room with less-than good intentions to your well-being.

You’d have to pray to whatever god was listening that the man you were flirting with swung the same way, and that he wouldn’t snitch. You’d have to hope that the side glances the priest of whatever town you were in was just because you were either new in town or didn’t show up for the Sunday service. You’d have to double-check that nobody could tell your attractions went the way nobody wanted them to go.

But, with Rex, that didn’t happen. You two were free- going wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, however you wanted. You relished every day, waking up in his arms or beside him or, on the occasional day he woke up before you, waking up to him making a cup or two of coffee. You loved how he made you so relaxed, even if you were running from bandits or something. You loved his crooked smile, the adorable face he made when concentrating, and his constant dedication to make the impossible possible.

Rex just made you feel like life was worth living, and you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel like that. Rex made you feel alive.

“Y/N? Is something wrong?” Rex asked, removing his head from yours and looking at you, worry shining in his eyes.

“Hmm? No, I’m great,” You mumbled, smushing your face into his chest.

“You sure? It’s just, you started crying, and I was wondering if there was anything I could help with,” He said, cupping your cheek and brushing away something wet.

“‘M not crying,” You mumbled, sniffling.

“Oh? Then it must be gin, not tears, coming out of your eyes then” Rex said.

You wiped your cheek, rubbing at the wet skin. You really were crying. There was a wet spot on Rex’s shirt from your tears and you felt a tiny bolt of guilt go through you at the sight. “Do you want to talk about it?” Rex asked softly.

At the question, you almost started sobbing. To be held like this, by someone who you truly loved- years ago it would have been unthinkable. Then, being held in such a way would have been impossible- just a daydream. Some offhand pining for intimacy you would never be able to experience- something that would remain forever out of reach.

Now, here you were, cuddling with the best man you had ever met. One of the only men you’d be proud to call your and be proud he could call you his. The only man who could’ve captured your heart so entirely and completely and made you feel so much like a new person and yourself. “I-I… I just… I love you. So, so much…” You said, your voice trailing off and breaking as you began to cry again.

Rex pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. “And I love you. Nobody I know or don’t could even come close to you. You… just knowing you makes my heart skip a beat. Calling you mine is a dream come true,” He murmured, pressing kisses all over your face.

You let out a shaky sob, your hand gripping his shirt and pulling him close. He held you as you cried, pressing kisses to your temple and whispering soothing, sweet nothings into your ear. You weren’t crying because you were sad, though. You were crying because, for one of the first times in your life, you were truly and wholly happy. You were happy, and you didn’t want to give that up.

[cdroloisms]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 9 Home? - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I promise I’m going to get to requests. Enjoy the chapter!

WARNING: implied child abuse? (Nothing happens but it can still be uncomfy)

The soft creak of the second story window was the only sound in your shared bedroom. Having been sent upstairs and denied a meal for the millionth time this week, you were desperate for anything to eat. It wasn’t like the orphanage was barely surviving, but honestly you think the caretaker had something out for you. Always picking on you, calling you names, and finding any excuse to punish you. All around known as the caretaker’s personal punching bag.

“Now I can see why you were dropped off here.” She would say, before taking the plate of food from in front of you and dumping it into the trash.

With your lips sealed shut, you trudged up the stairs, sad little eyes tearing up. Any back talk would result in something far worse. The wilts on your back still stung days after your punishment, an example and demonstration of the cruelness of life.

Like a rabid animal, you were willing to receive any kind of punishment just to quiet the pain in your stomach. Grateful for the bushes located underneath your second story window, you swung your legs over the ledge, preparing to jump. With a small humph, you landed softly on your feet. Leaves and small branches pricked at your thighs as you wobbled out of the bushes. You gripped the small pouch of coins in your pocket, running your fingers over the opening of the bag.

A childish dream that a few coins were your ticket to everywhere and anywhere. The city you lived in was labeled as UN-1889, which was far into its development to retain its old name. Unofficially called “Yun” by the locals, it also held the record of absolutely nothing exciting or entertaining. Crime was moderate, chain restaurants and shopping centers were the place of excitement and that was it. Vowing to leave and never come back, you made sure to keep that promise by collecting and stashing away any money you could get your hands on. In the end, the most you had in your possession was enough to buy half a ticket, and you were ready to blow it all off in a matter of minutes on something that will only last seconds.

You spotted the bright, blue neon lights of the only local diner in the area. Parents looking to adopt will do nothing but rave about this place. Hearing just how good the food sounded compared to the gruel you were forced to eat every day, it made your mouth water and your stomach do flips. Jogging up to the entrance, you quickly opened the door to the diner. Air condition hit your dirty, sweaty face, cooling you down instantly. Much to your surprise, there was not one patron in the diner. Leaning against the counter was a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She stared at the TV in the corner, sighing deeply. As the door closed, your presence was made known.

One look was all it took for her to know everything about you.

“Oh great, another one.” She mumbled from where she stood. “What do you want?”

“Food. I’m hungry.” You replied annoyingly.

“Have any money?” She asked, standing up straight.

You dug into your pocket, grabbed the bag of coins and held it out to the waitress. Snatching it out of your hand, she emptied the contents onto the counter. Shifting through the coins lazily, she huffed.

“Kid, this isn’t even enough for a plate.” She poured the coins back into the bag, tossing it back at you. “Door’s over there.”

Too tired and weak to fight, you slumped your way out, disappointed and embarrassed.

“Hey wait!” You heard someone shouting. You turned around, seeing another woman popping out from the kitchen. Her soft, platinum blond curls bounced as she walked out to stop you from leaving. Ringlets of silver hung from her ears and wrists, clanking softly as she motioned you to come closer. “Are you from the orphanage down the street?”

You nodded vigorously.

“I know how she treats those babies over there. You come on over and get yourself something to eat.” She said, tapping on the counter.

“I don’t have enough for-“ you started. She waved her hand, her signal for no ands, if, or buts. As you pranced over, you heard the waitress groan.

“Lou, you can’t be serious.” She muttered.

Lou held her hand up. “I don’t like seeing children go hungry. It’s not right.”

“Pick whatever you like.” She smiled, handing over a menu to you. Everything looked so delicious and tempting. You only see people like this on TV. It seems so fake, portraying kindness in a sickening, sweet way. It was enough to hurt your teeth.

You watched in adoration as Lou passed you a basket of warm rolls, butter shimmering off the golden buns. Forget manners. You gobbled down the bread in minutes, hiccuping softly. You weren’t focused on trying to quiet your hiccups down, just to fill your empty stomach.

“My goodness, slow down.” Lou chuckled, placing a cup of water next to you. “What’s your name, baby?”

“It’s (Y/N).” You replied, mouth still full of bread.

“(Y/N). Now is that your actual name or was it given to you by that devil woman?”

“It’s my actual name. They tried to change it, but decided to keep it.” You said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Lou handed you a few napkins. “I swear that lady does not like anything or anyone. An all around horrible person.”

You nodded sadly, trying to dissipate the knowledge that you were probably going to receive the harshest punishment you have ever had in your short life when you came back “home”. As your stomach was dropping at the thought of your imminent demise, Lou slid your plate of food in front of you. Eating a basket of rolls wasn’t enough at all. This food looked better than anything you consumed at the orphanage.

While Lou and the waitress babbled and bickered, the static and switch of the TV in the corner was the only noise in the room. Eventually the waitress decided to settle on the local news. Expansion of some parts of the city, a deadly crash near the asteroid belt, and so on and so on. Suddenly, the screen flashed with the words BREAKING NEWS splayed on the screen.

The news reporter quickly tapped through her data pad, smiled and addressed the viewers.

“Good evening, we bring to you some breaking news. The criminal Kedo, who was wanted on both planets Earth and Ganymede for the murders of multiple people, has been caught right here in UN-1889.”

The reporter then drone on about his crimes, and how he left his trail. You chewed slowly, hanging onto every word. Crime was at a middle to low level, but you have never seen something as large as this.

“It has been reported by BIG SHOT, a new TV program broadcasted specially for bounty hunters in the solar system, that Kedo’s bounty had jumped from 500,000 woolong to over a million woolong.” Your eyes widened. To a small child, one million woolong was a whole lot more than what it actually was. You were probably never going to see that sort of money in your lifetime. All the possibilities of having that much money ran through your head. The first was getting the hell out of this city.

“We are informed that the courageous bounty hunter, or huntress, known as Lady Jo, caught Kedo red-handed in hiding right here in UN-1889.” The reporter stated.

The screen switched to live coverage at the police station, cameras flashing and reporters clamoring to get a closer look at the infamous criminal who was now being led into the building in handcuffs. His hair disheveled, eyes scanning his surroundings like crazy, fitting a perfect description of a crazed murderer. The cameras shifted their attention to Jo, standing proudly with her hand resting on her holster.

Intrigue and fascination filled you. You couldn’t help but watch in awe of her. Her auburn hair was curly and volumized, laying softly on her shoulders, eyes a striking green that shone like emeralds in the harsh lights of the TV crews. The waitress scoffed at her outfit, which consisted of a revealing button up white shirt, tucked into black leather pants, with a matching jacket. She was truly a sight to see.

“Can you believe that? She’s not a cowgirl, she’s a goddamn model.” She said.

Lou snorted. “You know, I used to have an outfit just like that.”

You smiled back, finishing your plate. Not wanting to take your eyes off the TV, the silverware clattered loudly onto the plate.

“I’ll tell you what, there is absolutely no honor in being a bounty hunter. They’re rude, selfish, and I hate every last one of them. Especially Lady what’s-her-name right here.” The waitress nagged, taking your empty plate.

“They can do a way better job than actual law enforcement.” Lou retorted.

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. If there wasn’t any honor I’m your choice, so be it. Your new bottom line was set into place. One million woolong was going to be a possibility for you, one way or another.

-

Jet sat at the navigation console on the bridge, pressing buttons at a lightning fast speed. On his right side was the computer TV, playing some late night television as background noise. Faye stood near the windows, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the nighttime sky. There was something that must have been discussed.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Jet sighed and got up. “I went ahead and placed our coordinates for our next bounty back on Mars. Should only be a week.”

“Dinner was a little off, don’t you think?” Faye said, ignoring Jet.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying something about my cooking?”

“What? No. I meant with-“

“With Spike and (Y/N)? Then yes, there is something off with them. I’ve noticed it since we got back home the other day.” Jet said.

“So much more talkative, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t keep up with it.” Faye replied as she descended the steps to the navigation console.

“The big baby wasn’t all too happy about her staying with us. So I wonder why he’s acting all buddy buddy with her.”

Faye chuckled, a sly upturn of the mouth growing on her face. “Hmm, sounds like someone is jealous.”

Looking up from the console, Jet scoffed. “I’m more than happy that I’m not playing therapist anymore. Everyday it was, “did you see the way she did this” or “did you see the way how she did that”. At that point, I should’ve started charging Spike.”

Faye had given some deep thought since dinner. The outline was in plain sight. A touch on the back. A squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the thigh. It thrilled Faye to be the only one to know of the growing tension between Spike and (Y/N), to be the one to hold a secret without being told of it. But in the midst of the excitement, there was another feeling circling, weaving it way into her head. Jealousy.

It hurts to see couples walking by, hand in hand, romantically flaunting each other openly. Bothering Faye for a second, she knew she didn’t have to go home with them. But now that it was only a few feet from her, it was going to be a problem.

If the game doesn’t go as planned, someone has to interfere to ensure a win. And Faye did not like losing.

The computer TV turned to static as Jet flipped through the channels, trying to find the right program to end the night on. Settling on tonight’s showing of Big Shot, he leaned against the console, pondering about dinner. A conversation consisting of 100 words and more between Spike and (Y/N) was non-existent for the time that she had been staying on the Bebop. One afternoon alone, and suddenly they’re two peas in a pod.

We’ll just see how it goes, Jet thought.

A big red WARNING sign displayed on the screen, waking Jet and Faye right up.

“Folks, it seems we have an important message to relay to all bounty hunters in the solar system from the ISSP.”Punch said, his playful, exaggerated facade never faltering.

“Go ahead, we are all dying to know!” Judy replied, apparently cheerful about a serious topic at hand.

“Bounty hunters, look out! A mysterious criminal is on the loose, and his target is not the innocent civilians of the solar systems, but our esteemed, hard working hunters.”

“What makes him so bad, anyway?” Judy questioned.

“I’m glad you asked! Some of our amigos already know what we are talking about. There have been multiple reported incidents of hunting vessels being set ablaze with the intent of murder all across the system. The ISSP believes that this individual is ONLY targeting bounty hunters, and no one else.”

“Mysterious you say? Well goodness, looks like there’s no bounty for them yet!”

“Right you are. Until we get a face and a name, no dinero can be placed for the bounty. So be aware, and be safe out there, buckeroos!” Punch finished, smiling alongside Judy. Knowing they were playing a character, it was off putting by the serious news given.

Jet and Faye looked at each other in silence, eyes wide and full of questions.

Happy hunting, amigos.

[ahkaahshi]

sleeping over at their s/o’s house for the first time [scenarios]

pairings: sakusa kiyoomi; hirugami sachirou; kuroo tetsurou x fem reader

genre: fluff and humor, as per usual

warning(s): n/a

notes: kinda popped off on hirugami’s part. couldn't help myself. not sorry bout it either. can’t wait til we get to see more of his cute lil face in the anime.

he is so painfully awkward I love him

will just stand in the entryway with his duffle slung over his shoulder, staring straight at you until you tell him when he can put his stuff

this literally isn’t his first time over at your house but he acts like it???

poor baby’s obviously nervous about ~ spending the night ~

immediately washes his hands

brings his own pillow

asks if you’ve sanitized all your surfaces recently/if anyone in your household has been sick lately

does he wanna play video games? not until he’s wiped down all the controllers.

does he wanna watch real housewives? no, but you put it on anyway because you know he secretly loves the drama

does he want a snack? possibly? but refuses to eat on your bed because lying on crumbs is nasty

all he does is get under the covers and hang out

only moves to brush his teeth and, of course, wash his hands

will do a face mask with you but only after thoroughly reading the contents of the bottle/package

wears his hoodie and sweats to bed

is asleep before 10pm

2/10. total party pooper who only gets points because he’s hot and dislikes the same housewives as you do

Moments after releasing a rather loud guffaw at a funny scene from the television show you have playing on your laptop, you hear a small groan echo from beside you. Turning your head to the source of the noise brings your attention to your boyfriend, whose tall form rested on the bed beside you, ensconced in your blankets. His eyelids flutter open and his eyes the color of charcoal fasten on you before narrowing in a small glare of annoyance from underneath the sea of black waves atop his head.

Maybe you would’ve felt even the slightest bit intimidated if his face wasn’t close to being absorbed by the yellow fabric of his hoodie--and if he hadn’t flattened his hair against his forehead by closing the drawstrings to secure his hood around his head.

“Kiyo!” you whine, crossing your arms in front of you chest, “Were you really asleep just now?”

His dark eyebrows furrow as he answers matter-of-factly, “Yes. You know I go to bed at ten o’clock, (f/n). It’s ten thirty.”

You roll your (e/c) eyes at him and protest, “But this is a sleepover! Would it kill you to stay awake a little longer so you can spend some precious time with your beloved girlfriend?”

“Lack of sleep can lead to sickness. Sickness can lead to death. So, yes, staying awake longer to spend precious time with my beloved girlfriend could kill me.”

“I hate you.”

He lets out a long sigh and reaches over towards your laptop to close it, putting an end to your Real Housewives marathon. Once he’s moved it off of your bed, one of his arms snakes around your waist and pulls your body down towards the mattress. His midnight gaze doesn’t falter as he says, “If you get sick, I won’t be able to spend time with you like this, so sleep with me.”

Your heart skips a beat at his tenderly spoken words, and you crawl underneath the covers so you can place your head on his muscular chest and curl up beside him. The feeling of his warmth surrounding you is enough to make you melt into his arms and forgive him for completely ditching you in favor of sleep.

“(F/n).”

“Yes, baby?”

“If you kick me off the bed, this will be our last sleepover.”

sweet boy who is very excited to spend the night at his girlfriend’s house!!

brings snacks and movies

he enjoys doing any activity with you, whether it’s watching movies, playing video/board games, or just cuddling on the couch and talking

not hard to please at all!!!

watches rom coms with you. secretly a hopeless romantic

you’ll probably spend at least ten minutes of your night trying to catch pieces of popcorn in your mouths

and another ten doing the same thing with m&ms

poor boy is too tall to fit under your blankets, so you have to give him an extra one for his legs and feet

bedtime attire consists of boxers with corgis on them, a sweater, and crew socks to keep his tootsies warm 🥺

brings you a pair of matching, corgi-patterned sleeping shorts bc he wants to twin with you

your parents are gone, meaning you can do chaotic activities...

... like baking at 2am!!

he loves to bake (and you can’t convince me otherwise). pls bake with him

wants to stay up all night with you but ends up passing out around 3am after y'all eat all the cookies you made together

11/10, best sleepover ever

Few things were more romantic than spending an evening with your boyfriend on your hands and knees, against the cold, tile floor of the kitchen, cleaning up the aftermath of the mess you’d created.

Lifting your gaze from the white goop coating the flooring, you glance over at Hirugami, who looks completely unfazed and unbothered despite his face still being decorated with dollops of whipped cream. Beholding this sight once more sends you into another fit of laughter that makes it hard for you to keep yourself steady.

“What?” he asks, a small smile creeping onto his lips at seeing you so amused.

In between breaths, you manage to ask, “Why’ve you still got whipped cream on your face?”

With a roll of his chestnut brown eyes, he uses his fingers to swipe some of it off so he can help himself to another serving. “Obviously,” he scoffs sassily, “I’m saving it for later.” His smart comment makes you snort rather unattractively, which, in turn, causes chuckles to pour out from his mouth. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re doing too, right?”

Your (e/c) eyes widen, since you thought you’d done a good job of clearing up the results of your whipped cream battle from your face. A glance at your reflection in the glass of the oven where the cookies were slowly baking soon proved you wrong. Instead of being irritated by this discovery, however, you let out another, wheezing laugh and fell onto your side.

To any outsider, the situation would’ve looked rather strange--an incredibly tall volleyball player dressed only in corgi-patterned boxers, a sweater, and socks, face covered in whipped cream as he fell about laughing with his girlfriend who wore a similar ensemble and was sporting the same whipped cream situation. However, in your defense, it was two o’clock am, and you were high on sugar.

"Come over here and I’ll get the rest off your face, then,” Hirugami suggests, extending his long arms towards you that beckon you closer to him. After you scoot closer to him, he pulls you into his embrace and starts peppering your skin reddened from laughing so heartily with kisses. With each press of his lips against your face, your heart flutters in your chest.

He only pulls away from you when the oven beeps, alerting you that the cookies you’ve been awaiting are finally ready. But he does so with hesitation, seeing as he’d been caught up in savoring the sweet taste of your lips instead.

“You ready to eat some cookies?” he asks with a grin.

Your reply makes him snicker: “Always.”

is fully prepared to stay up the entire night (spoiler alert: doesn't)

made an entire party playlist for y'all to listen to throughout the evening

expect lots of dancing, vibing, singing, and buzzfeed unsolved episodes

brings dance dance revolution over to your house and then proceeds to challenge you to a dance off

was not prepared for what you brought to the table

tries twerking to distract you but still fails

will go on a midnight mcdonalds run with you

is the kinda person to share deep, late night thoughts with

only with him can your conversations go from discussing the questions of human existence to debating which form of potatoes is the most elite

will 100% do face masks with you to keep his complexion lookin godly

INSISTS on watching scary movies

expectation: “don’t worry, babe; I got you!!”

reality: is visibly shaking underneath the covers, questioning all the shadows in your house

wears only a pair of shorts to bed even tho it’s cold af (he runs hot, if ya know what I mean heheh)

8/10. would’ve scored the last 2 points if he hadn’t stolen the blankets and made you wonder if your house was haunted

"(F/n).”

The familiar and gentle voice of your boyfriend rouses you from your semi-conscious state, and you hear the sheets of your bed rustle.

“I’m so tired, Tetsu... what is it?” you wonder groggily, not even bothering to open your eyes to see what’s upset him.

“I think your house is haunted,” is his response. Though he speaks calmly and coherently, his hazel eyes are wide with fear and darting around the dark bedroom.

“Oh, stop. I knew it was a bad idea to watch those supernatural Buzzfeed Unsolved episodes before bed.”

The bed sinks behind you, and you feel the warmth of the blanket he’d stolen from you earlier around your body as he pulls you towards him so your back is flush against his chest. While you appreciate his closeness to you, you can tell he’s far from relaxed. The grip his fingers have around one of your shoulders is tight, as if he’s using it as a stress ball.

You murmur his name with indignation and pry his cold hand off your shoulder, but press a gentle kiss against the back of it. “Baby, go to sleep.”

He noticeably stiffens when a quiet whoosh sounds from another part of your house. “What the heck was that?” he asks from where his face is buried in the back of your neck, too afraid to look around and risk finding something he might not want to see.

“The dishwasher.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, “the dishwasher... of course...” 

With a gentle groan, you lift your head so you can turn and press a gentle kiss against his forehead in an attempt to soothe him. As soon as you plop back down onto your pillow, Kuroo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, desperate to get a wink of sleep.

The sound of a creak brings both of you to attention moments later, however, and your heart begins to race.

“That was the house settling... right?” you whisper.

He pulls the blanket over both of your heads, fully cloaking your bodies beneath it and says, “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

At this point, you realize it’s going to be a long night for reasons other than those you’d expected.

[lamptracker]

Untitled Han Jisung Fic

Officially, it has no title. I could not think of one. 

Unofficially the title is “Eris Said I Didn’t Have to Give This a Title”

At any rate:

Untitled Han Jisung (Stray Kids) Fic

Pairing: Han Jisung/Female Reader

Summary: Jisung and the reader celebrate their one-year anniversary. The other seven morons members show up at the end. 

Warnings: Mediocre smut, some language, tooth-rotting fluff at the end. Oh, and no title

Author’s note: This is based on an idea that @jisungiesbunnie​ came up with for Valentine’s Day, but since I could not get my shit together in time for that I changed it to an anniversary celebration.

You carefully pulled the cheesecake out of the oven, smiling to yourself as you gently shook it. The center of it wobbled slightly - perfect. Just like everything else you’d had planned for tonight.

It was your anniversary with Jisung, one year. One year of inside jokes, of laughter, of love… and, you had to admit, one year of the best sex of your life. 

Jisung was everything to you. He was your best friend, your confidant, your sounding board, your biggest cheerleader. You loved him, so much. And tonight, you had grand plans to show him just how much.

You’d told him that you’d had to work late that night, and would be perfectly content celebrating another night. But, of course, you didn’t have to work late. Instead, you’d gone to the dorms to surprise him with dinner and his favorite dessert. You had to get the other guys out of there, at least for a few hours. So you gave Chan some money (“I don’t trust those guys,” you’d said; Minho threw a pillow at your head) and told them to go out and do something fun. So off they went for dinner and shopping and who knows what else (not that you really wanted to know), while you made dinner and cheesecake.

“Hey, guys, I’m home.” The front door opened, and you did your level best to not drop everything you were doing and immediately run into your boyfriend’s arms. Instead, you stayed in the kitchen, waiting for him to discover the surprise. “Um… hello? Where is everyone, uh… oh, wow, something smells good. Hey, Felix! What’s cookin’, good lookin’, huh?” Jisung poked his head into the kitchen. “I...oh, whoa, you’re not Felix.”

You giggled softly. “How astute of you.”

His confused expression softened into a wide smile; chuckling, he immediately walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I thought you had to work late,” he said, burying his head in your shoulder.

“I might have made that up so I could surprise you.” You gently kissed the top of his head.

“Where is everybody?”

You laughed. “Threw some money at them and told them to have a good time. Chan promises they won’t be back before ten. So… we’ve got the place all to ourselves.”

“This is amazing.” Jisung lifted his head, smiling. “I’m sorry I called you Felix.”

“Hey, he’s a really good cook. I take it as a compliment.” 

“I’m glad you’re not Felix, though.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy. But he would never let me do this.” He pulled you close to him, gently pressing his lips to yours. Your hands moved up to his hair, gently curling around the short strands as the kiss deepened slightly. Just as his hands slid down your lower back, a loud buzz filled the air.

“Oh!” You pulled away from him abruptly. “That’d be the air fryer.”

Jisung eyed you skeptically. “You didn’t cook Hyunjin, did you?”

“He wouldn’t fit,” you replied without missing a beat. “We’re having chicken.”

Jisung threw his head back and laughed; you absolutely adored that sound, and the fact that you were the one making him make that sound.

“Do you need help setting the table?”

You shook your head as you pulled two plates out of the cupboard. “Just get washed up, I’m pretty sure you haven’t washed your hands since lunch. I’ve got this, baby.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “Now scoot, I’ve got a table to set.” You dramatically shooed a now-giggling Jisung out of the kitchen.

While Jisung washed up for dinner, you finished setting the table and started to plate the food. Jisung walked back in as you poured two glasses of wine.

“Wow, babe, this looks really good.” Jisung pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“It’s our anniversary,” you replied simply. “I think you deserve a little spoiling.”

“Well,” he said as he pulled out your chair for you, “thank you.”

**

“What do you want to watch?” Jisung asked. Dinner and dessert was long behind you. The food (not to toot your own horn or anything) was delicious. The conversation was, as always, fantastic. Jisung had a way of telling stories that had you hooked from word one. Even his simple story of going to the convenience store the other night with Minho and Jeongin to get slushies became an epic tale. 

Now you were settled on the couch, trying to decide what to watch on Netflix. To be honest, nothing sounded good. You didn’t really want to watch anything. But you knew what you wanted to do…

Wordlessly, you gently took the remote from Jisung’s hand and set it on the end table next to the couch. Jisung started to ask you what you were doing, but his breath caught in his throat as you swung your leg over his lap.

“Oh,” he breathed as you straddled him. “Don’t want to watch anything, huh?”

“No, there’s one thing I wanna watch.” You leaned down, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whispered. “I wanna watch you cum, baby.”

“I like the way you think.” He reached up slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the side of your neck. “Right here?”

You nodded. “We should put a towel or something down, you know how Chan gets.”

“You do that-” his lips traveled down your neck, stopping just above your collarbone - “and I’ll grab a condom.”

You gasped as he harshly sucked on the spot. You knew there’d be a mark there later, but you really didn’t care. “Okay.” You quickly hopped off his lap and ran to the linen closet for towels while Jisung dashed to his bedroom. Carefully but quickly, you spread the towels on the cushions and quickly disrobed. As Jisung re-entered the living room, tiny foil packet in hand, you leaned casually back on the cushions.

Jisung groaned slightly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“Not without you.” 

“God, I have the best girlfriend ever.” Jisung made quick work of taking off his clothes; you bit your lip as your eyes traveled over his toned body. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, but it stirs something inside of you every time.

Jisung sat on the couch next to you, ripping open the condom and carefully sliding it onto his rock-hard shaft. 

“Would you ride me?” he asked, quietly yet confidently.

You nodded as you straddled him again, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Before we get started,” Jisung said breathily, “how much foreplay are we talking here?”

“Next to none,” you replied, eyebrows raised. “I’m so fucking horny right now, it won’t take me long at all.”

Jisung whined softly. “Fuck, you’re the greatest.”

“Save the praise for the end, baby boy.”

“God, I love when you call me that,” he said as you gently lowered yourself onto him. 

“I know.” You gripped his shoulders slightly while you started to roll your hips slowly. 

“Feels so good,” Jisung moaned. “Always does.”

“Mmm, yeah.” 

One of the things you loved best about sex with Jisung was, it didn’t need to be vocal. You didn’t feel the need to constantly make sounds of approval, or tell him how good it was. He knew just by the look on your face, the way your eyes fluttered closed when something felt right, the way your mouth fell open when you were close. 

And he was the same way. The corners of his mouth perked up when you did something that feels good - like when you sped up as you rode him. His eyebrows raised slightly as you dug your fingernails into his shoulders, not too hard, just hard enough for him to notice. And as his orgasm approached, his breathing hitched, his hands flew to your hips, and he bit his lower lip as his head fell backwards slightly and his eyes screwed shut.

“Oh, babe,” he panted, “I’m so close.”

You leaned down slightly, so your breath danced around his ear. “Let it out for me, Jisung.”

And with a loud groan, he did. As he rode out his high, his hips stuttered up against yours; that was all you needed to tip over the edge. Your mouth fell open and you buried your head in the crook of his neck; your legs shook as the sensation washed over you in waves.

When both of you were spent, you pushed yourself up slightly so you could smile softly at him.

“Hi,” you whispered.

Jisung smiled back at you; his eyes fluttered open, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. “Hey,” he replied.

“That was…”

“Awesome, yeah.” He tapped the tip of your nose with a finger; you scrunched up your nose and he giggled softly. “I hate to be a mood murderer here, but we should really get cleaned up before the Dork Squad gets back.” “You’re right.” You gently pulled yourself off of him; he let out a soft whine at the loss of contact. “Oh, stop that, I’m staying the night. We can do it again.”

He laughed. “I know, it’s just… I miss you already.”

You shook your head as you smiled. “Just get rid of that and get dressed, already.”

**

Half an hour later, you and Jisung were cuddled up on the couch, watching Netflix. The door swung open, and Jisung’s bandmates came spilling into the room.

“Hey!” Hyunjin called out brightly. “How was the big anniversary dinner?”

“Oh, it was awesome!” Jisung said, a smile creeping across his face. “(y/n) made dinner, and dessert.”

“Cheesecake from scratch,” you interjected. “There’s a ton of it left, if you guys want some.”

“Score.” Changbin immediately headed toward the kitchen; Chan laughed at him.

“Well,” the de facto leader said, “I’m so glad you guys had a good -” Chan stopped mid-sentence; he raised a finger in the air, sniffed slightly, and his eyes suddenly grew wide. “Wait just a second,” he said. Then, pointing at the two of you, he exclaimed loudly: “Y’all fucked on this couch, didn’t you?!”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jisung asked, as innocently as he possibly could, even batting his eyelashes for effect.

Chan tsk-ed loudly. “You did! I knew it! You horny little shits!”

“So what if we did?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “We used protection, even put down a towel first.”

“It’s… I… we sit on that couch!” Jeongin sputtered, flustered. 

“I don’t care if y’all had six towels on it,” Chan grumbled, “that is unsanitary.”

“Anybody else got anything to say?” Jisung asked as you burst into laughter. Unsanitary. That is hilarious. 

“Hey, man,” Minho said, raising his palms in somewhat self-defense. “What you two do on your own time…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Seungmin agreed. “Just don’t give me details, okay?”

Felix grinned widely. “I love,” he said, “that you two love each other so much that you just couldn’t wait to show each other. You had to do it right now. Isn’t it romantic?”

“It’s gross,” Jeongin protested.

“It’s kind of sweet, actually.” Hyunjin nodded. “When’s the last time any of us felt like that about someone, huh?”

“I don’t care.” Chan huffed loudly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “That is disgusting, doing that where…”

“I wouldn’t talk,” Hyunjin interjected. “Especially since you and Yuri did it in the shower not two weeks ago.”

“What?” Chan’s face turned tomato red. “How did you…”

“You left the door open.” Hyunjin shrugged as he brushed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “By the way, has she called you since then?”

“Said something about her mom’s dog being sick… she’s not calling me, is she? I mean just because I… whoa, whoa, whoa! This isn’t about me! It’s about Jisung and (y/n) being unhygienic!”

“Unhygienic!” you wheezed as you dissolved into laughter.

“We use that shower!” Jeongin yelped. 

“It cleans itself!” Chan shouted back. And with that, the seven of them left the room, squabbling the entire way; Changbin doubled back, cheesecake in hand, and ran up to the two of you, fist raised.

“Awesome,” he said. “Mad respect, you guys.” 

Jisung laughed as he gave Changbin a fist-bump; you gently tapped his fist with yours as well. 

Changbin flashed a toothy, goofy grin at you as he ran back out of the room.

“I’m sorry about them, as usual,” Jisung said quietly as you laughed.

“Oh, baby, no need to apologize. Sounds like Hyunjin got custody of the brain cell today, though.”

It was Jisung’s turn to laugh. “Seriously, though? This has been the best night. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You pressed your lips to his as his arm snaked around your shoulders, drawing you closer.

“Oh!” He pulled back suddenly, taking his arm off your shoulders. You cocked your head to one side in confusion, watching as he pulled one of his silver rings - his favorite, you noticed - off his finger.

“Jisung? What are you doing?”

“I want you to have this,” he said, almost shyly. “You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want you in my life for a long time. I don’t know that I’m ready to be married just yet, but I know that I don’t want to be apart from you for any longer than I have to. I promise to always be near you, whether that’s in person or not. And I… I want you to take this as a reminder of that promise.”

Tears rimmed your eyes as he slipped the ring onto your finger (you are very lucky in that your hands are about the same size). “Oh, Jisung. This is so sweet, thank you.” You reached up, kissing him softly. “I guess I shouldn’t leave you hanging and tell you I feel the exact same way, right?”

Jisung laughed quietly. “I figured you did, love. I just… I love you.”

“I love you.” You snuggled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you again and he unpaused the show. Your thumb rubbed softly against the metal band now circling your finger. You loved this man, more than you’d ever dreamed you could love anyone or anything, and it was a thrill to know he loved you too.

[star-going-supernova]

I would certainly be interested in reading the unofficial version of Damsell in Distress if it's not a problem. - Elsie

Ask and ye shall receive! It starts immediately after Maddie tells Godzilla that her dad was kidnapped and includes the beginning of the original ending. It's also incomplete, as I stopped writing the murdery part maybe 2/3 of the way through.

Please be warned, what happens isn't nice. If KiaRL was too much for you, maybe skip this one. It's similar to what Godzilla did to those kidnappers, but it's from one of their POVs, so, like, there's a bit of detail in some places. I wouldn't say it's overly graphic, but... yeah. Exercise caution.

• • •

Kidnapping, when done right and with fellow professionals, was a lucrative business. Blake Curtis knew that well.

It was with well-earned confidence that he and the other seven members of their homegrown operation relaxed in the nice office space they’d rented out for this particular venture. The building was decently far from the mark’s—no pun intended—place of residence, but not so far from the location of the organization he belonged to.

You didn’t want the fingers to start rotting in the mail, after all. And sending them in anything other than a padded envelope was bound to be memorable to the wrong people.

Being forgettable was, in all ways, the name of their game.

Blake and every last one of his associates were plain. Not a one of them was particularly attractive, or had stand-out features, or had public interactions outside of the most basic, scripted conversations. And for that reason, no one every gave them a second look. No one ever remembered them more than a few minutes after an encounter—and they certainly wouldn’t have been able to describe them.

It was an art form, and a well-paying one, at that.

Completely unconscious in one of the other rooms in the office was their newest target, a man reportedly high in the rankings of Monarch. Mark Russell: divorced—the ex was dead—father of two children—one of whom was also dead—and living with his young daughter out in the middle of nowhere. Important enough to his peers to be worth a ransom, but not so important to have a bodyguard.

They couldn’t have asked for a better setup.

With the target secured and unable to cause any problems, it was just a matter of waiting. Four of his associates had broken out a pack of cards and were coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to cheat at their game. Alice, his cousin, was reading Pride and Prejudice by the window, sipping at some fruity drink she’d made for herself.

Ryan was napping on the couch, his hat covering his face, and good ole Winnie, the leader of their group, was typing away at her laptop.

Blake sighed, content, and leaned back in his comfortable office chair. He took a drag of his cigarette and let his eyes drift half-closed. The toe of his shoe absently slid along the ground, lazily spinning him back and forth.

A faint tremble went through his chair.

Off to his side, Alice made a dreamy noise. A burst of laughter rose up from the card players.

Another tremble, slightly stronger than the first, had him peeking his eyes open. An earthquake, perhaps? They didn’t have any neighbors in the building—they’d made sure of that—but no one else seemed to be noticing the shudders passing through the structure.

They began to increase in intensity, and the time between them grew shorter.

Snorting awake when a mug rattled on the coffee table, Ryan pushed his hat up and raised his head. “What’s doin’ that?” he asked groggily.

Alice and Winnie looked over at him. Blake stood, keeping his stance wide as the tremors grew worse.

“I don’t think this is how earthquakes work,” Alice said, sliding a ribbon into her well-worn book.

The four playing cards, who Blake now saw were sharing a couple bottles of alcohol between them, set their game aside, still giggling.

“A train?” Blake suggested. “Helicopters?”

The windows rattled, and outside, someone screamed.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Omar said, stumbling up from his seat. He took a swig from one of the bottles. “I rem’ber this scene.” He stared into the narrow opening with one eye squinted shut.

“What are you doing?” Eli asked, less drunk-looking than the other three.

“Lookin’ for ripples. That’s how you know a t-rex is coming.”

“It won’t work if you’re holding the bottle, moron,” Dennis, which was wonderfully ironic, said. Blake didn’t pay them any attention, though, as he went over to one of the windows.

He could hear more people screaming, and despite a poor vantage point, he was just able to make out a number of people running frantically down the road. A car swerved wildly around the fleeing populace, crashing into a light pole. The driver climbed out, appearing to be muttering in a panic to himself, and took off at a sprint.

“Something’s happening out there,” he said to Alice as she joined him.

Sandy chuckled. “Maybe it’s a monster attack.” She stood and cracked her back.

An enormous crash jolted the building so badly, everyone standing found themselves grasping desperately for something to hold on to. Ryan tumbled off the couch with a yelp. Omar lost his footing entirely and fell with a strained chuckle. The glass bottle hit the edge of the table and shattered.

While Omar complained about getting bits of glass in his hands, Blake, closely followed by Alice and Winnie, ran to the roof access the office space came with.

“Maybe something crashed,” he huffed out. “A plane, or a huge pile-up—”

“If only we could be so lucky,” Winnie said, and then they were bursting out onto the roof.

He heard his cousin whisper a curse in another language, his own jaw going slack as his mind went blank with an instinctual fear.

Not a few blocks away, Godzilla stood between high-rises. He moved slowly, almost carefully—if you were willing to personify such a monster—but every few footfalls, he seemed to step particularly hard, shaking the earth.

The three of them remained frozen, watching with wide eyes, as Godzilla growled, periodically swinging his head around. Like he’s looking for something, Blake thought.

He—like most of the world—had seen footage from at least one of the past incidents involving the Titans. Godzilla in San Francisco had been all anyone could talk about for a few weeks, and the clip of him leaving the city always seemed to be playing on one news channel or another. A sensational tragedy.

It didn’t do the real thing justice. Such a massive creature—he hadn’t comprehended before now just how large Godzilla truly was. And it was different to see him with his own two eyes, where the possibility of an internet hoax couldn’t explain a thing.

“Whatever he’s doing here can’t be good,” Winnie finally said. “We should leave before any other Titans show up.”

She vanished back into the office, leaving Blake and his cousin to stare at the monster towering over them.

A disbelieving huff left Alice. “That’s not something you see everyday, huh?”

“Are we supposed to run away?” Blake asked. “Or is it like a tornado drill?”

“If Winnie says we’re leaving, then we’re leaving.” She paused as Godzilla leaned forward to sniff at a skyscraper. A few more steps, and he’d be walking entirely away from them. As it was, Blake figured someone with a better throwing arm could probably hit the Titan from where they were standing. Alice shook her head and turned toward the roof access. “C’mon, we gotta grab Russell. We’ll have to figure something else out if the drop-off gets changed.”

Since her back was facing Godzilla, Blake was the only one who say the way the monster’s head turned in their direction. His spines pulsed blue, sending a shock of fear down Blake’s own spine, and he took two thunderous steps closer to their high rise.

Blake stumbled back, suddenly unable to breath. His focus narrowed down to those inhuman, burning eyes, suddenly centered on him. His reaction must have caught Alice’s attention, because he distantly heard her scream out behind him.

For some reason, hearing her scream like that was what made Blake snap out of his daze, just in time to see Godzilla’s claw-tipped hand-paw thing closing in on their roof.

The building shook when he made contact, a web of cracks spiraling out from Godzilla’s palm. Blake lost his balance entirely, landing painfully on his tailbone. Even then, he couldn’t completely shake himself out of his stupor enough to stand, much less run.

After sniffing again, Godzilla started growling, low and dangerous. The sound of it nearly paralyzed Blake.

He managed to pull himself backward in an awkward crab-walk until his back hit the short raised ledge surrounding the roof. Through it all, he couldn’t look away from Godzilla’s eyes.

Could an animal really feel as much fury as Blake thought he could see in them?

A commotion below finally ripped away his attention. Ryan had emerged, stumbling for the soccer-mom-style van they had parked across the street. He was emitting a constant stream of panicked gibberish. Sandy was standing at the base of the building, hollering at him to hurry up and stop tripping over himself.

“Hey!”

Blake whipped around. Dennis was standing in the doorway with an impatient look on his face. “Didn’t you hear Winnie? We’re leaving!”

An odd buzzing interrupted his attempt to answer, and both men looked up in surprise. Godzilla, was above them, leaning on the roof. He had blue eyes now, Blake realized.

Dennis made a strangled sound. “What the hell—”

Godzilla’s mouth opened as the buzzing seemed to reach its peak, and a bright blue beam of light shot out from between his razor sharp teeth. Blake cried out and curled up into a ball. The heat from being so close to the beam was painfully intense.

Dennis was huddled in the stairwell when Blake managed to look over at him, ears ringing and spots popping in his vision. His jeans were darker on the insides of his thighs. Blake couldn’t even blame him.

As his hearing returned after a few seconds, he became aware of a terrible shrieking. Leaning up to look over the ledge at the ground, he stared uncomprehending for a moment before the reality of what he was seeing hit him. He turned and heaved, throwing up his lunch beside him.

He caught sight of Dennis rushing over, but he wasn’t able to warn him away fast enough, and after a moment, his colleague was vomiting over the edge of the roof.

The road below was nothing more than a scorched crater, their van reduced to a smoldering mound of metal. Ryan was completely gone, just vaporized in the heat of the laser-like beam Godzilla had shot.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Having been close to the beam himself, Blake’s skin felt tight, like after getting a bad sunburn. What little of his skin he could see was reddened, but not blistering.

Sandy, who’d been down there with Ryan, hadn’t been as lucky.

She must have just ventured away from the building when Godzilla fired, not close enough to share Ryan’s fate, but closer than Blake.

What he’d seen would haunt his nightmares for years to come, he suspected. The writhing mass of flesh, with bubbling sores, all melted in on herself, was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The roof was too high for him to have seen details, but he’d gotten the impression that Sandy’s face was nothing more than a smooth plane, her open mouth the only remaining orifice.

Dennis was babbling as he remained hunched against the ledge, but Blake couldn’t make himself understand any of the words.

Gagging over the sour taste lingering on his tongue, Blake shrunk back as he looked up at Godzilla, just in time to see the monster huff with his eyes half-lidded. It was an expression of satisfaction if he’d ever seen one.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Blake heard Omar say.

Godzilla’s hand lifted from the roof, just as the man drunkenly stumbled through the door.

“Someone’s screamin’ down there,” he told them, rather pointlessly. “Winnie’s all worked up ’bout it.” He kept walking, apparently somehow missing the giant lizard monster looming right over them.

Blake saw it coming a moment too late. “Omar—!” he cried, reaching out as if he could shove the man to safety.

But he couldn’t, so he watched helplessly as Omar squinted in confusion as Godzilla’s hand slammed back down, squishing the man with disturbing ease.

He'd seen a snake, once, flattened on the roadside. Like a flat drawing. Omar was reduced to that, to a thin, bloody pile of viscera. His jeans were still visible, bunched up on themselves. Empty. Leaking.

Dennis groaned and threw up again, this time, on their side of the ledge. While he was distracted, Godzilla’s blood-dripping hand swept upward, on a collision course for the both of them. Blake yelled wordlessly and dove forward, ducking.

With a meaty thwack, Dennis was swatted up into the air. He shrieked as he fell, and the abrupt silence made Blake gasp out a terrified sob.

Why is this happening? he wondered hysterically, scrabbling at the rough concrete to try and put some distance between himself and the monster. But there was no safety to be found.

Godzilla once more returned his bloody hand to the rooftop, and Blake heard the way the building began to crumbled beneath the pressure. A large hole broke through the top floor’s ceiling with a grating crash, Godzilla’s hand mercilessly sinking into the building.

It was then that Blake heard the Alice’s screams.

(a few more deaths that I never wrote happen here. Blake is the only one left alive)

For a second, Blake thought he was about to witness Godzilla swallow a man down whole. That Mark Russell—who should be glad to still be unconscious—would disappear behind those teeth and never be seen again.

Instead, Godzilla made a rumbling noise so very different from his growls, and turned his back on the building. There was a mind-boggling gentleness in that blood-stained jaw, holding a human as if he were aware of how delicate the man’s body was.

It scared him, the possibility that Godzilla could be aware like that. Intelligent.

Blake slumped bonelessly against the rooftop beside the large hole and breathed a shaky sigh of relief. The blue sky was suddenly blocked by something gray, casting him in a shadow, and his last thought was of realization—that Godzilla’s tail was about two seconds away from demolishing the building and him with it.

He didn’t even have time to close his eyes.

• • •

Only a few hours after Maddie’s brief interaction with Godzilla, reports of the King entering a decently sized city reached Castle Bravo. He didn’t seem to be moving with aggression, or in response to a threat, so G-team was left largely on standby.

Everything changed quickly. There were suddenly alarms going off, people shouting, and panic spread like wildfire through the halls.

Maddie watched with a dull sense of bewilderment as Castle Bravo employees ran in and out of the control room, frantic and jittery. Having grown tired of sitting numbly on the floor, Maddie pushed to her feet and carefully wandered through the chaos.

Unwilling to interrupt anyone, she merely listened in, and through her unsubtle eavesdropping, learned Godzilla had apparently gone berserk on some humans in an office building. Just straight up murdered eight people.

No one seemed to know why—whether he’d been provoked somehow, or whether he’d simply gone into a city with the intent to kill.

Griffin suddenly appeared at Maddie’s shoulder, startling her. “C’mon, kid, we’re getting you out of here, all right?” She gently but firmly wrapped her fingers around Maddie’s upper arm and smoothly guided her out of the room.

“You’re not going after him?” she asked, hurrying to keep up.

“We will, but only after we get the handful of civilians back to the mainland.” She cast Maddie an apologetic glance. “Emergency protocols, kid. Ilene’ll join you soon to stay with you until we get things figured out.”

An Osprey being piloted by Griffin and another G-teamer took off a few minutes later, carrying seven civilians who had all been at Castle Bravo for different reasons. Maddie recognized two of them from the investigators for her dad’s kidnapping, and she tightly gripped the edge of her seat. If Godzilla’s totally uncharacteristic attack got her dad killed or something because Monarch had to set the case aside, she’d be having words with him.

Even with aircraft as fast as the Ospreys, the flight still took over an hour. Long enough for Maddie to slip in and out of a doze, never quite falling all the way asleep. It left her feeling even more tired by the time they landed.

They literally couldn’t have made the journey shorter, since the Osprey dropped them off within throwing distance of the ocean. A Monarch warehouse sat in a large industrial park, complete with an impressive pier jutting out into the water.

While the other civilians went inside, Maddie wandered out to the end of the enormous dock, where she sat down and dangled her feet off the side. It was high enough up that she couldn’t have touched the water even if she hung off the edge completely.

She lowered herself to her back and tried to keep her mind nice and empty. No thoughts were better than bad ones.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that, though it couldn’t have been too long, when she heard the splashing of something moving through the water.

Maddie sat up, instantly surprised to see Godzilla approaching the pier, his head held oddly above the surface. She’d never seen him swim like that.

He rumbled at her as he got closer. Squinting, Maddie saw that he had something in his mouth, held careful between his teeth. She couldn’t tell what it was.

An animal of some sort, maybe? Regardless, she quickly stood and backed up, since Godzilla seemed to be aiming to deposit his cargo where she’d been sitting. He leaned up, the rumble only growing in strength, and carefully spit out the thing in his mouth. She had only a moment to appreciate how hilariously smug he looked with himself as he sank back to a comfortable depth, and then she was looking at the creature he’d presented her with.

She couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d been hit by a bolt of lightning. Maddie darted forward and collapsed painfully to her knees with a strangled little yelp.

“Dad!” she cried, frantically tugging and pushing at him. “Dad, please!

He was definitely breathing, which almost made her burst into tears on its own, but then his eyes sluggishly opened at her call, and Maddie gracelessly collapsed against him. Hugging someone who was half-unconscious and entirely restrained was awkward at best, but it was still one of the top five hugs she’d ever participated in in her life.

She heard him slur something back, quiet and raspy and still very out of it, but she was pretty sure it was her name.

“I should go get someone,” Maddie realized. It felt like she’d been dropped into a world that moved twice as fast as she did, or like she’d been trapped in slow motion since her dad had been kidnapped.

Luckily—because she wasn’t sure she could have pried herself away from her dad—someone seemed to have taken notice of Godzilla’s appearance, and a crew of people were already running out to them.

Before they could reach her, Maddie turned to Godzilla with a lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she said, trying to inject every ounce of her sincerity, and then some, into those two, utterly inadequate words.

[angst-fairygodmother]

I’d like to request: “You can hold onto me if you’re scared, you know?” with Nathan/Reader, pretty please? 👀

A/N: This was so fun to write! Thank you for the lovely Nathan prompt. Word Count: 1265 Content Warning: a little spice, swearing

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you whispered as you shifted positions and peered, squinting through the darkness. 

Someone had been vandalizing the community center every night for the past two weeks, and given that Nathan lived there (despite your attempts to convince him to let you help him find a proper place) and you didn’t want him to get blamed for it if anyone found out about the arrangement, you had agreed to help stake-out the place and catch them in the act. You had tried to convince the others to help as well, even appealing to their more selfish nature by pointing out that you all kept having to cleaning up the mess, but only Simon had agreed. Of course, he had also bailed about an hour ago after drifting off at his “post” and reminding you and Nathan that morning would come early. So now it was just the two of you, in the dead of night, situated in a shadowy overhang not far from the building, hoping to spot someone.

You shivered, trying to tell yourself the chill you felt was just from the night air, and hoping Nathan didn’t notice.

“Of course it is. I’m immortal and ya’ve got yer whole badass Poison Ivy thing going. Even if someone decides to mess with us, they’ll lose,” Nathan said, louder than you would have liked. 

“I didn’t take you for a Batman fan,” you said, chuckling at the reference.

“What? No. Mum liked that old movie a lot, so I’ve seen it,” he shrugged. “I think she really liked lookin at Clooney in that skintight armor stuff. I don’t see the appeal.”

“Well, you’re also not a middle aged woman, which I think is pretty much his demographic,” you teased before sobering again quickly. “Your logic only works if we’re near enough something I can use, and don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s not a lot of life around the center.”

“Ah, but that’s why I brought you...this!” he said dramatically, lifting his jacket which had been sitting in a bundle next to him and revealing a small, pathetic little plant that looked like it might have been rather aggressively dug up from the park next door and then promptly crushed further under the fabric for hours.

Still you felt your anxiety disappear, at least for the moment. As with most things about Nathan, the gesture was thoughtful, even if the execution was flawed.

“Aw, poor thing,” you cooed, cupping the cutting when he placed it in your outstretched hands. 

You took a deep breath, trying to focus and pep it up a bit now, in case you needed it later (and maybe a little because you felt sorry that Nathan had battered it). You still weren’t entirely sure how your powers worked, but you knew that when you pictured things growing or blooming, they did. 

After a few minutes, the little plant was looking much fuller and greener and you looked up, eyes meeting a different, even more beautiful green as you caught Nathan staring at you. He quickly looked away, but not before you caught the tenderness and awe on his face and you bit your lip, face heating. 

Something clattered off to your left, and even though it was probably just a stray dog or something, you tensed. It was followed by a high whistle cutting through the night and making you jump.

“Fuck, what was that?” you whispered, looking wildly around for a source. 

“Ya can hold onto me if ye’re scared, ye know?” Nathan teased, nudging closer to you. 

You rolled your eyes, but whatever remark you might have made died on your tongue as the sounds drew closer: shuffling, and the thump of shoes on concrete, and occasionally, that damn whistle-shriek. 

You clutched tightly to Nathan’s arm with one hand, nails digging into his sweatshirt and you both drew backward further into the shadows of your hiding spot. His hot breath tickled against your neck and an arm slipped around your waist, keeping you close. 

“This is cozy,” he quipped softly, lips tickling your ear and you could practically imagine the wiggle of his bushy eyebrows. 

“Seriously? We are hiding from who knows who or what and you still can’t shut up?” you hissed.

“I’m just taking advantage of a moment. Ya know, like that fancy saying. ‘Carpet dean’ or whatever.”

“Carpet…” you frowned. 

And then it dawned on you what Nathan actually meant and you had to press your lips together to hold in your giggle. 

“Oh Nathan,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s ‘carpe diem.’ Seize the day.”

“Ain’t that what I said?”

“If you were really seizing the moment, you would have just done this.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you had leaned upward, planting your lips on his and burying one hand in his hair, the other still clinging to his forearm. He made a small noise in the back of his throat, pulling you closer and cupping the back of your neck. His tongue ran teasingly over your lip and you parted readily, allowing him to dive in hungrily to explore your mouth, your tongue dancing with his. He pushed you back gently, your shoulders bumping against the brick wall behind you, giving him even more advantage over you, not that you were complaining in the least. You tugged lightly on his curls, relishing in his moan against your mouth. 

The sound of shattering glass very close by had you suddenly leaping apart, both scrambling to find the source. There, a few feet away and just barely visible from the distant street light are a couple of dumb teens taking pot shots at the windows with bricks and a baseball bat and passing a joint between them. 

“Gotcha, ya little shits,” Nathan muttered, moving to confront them before you caught his arm.

“That bat gives them a distinct advantage if you go pick a fight,” you pointed out.

He scoffed. 

“Besides, wouldn’t it be loads more fun to screw with them?”

That mischievous smirk that you made your stomach do flips crept across his face. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

You laid out your plan for him, which involved a) using your powers to cause their joint to sprout and bloom in their hands, b) Nathan making horrible noises from the shadows, and c) if that didn’t work, just running at them, maybe using your powers and the little plant he had so kindly collected to give him a strange and monstrous appearance. 

He chuckled, grin wide and eyes bright. “Oh Y/N, that’s brilliant. They’re sure to shit themselves! I love ye...r evil mind.”

You flushed, grinning back at him.

One of the teens threw a firecracker at the ground near the doors, causing the whistling noise that you had heard earlier and lighting up the side of the building where a third was spray-painting crude images on the wall. 

“Oh come on,” you muttered. “That is an insult to street artists.”

Nathan quirked an eyebrow at you. 

“Oh don’t start,” you growled. “Let’s just do this hey? I have better things to be doing.”

“Better things then spending time with me?” he cried, placing his hand on his chest and gasping dramatically.

“Did I say that?” you smirked at him.

His face scrunched adorably in confusion. You waited expectantly as what you were implying slowly dawned on him. 

“Oh. Oh!” His emerald eyes lit up giddily. “We should definitely get rid of them. Right now.” He nodded, curls bobbing.

[wouldpollyapprove]

Jezebel

Summary: Thomas Shelby is a man who is used to getting what he wants no matter the price. He’s willing to play any game as he knows he will be the one to come out on top. But when someone knew walks into his life, he is left with nothing but loses as he is forced to come to terms with the fact that he was not the winner at the table.

Based on Jezebel by Herman’s Hermits

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Alcohol

A/N: I did this as apart of @vicmackeybullshxt songfic challenge. It’s taken me forever to actually get to it, but I love the idea I came up with and am very proud of this, you may need to look at the song lyrics to better understand how the two relate. I believe this is one of my longest fics and I’m really happy with how this turned out. Tommy’s a dumb bitch and I think this would definitely happen (if Grace was smarter, it could have). And this takes place between season one and two.

Masterlist

London was always a drag. Full of business, bullets, and boring meetings. Thomas Shelby may have raised through the ranks of class, but the decadent life gifted to the dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, those with barely an ounce of royal blood in their veins, was one he couldn’t have with his line of work. Though he tried to do things legally, not everyone complied to his demands and often things had to be taken by force, blood on his hands. Tommy didn’t mind if it got the job done as long as he was no longer the gypsy scum people walked all over. 

Finding himself bored, he took his brothers to one of London’s fanciest clubs one night. All the rich in the city often found their way through the crowded club, reserving a table so they could get a grand view of the club's singer: Y/n Y/l/n. In her cherry red dress and golden heels, she was a siren to the crowd. Pulling them in and stealing their souls with the voice that floated threw the air, tickling their ears. 

Like the masses, Tommy found himself pulled in, dazzled by the woman that stood before him on the large stage, a swing band made of golden instruments creating a backdrop behind her. But none of the performers grabbed his attention like she did. Y/e/c eye’s landed on him, crimson red lips turned up in a smile as the pair locked eyes. Heat raised to his cheeks, making them burn and his heart ceased to beat, breath caught in his throat. Batting her eyes at him, Y/n winked before finishing off the last notes of her song. When the note hit people’s ears, she was greeted with a chorus of applause and cheers as she waltzed off the stage. 

“Tom, what ya lookin’ at?” John teased him as he fiddled with his cigar. His brother blinked, the space that had been filled by a goddess moments ago was empty. There was nothing left but the band and a microphone. 

Reaching for his drink, straight whiskey, the man knew nothing better, Tommy sighed as his heart once again beat against his rib cage. He’d known love, known it in many forms. There was the love for his family, one he believed he was born with. The love he held for Greta… the one that made his heart skip a beat. Then there was the intoxicating love that was Grace Burgess. Even the simple thought of her, a whiff of what smelled like her perfume, had him spiralling all day off a momentary high. But none of those loves, not a single one, compared to how he felt when his eyes locked with Y/n Y/l/n’s. 

The world around him was lost, devoured by a dense fog that had surrounded him. The gangster didn’t care about the next act, the entertainment he knew wouldn’t compare to what he’d witnessed moments before. “I'll be back,” he said, discarding his glass and standing from the table. 

He had to find the siren. 

Y/n sat in front of her vanity mirror, brushing her curls. They bounced back into form with each stroke, glistening under the heavy lights. Staring at her own reflection, she ran her tongue across the top of her lips. Growing up a shy and tucked away child, never had she thought she would spend her nights stealing men's hearts, but there she was. It was a thrill, really, power she never believed she’d possessed in her life. The woman that stared back at her was mighty and tall, what she imagined a modern amazonian would be depicted as. 

A sigh parted her lips as she rested her elbows on the counter, turning her brush over in her hands. Y/n hadn’t been in London long, but it’d been long enough for her. Not one of gypsy blood, the fact didn’t stop her from dreaming of wide open fields, the heart of a song bird in her soul. She dreamed of traveling in the dead of night or the heat of the day. The young woman didn’t care where she was to go, anything was better than staying put in a forgein city. 

But there was a job to be done, one Y/n thought would have been done sooner.

Moving on from her hair, she opened her makeup bag and pulled out her favorite lipstick and reapplied it for her next act. Glancing at the mirror, Y/n smiled at the man who was leaning in the doorway. She’d caught his eye before fleeing from the stage, thought he was a looker if she were to be honest, but never thought he’d think the same of her. At least, she thought that was the reason he’d abandon his drink to visit her. “Enjoy what you see,” she smiled, meeting his eyes in the mirror as she closed the tube of lipstick.

The man nodded and pushed himself into the room. “I believe everyone does when their eyes land on you,” he shrugged as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his dress suit. 

Y/n hummed, turning to face him and laid her arms on the back of her seat. Getting a full view of the dark haired man, Y/n could tell he had deep pockets. Now, she was no tailor, but she knew an expensive suit when she saw one and that’s what the stranger wore. With his sharp features, she could look at him all day, get lost in his ocean eyes and run her hands through his hair until her fingers hurt, but then she wondered… what did he look like without his posh suit? “May I ask what you’re doing here…”

“Tommy,” he indulged, striking a match, a thin trail of smoke traveling towards the ceiling. 

The singer nodded with a satisfied smile, “Tommy?”

There was silence as Tommy lit his cigarette and shook the flame off the match. Once he took a drag, he peered down at her. “I would like to buy you a drink. If that’s alright with you, that is,” he added and waited for her response. 

She wanted to scuff, she really did. From how he held himself and the boldness of his words, it wasn’t hard to see he came from a world where no one told him no. Y/n wanted to be the first to deny him what he could almost have, but… the words wouldn’t leave her tongue. Thinking of the world he would surround her in, she couldn’t pass the stranger’s offer up. Not only was he lovely on the eyes, making her yearn for his touch, but he would do wonders for her wallet and that mattered more than anything. 

“My last session in ten minutes,” she informed him, biting her lip. “How ‘bout after?” The man seemed content with her suggestion, nodding, but Y/n wasn’t sure if it was more for her or himself. 

Leaning forward, Tommy placed his hands near her’s, their faces inches apart. “I’ll be waiting,” he whispered with a smirk.

Y/n barely suppressed her gasp as he turned on his heels and vanished from sight. Cheeks hot, she fanned herself with one hand as a laugh escaped her lips. 

It would be nothing short of an entertaining night, that she knew.

Polly groaned as her nephew came into view, the perfect nightmare dressed as daydream by his side in a golden dress that clung to the woman’s hips. Tommy had been infatuated by Y/n, the singer who never strayed from his mind, but he was that way with all women. Any woman intrigued him so long as she wasn’t like any that had passed him on the streets of Small Heath when he was a child. A man desperate for the finer, more exotic, things of life, Mr. Thomas Shelby wanted no village or dirt caked woman. He wanted what others couldn’t have and that was what Y/n was.

Of course, Tommy loved her. 

It was evident in the glint in his eyes when she walked in the room and how his breath caught in the back of his throat, like it had when he’d first laid eyes on her, when he thought of her. But not all love is good, that Polly had learned the hard way. Just as her nephew would have to.

“This is lovely,” Y/n mused, hanging onto her boyfriend’s arm. She’d been to only a handful of gala’s, but nothing could compare to the one the mayor of Birmingham had invited the Shelby family to. Though she wasn’t their kin and their last name wasn’t her own, Tommy insisted she accompany him. It would be dull without her, that’s what he’d said when he asked a few weeks earlier. 

Tommy hummed, eyes on her, watching how the lights danced on her skin, making it glow. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, it had become hard for him to rip them away. No matter what else deserved his attention, Y/n deserved it more. It drove his family mad yet he didn’t care. 

“Tommy, are you even listening?” she asked, looking up at him with a pout.

“I’m always listening to you, love,” he told her with a smile, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “What were you saying?”

She huffed, feeling the eyes of his aunt on her from across the room. “You’re aunt doesn’t like me, I don’t think it would go over well if I went to the family meeting with you,” she confessed, spotting a handsome man from across the room who was eyeing her up.

The words that jumped off her tongue were all to save face, Y/n didn’t care whose feathers were ruffled with her appearance at the next Shelby family meeting. She’d wiggled her way into Tommy’s heart and she would make her place in his life nice and comfortable. That, of course, had become a challenge once his aunt stepped into her way, putting her foot down. No matter the hold she held over her boyfriend, her candy sweet words weren’t always convincing when Polly was in the room. The two didn’t necessarily butt heads, but they both detested each other, leaving a foal taste in each other’s mouths once either left the room.

When Y/n convinced Tommy to let her work for him, he’d been on board, willing to move Lizzie to the betting shop so she could be his secretary. Internally, Polly was up in arms about the idea, but she didn’t dare voice her true opinion, remember the defensive man that was her nephew. Instead, she convinced her nephew that if he truly loved Y/n, then he would want her out of harm's way. Her wellbeing was more important to him than anything, so Y/n ended up spending her days in his lavish house, a beautiful sum of money left to her in place of a paycheck. There was little to complain about, she was still bleeding him dry, but it simply put a dent in her plans, no matter how small it was.

Guiding her through the crowd, the man came to a stop at the bar, ordering himself whiskey and her wine. “Don’t worry about Polly. Or any of them for that matter,” he assured her, taking his drink before placing a glass of wine in her hands. “Soon you’ll be a Shelby like the rest of us; My wife and a part of this family. They’ll have to accept you.”

Tommy didn’t catch the groan that escaped her lips at the thought of marrying him. There was nothing else that could make her last meal reappear better than the thought of being his wife. That title would be chains around her ankles, keeping her in the walls of his home. No matter how much he claimed to love her, Y/n didn’t feel the same and couldn’t stand the thought of being weighed down by him. 

“When do you leave for London?” she inquired, wishing her glass was full of something stronger as she changed the subject and that she was hanging onto the arm of the man she had seen earlier.

Tilting his head, he sighed, “Tomorrow. I wish you could come with me.” Y/n leaned against him, resting her head against his arm.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Two days.”

From across the room, Polly caught the devilish grin that spread across Y/n’s face. She didn’t like the woman, viewing her as a snake, cut from an almost identical cloth as Grace Burgess, but she had to hand it to her. Whatever Y/n was planning, she was doing a wonderful job of getting the stones rolling. The bitch had Tommy wrapped around her finger. Being one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom, second to the king, nothing would be out of her reach for long with the tight hold she had on him. But Polly Gray would be waiting, like a wolf in the night, she would be waiting for Y/n to take a risk and end up with a broken neck when she was caught, sharp teeth clamped around her neck.

The day Tommy was to leave, Y/n made sure to have her day filled, no room for error or abrupto events. There were to be no interruptions and no suspicion. Deciding to spend the morning shopping, Tommy dropped her off before he set off to London, giving her a kiss that wasn’t returned before she stepped out of the car. Y/n waved as he drove away, wearing the diamonds he’d given her that morning. A little going away present, how sweet.

Turning on her heels, cold daggers replaced her warm orbs, and she began to browse the shops, spending all the money she could, wishing to leave her purse empty. It would be full once again come nightfall. Y/n picked out a couple evening dresses, one red and the other green. To match, she bought a few heels, it couldn’t hurt to have options, now could it? Moving on to a jewelry store, she threw Tommy’s hard earned cash on the desk and demanded to see the most expensive item they had.

A diamond necklace with an emerald center sat on her neck, a matching pair of earrings in her ears, as she walked down the streets of Birmingham to the filth of Small Heath. Now, she had grown up in a similar place, but working her way up in the world, Y/n couldn’t understand how people could sit in such filth, growing older without trying to better themselves. Get out of the hell they had been born into. The sun was on the brink of setting and from what had been divulged to her the night before, everyone would be at the Garrison celebrating a big transaction. 

Things couldn’t be more perfect.

Just a shadow in the night, Y/n unlocked the betting shop door with the key Tommy had given her once she’d moved into Arrow house. Even if she wasn’t to work there, he wanted her to be a part of every aspect of his life, a mistake on his part, and that meant letting her into places that she didn’t belong. The lock clicked and she turned the nobb, the door creaking as it opened. She was hit by the pungent smell of cigarettes and whiskey as she stepped into the building, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. For the first time, she was glad Polly didn’t trust her enough to want to work for the family, who would want to smell like a drunk without having touch a drop of liquor? 

Setting her bags by the door, Y/n navigated the small building, trying to picture the verbal map Tommy had given her once of the building’s layout. With his words as a guide, she passed desks and walked through doorways until she stood in front of the thick door of the company safe. Never had she been told what it contained, but she wasn’t a child and needed no explanation, her wildest dreams were behind that door.

Before her was a vault that held her freedom. The ticket to a world she missed, the people she longed for, and the person she wanted to kiss and never let go of. It was everything that would set her for life, let her live like a queen until the day she died.

With a grin on her lips, she dug threw her pocket for a tiny piece of paper, holding it in her hands, she unfolded it to reveal a set of numbers. Carefully, Y/n turned the dial on the door until she heard the heavenly sound of the gears click into place and she was able to pull it open, revealing stacks of bills and cloth bags with the same items. Rubbing her hands together, her eyes darted around the vault, what was she to grab first?

Shrugging, Y/n waltzed into the small room and started pulling the bags off the shelve and threw them onto the cold wood floor. “What a fucking fool,” she laughed, it was foolish of Tommy to give her the vault code. The fact he never raised a brow when she asked, never questions her motives or reasons. His lover didn’t work for him, there was no need for her to possess the numbers, but Thomas Shelby was a fool. And in a fool’s fashion, he jotted the numbers down for her, never questioning the destruction that could be caused with such information as he handed it to her. 

Polly tapped her foot violently against the floor, hands on her hips with nostrils flared. She’d been the first in the office that morning, putting on a pot of tea and getting everything in order before the rest of the office arrived. Pulling out a few files, the woman placed them on her desk before going to fetch the log book. With that tucked by her side, she went to open the vault, smiling when a click hit her ears and she was able to pull it open. The smile was whipped off her face as if a train had passed by at the sight in front of her.

“What are we going to do, Tommy?” his aunt asked him as he racked a hand through his hair, standing in front of the empty vault. 

The man, supposed to be the leader of the family, was at a loss for words. For once in his life, Thomas Shelby didn’t know what to do. He’d arrived back at Arrow house happy to see his girlfriend, hoping to surprise her with an expensive ring he had tucked in his back pocket, ready to make her an official Shelby. But every nook and cranny was searched and she was nowhere to be found. Francis said Y/n had plans the evening before and probably stayed with Ada. Ringing his sister, Ada was home alone with Karl, having received no visitors the night before. And then… Polly called and he was forced to deal with the mess in front of him.

“Well, Thomas, are you going to say something or stand there like a frightened child?” the woman threw her arms up, wondering what mess his cock would get the family into next.

“It wasn’t her… it couldn’t have been,” he muttered, noting that over two hundred thousand pounds were missing from the shelves. Sucking in a breath, Tommy knew who had taken the money, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Y/n was the only one unaccounted for and he’d made the mistake of giving her the vault code.

Moving from her place behind him, Polly walked to the nearest desk and picked up the phone. “Who could it have been, the fucking King of England? Don’t be naive, boy,” she spat and picked up the ear piece. Placing it against her ear, she announced, “I’m phoning the police, they’ll be more help then a fool in love.”

The words stung Tommy’s ears, being nothing but the cold hard truth. He’d ignored any harm Grace had done in the short time they were together. He wanted to believe that love meant more than anything and that no harm would come to him with that mindset, he was mistaken. There would always be harm whether he was a gangster or a lovesick boy untouched by war. Willingly, Tommy had let Y/n in, given her the whole fuckign world, his heart with it, and let her break everything around him until it all came crashing down. He was a fool, plain and simple, what he would always be when it came to love.

Unbeknownst to the Shelbys, Y/n would never be found, neither would the money. Hopping on a train to France that night, suitcases full of money by her side, she set off for Greece, arriving four days later.

Stretching her arms out, she made herself a cup of tea and made her way through the quaint house she had settled in. Standing in the doorway to the balcony, a smile spread her lips when she caught sight of the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Happy to be home?” Cora asked her with a smile as she continued her latest sewing project, the wind whipping her hair around.

Coming to sit beside her, Y/n rested her head on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m happy wherever you are, love.”

Cora hummed, missing the touch of her lover. She didn’t want Y/n to leave, ever, no matter how long it had to be for. But people paid her to do their dirty work and the couple needed money. If she had to watch her girlfriend leave for a few months for them to get a month or two together then she would watch her go.

Y/n pushed a strand of hair behind Cora’s ear, peppering kisses along her exposed shoulder and neck. “You know, we could take a trip to Rome, like you’ve always wanted, with the money we have,” she suggested, the sea gently hitting the rocks below. 

Seagulls flew above, creating a beautiful landscape before them. How the two had found themselves on the coast of the Mediterranean was a mystery to them. But they had made the place home and Y/n didn’t know anywhere she’d rather be. It wasn’t by any means like the home of Thomas Shelby, only one story with a view of the sea, but it was worth more than his. 

“I would love that,” the woman smiled. “Imagine all we’ll see, it will be wonderful.”

Y/n sighed in content, happy to be home, away from the misery of Birmingham and the Shelby family

*~~*~~*

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[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 5: ...Don’t

Summary/Author's Note: Okay, let's have a little conflict shall we? As you'll read in part 6, this story takes place seven years after King Robert's rebellion/the murder of Elia Martell and ten years BEFORE Oberyn vs the Mountain. That being said, I apologize in advance to Jaime Lannister lovers. I love him as much as the next person but this is prime pre-season 1, zero redeeming qualities, prince douche kingslayer, Jaime. So, I will write him as such. This is gonna hurt. Update: I cut this into two parts because it got away from me.

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Reader Word Count: 3.3k Rating/Warnings: (R/18+) Almost sex, Language, derogatory terms, mental/physical abuse, inappropriate cousin behavior (lookin’ at you JL), Protective!Oberyn, annnnnnggsssttttt, it’s gonna get worse before it gets better

|Parts| (1)(2)(3)(4) [MASTERLIST]

Waking up had never been one of your favorite things to do. The fact that the birds perched in the tree outside your window insisted on singing to the rising sun was always the thing you liked least about nature. Couldn't they wait to sing until they had a more willing audience? You started to roll over and shove your head under your pillow like you did every morning but you couldn't move. Unwilling to let your racing imagination cause you to panic, you opened your eyes and looked down to find the reason for your paralysis. A strong, tanned arm was flung over your waist, a possessive weight balanced against your bare skin. And then you remembered.

Oberyn breathed deeply against your neck, pausing only when you put your hand over his before he resumed his slumber. The heat of his body against your back was welcome as the crisp morning air fluttered in from the window that none of you had bothered to close. 

In front of you, Ellaria slept peacefully. Her hand was tucked under her cheek as her beautiful dark hair fell around her equally beautiful face and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and touching her. Her other hand rested on top of the silks, against your stomach as if where Oberyn's protective arm ended...hers began.

Was it possible to care about more than one person at the same time? You didn't know. You had never been asked such a question. A week ago you thought you would have known the answer to that question. Now, looking at the two people holding you while they slept, you weren't so sure. 

Oberyn stirred behind you and you felt his lips lightly brush the back of your neck. He pressed his prominent nose against your hair and inhaled deeply. His voice was low and soft, full of content and sleep as he said, "She is beautiful, no?"

You knew he was talking about Ellaria and nodded. "She really is."

"The two of you make a good pair," he said, moving his hand from your waist to push your hair away from your neck so he could nose your pulse point. 

"I don't know about that." 

"I do," he continued. 

"She's so much more than I am."

"It would hurt her to hear you say that." You felt him stiffen behind you before giving you a squeeze and saying, "She is cunning and wild. Yet nurturing and maternal. You are brave and kind. Intelligent yet understanding. Both of you possess a gentle heart." He laced his fingers with yours whispering against the shell of your ear. "Together you make the perfect woman."

You looked over your shoulder at him in disbelief. "Are you always this charming?" You joked, taking the focus off yourself. His words weighed heavy on your soul. He couldn't possibly know you well enough to say such beautiful things, but you wanted to believe that he did. 

"I would like to say yes, but Ellaria would tell you otherwise." He grinned. "I've been known to have a temper."

"I don't believe that," you said, looking into his dark brown eyes.

"You just haven't seen it yet," he raised his eyebrows a few times and you suppressed a laugh against his chest. Ellaria groaned in protest and rolled over, shoving her face into the pillow. When her breathing resumed it's pattern for sleep, Oberyn continued. "So, you're still not coming to Dorne?"

The question made your chest tight. How could he ask you that so soon after his proposal? You bit your lip and looked up at him, trying to keep your voice steady. 

"I--My life is here." You said as if that explained everything.

"And are you happy?" Oberyn asked and you had to fight to swallow the lump in your throat.

"I don't know." 

"That's not an answer." 

You turned over in his arms and touched his face. That strong, handsome face that after only a few days you knew you could pick out of a crowd of thousands. You kept your hand in his jaw as your gaze flickered down to his lips before kissing him gently. He knew you were avoiding the question. 

Feeling bold from the night before, you raised up on your arms, sliding your leg over his until you were straddling his waist. His cock, soft with sleep, started to harden as the movement caused him to press against the soft cheek of your ass. He looked up at you with a heavy gaze and you would have given anything to know what he was thinking as he put his hands on your waist gently. 

Did you want to go to Dorne? You didn’t know. Although you weren’t particularly fond of the heat, the idea of warm sands and ocean air did sound appealing. What you did know was that you felt a connection with the man under you, and the woman resting quietly at your side. And that was something you did want. You didn’t want your time with them to end just because they had to return to their homeland. Most of your life in King’s Landing, and before on Casterly Rock, had been lonely. You were used to being alone. You were good at it. But you had a taste of companionship, of sated intellect, and you knew it was going to hurt if you had to go back to a life without it. 

“If I go--to Dorne, I mean,” you started, putting your hands on Oberyn’s chest and moving your hips slightly to get more comfortable. 

“Yes?” he all but begged you to continue, tightening his grip on you--if you would stop moving he could focus better on your words instead of your body.

“Where would I live?”

“In the palace,” he said simply. “In the Watergardens of the Martells--with me and Ellaria.”

“And then?” You bit your lip, knowing the question was forward to say the least. “When this is over?” You knew it was an audacious assumption to even suggest such a man commit to you in any way. But it was a valid thought. When whatever this was had run its course, would you be stuck in a strange city to fend for yourself?

“I do not offer such a thing to just anyone,” he leaned up on his elbows, bringing his face closer to yours. “If you come to Dorne, this is not something that will end. You are not something to be tossed aside.” He put his large hand through your hair at your temple, brushing it back from your face. 

His words weighed heavy on your heart and you looked down at your hands on his chest. “Promise?”

He nodded with a growl and leaned forward to capture your lips in a bruising kiss that you returned equally. It didn’t answer every question you had but it was enough--at least for now. He turned you over, positioning himself on top of you as he settled between your legs. The three of you had spent the night in a triangle of tongues and hungry mouths. It was as if none of you could get enough of the taste of one another, but when it came to actually being inside you, Oberyn had held back. It was as if he worried the weight of his passion would scare you away. 

“What do you say, my lioness?” he said against your throat as he licked a hot line over your pulse point. You knew it was a double edged question as his cock pressed against your abdomen and as Dorne lay waiting on the other side of the world. 

You started to respond but a noise from downstairs made you stop short. A woman screamed and a few men yelled but their words were muffled by the floorboards and the stairs. Whoever it was sounded angry, that much was certain. Ellaria sat up, moving her thick curls from her eyes as she blinked, trying to clear the sleep from her vision.

"Oberyn?" She said, her voice sounding unsure for the first time since you had met her. 

The two of you froze and Oberyn lifted his head from your neck slowly, listening as the sounds continued on the floor below your room. He gently untangled himself from your arms and thighs before sliding out from under the silks.

"Stay here, my love." He spoke to Ellaria, but you knew he included you in that sentence as well. Oberyn gave you one last squeeze before standing to hastily pull on the pants he was wearing the day before. He reached under his pillow and pulled out a dagger, twisting it easily in his hand until the heavy handle rested in his palm. Had that been there all night?

The door to your chambers opened abruptly and you pulled the silk blanket to your naked chest. Oberyn had placed himself between the door and the bed before it even opened--between the women in his bed and whatever was coming up the stairs. You could still peer around his muscled back as the door swung open without so much as a knock. Two members of the King's Guard placed themselves on either side of the door, parting just enough to let an armored man walk between them. His helmet was balanced on his hip under his arm, his right hand balanced on the pommel of his sword as he took in the bedroom. 

He was broad, tall, and very blond. And unfortunately he was family.

"Jaime Lannister," Oberyn said, with a grin that was not at all pleasant. 

You cursed quietly under your breath and looked around for your clothes but didn't want to have to get out of the bed naked to retrieve them. You silently prayed that the world would open up beneath you and whatever god deemed it so would swallow you whole. 

"Oberyn Martell," Jaime said, smiling his perfect white smile in the direction of the other man. "I was under the impression you had already left for Dorne."

"Not yet," Oberyn said, as diplomatically as he could considering he still held his dagger. "I have a few more days in this lovely city."

Jaime threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Martells have always been terrible liars."

"Our talent for bending the truth was lost to the Lannister's, I'm afraid." 

Jaime's eyes grew cold and he adjusted his stance, but Oberyn wasn't done speaking.

"What brings you to my room so early, Little Lannister?" Oberyn stuck the dagger in the belt of his pants and moved to the pitcher of wine that was on the table still covered in food from the night before. 

Jaime grit his teeth and his eyes fell to you for a moment once Oberyn was out of the way. "I've come to collect, (y/n)." 

Oberyn paused in the pouring of his wine and looked back at the other man. "Is that so?"

"Her uncle is worried." Jaime lied, but Oberyn wasn't fooled.

"Well, you may return to the castle and inform him of her good health," the prince waved his hand in the direction of the door and moved back to stand between you and the guards. 

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Jaime handed his helm back to the guard on his left before taking a few steps into the room. He picked up your dress that was hanging over the fainting couch and brought it to his face, reveling in the soft fabric. "Why is it--" Jaime turned and made eye contact with you. "Whenever I'm asked to go find you...you're always on your back?" 

Jaime's vile grin made your stomach drop to the floor and you gripped the sheet against your breasts tighter. This couldn't be happening again. You were suddenly much younger and in the forest back on Casterly Rock. You felt like a child. Ashamed and alone. Oberyn didn't need to fight this battle for you, it wasn't his to fight. But apparently he felt differently.

"Watch it, boy," Oberyn said darkly, his hand moving back to the dagger. 

The movement caused the guards to draw their swords, metal sliding against sheath as the light caught the blades and Ellaria gasped. You couldn’t do this. You couldn't ask either of them to do this. 

"Or what?" Jaime raised an eyebrow.

"I am a prince of Dorne--"

"You're not my prince," Jaime said flatly. "And this is not Dorne." 

Ellaria started to reach for Oberyn but you found your voice. The cold that froze your body receded at the thought of either of them in danger because of you. 

"Enough," you said, sharply. "Stop." You stood up, keeping your body covered as best you could and held your hand out to Jaime for your dress. Jaime paused for a moment before throwing it forcefully at your chest. 

"Get dressed," he hissed. He jerked his head, motioning for his guards to wait outside. 

You waited for Jaime to leave too but he wouldn't budge. You turned your body away from him and tried to pull the dress on without losing the sheet, starting with the sleeves. Oberyn moved around the bed to stand behind you, using his body to effectively block Jaime's gaze. 

"(Y/n)," he said, lowering his voice. 

"Don't," you said, refusing to look at him as hot tears burned behind your eyes. You had been stupid for staying the night, for entertaining the idea that this, whatever this was, had a chance of working. You couldn’t go to Dorne because that meant abandoning your family. And you didn’t just abandon the Lannisters. It was a foolish fantasy, but that didn’t mean it didn't hurt. 

"You don't have to do this," Ellaria said, leaning across the bed and reaching for your hand. You shrugged her off and the hurt on her face felt like a dagger through your chest. 

"I do." You shook your head, dropping the sheet as you pulled your dress over your ass, letting the rest of the material fall. You grabbed your bodice off the table and refused to meet the gaze of your two companions. Oberyn grabbed your forearm as you tried to walk in front of him and you bit your lip. "Oberyn please don't do this. I'm not worth it."

"Don't you dare say such things," the Prince growled and you looked away from him. You blinked slowly, refusing to let any of the tears you carefully held in spill over. He took your chin in his hand and made you look back at his handsome face. "You never answered me."

"What?" You whispered, your voice cracking no matter how tightly you clenched your jaw. 

"Are you happy?" When you didn't answer, he asked again, "What do you want?"

You laughed bitterly and rubbed a tear off your cheek roughly with the palm of your hand. "I'm a Lannister, Oberyn. It doesn't matter what I want."

The sentence held a sense of finality that threatened to carve your heart in two. It didn't matter what you wanted, because the Lannister in your blood came first. It didn't matter back then and it didn't matter now. You wanted what you were made to want, it was as simple as that. Oberyn and Ellaria offered you freedom, but it was a freedom you could never have. And the sooner you made peace with that, the less it would hurt when you watched them sail away at the end of the week. 

"You cannot believe that--" Oberyn tried but you leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek gently, stopping his words.

"Thank you," you said softly against his skin and he closed his eyes tightly to savor the feeling of you close to him. You were saying goodbye without actually speaking the words into existence and the pain on his face was clear.

Jaime waited by the door with a smirk on his face that you wanted to cut off with Oberyn's dagger. He extended his arm to you and you shoved it away, grabbing your shoes instead. 

"Oberyn," Ellaria rose to her knees and looked at him pleadingly. She begged him wordlessly to stop this, to stop Jaime, to stop you from walking out that door and out of their safe haven. 

Oberyn ignored her, knowing that in this moment he was powerless. It was a feeling that he hated. “Jaime.” He said firmly enough that the two of you stopped in the doorway. Jaime kept his grip on your arm tight as he looked back at the prince. “Tell your father I will add this to his list of sins.”

Jaime grinned. “Oh, I will.”

He pulled you through the doorway without giving you a chance to look back and you had never hated him more. You hated him that day on Casterly Rock. And you hated him now. It made your heart feel sick and shriveled. 

He had little regard for the way you stumbled down the steps in your sandals that were only partially on. His grip being more than enough to keep you standing. The whores of the brothel watched as he pulled you out of the door like a lover scorned by your fornication. It was humiliating. It made your cheeks and neck burn with embarrassment when you knew you should have been worried about what would happen once you were back in the palace. 

“Let go,” you grit through your teeth as the two of you made it into the street. 

He mounted his horse wordlessly, throwing his leg over the beast with a grunt and adjusting the cloak that was clasped to his golden pauldrons. He offered a gloved hand down to you with a grin. 

“Come on, (y/n),” he said.

You looked at his hand in disgust before looking back up at him. “I can walk back on my own, thank you.” The words sounded childish to your own ears but you couldn’t bear the idea of giving Jaime the pleasure of dragging you back to your uncle. 

“I’m not asking,” he said, lowered his voice as he looked you in the eyes. 

You could feel people watching the two of you. You could only imagine what it looked like to those passing by--a half-dressed woman and the Kingslayer. Taking his hand reluctantly, you let him hoist you up into the saddle in front of him with your back pressed firmly against the steel of his gilded breastplate. You put your hands gently in the mane of the white mare and looked straight ahead stubbornly ignoring everything about the man behind you. 

Jaime wrapped one arm tightly around your waist as he grabbed the reins with the other. His breath was hot against your curls as he whispered in your ear. “See? That wasn’t hard. Since we seem to be making a habit of this, it would be more fun if you weren’t such a frigid bitch.”

He licked the shell of your ear and you jerked your head away from him in disgust. It made him chuckle as he clicked his heels against the animal’s haunches and the rest of the King’s Guard followed suit. 

Against your better judgement, you looked up at the second floor of the brothel, easily finding the window to the bedroom you had practically spent the last few days in. Not surprisingly, you found Oberyn staring out at you, his face was stoic but he couldn’t keep the pain he felt in his chest out of his eyes. Ellaria had her arms wrapped around his bicep, looking down at you in much the same way, before she glanced at Jamie and her expression turned venomous. Your heart lightened ever so slightly because you knew...this wasn’t over. 

________________

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[babbushka]

Biting Dust - Ch.2

Life ain’t too easy for a woman, ‘specially not a woman on the run like you. With a bounty on your head and gunpowder in your nose, you’ve grown adjusted to a life of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of civilization. That is, until you meet one particular man who’s got a face you’d only ever seen in your dreams – or on wanted posters. And when he offers you a proposition that sounds too good to be true, well. You don’t think your life will ever be the same again…

Outlaw!Kylo Ren x Reader

Tumblr Masterlist | Available on AO3

4.7k ; Content warnings: Mild angst (old west existentialism, mentions of hanging lol)

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The shock of the sight in front of you has you starin’ at this man with your mouth agape, with just one question running through your head – how? How is he still alive?

He’s clearly swingin’, or no, maybe he isn’t, you realize as you ask Agnes to trot over with urgency. This man, the thief, is precariously balanced on the hide of his horse just so, just so that he must be alleviating some of the pressure around his throat where the noose is wrapped tight. You can’t quit starin’, Agnes coming up beside the great black horse who chuffs and whinnies softly at the strange new presence in front of her.

“Good evening ma’am,” The man uses what little purchase he has to spin himself around on the noose to face you, small grunts of his struggle wrenching out of his chest as he tries not to choke himself any more than he already is, “Could you do a fellow a favor and reach into the knapsack on my horse, use the knife that’s in the left pocket, and cut me down?”

It’s absurd, you think as your eyebrows shoot up, the way that he manages to seem so nonchalant, given his predicament. But the moment he manages to turn and face you fully, any amused notions of his calm vanish, replaced only by the weight of the features which you’re now confronted with.

He’s a collection of pieces that don’t make no sense, shouldn’t go together the way they do. His hair is long and dark as it waves and curls, but his ears stick out beyond the locks. His nose juts out strongly, but it looks like it’s been broken once or twice. A pink tongue darts out to lick plush plump lips, framed by a soft looking goatee, sharp cheeks, but a weak chin. Most of all though, are his eyes. They’re somehow both beady and cunning, calculating and warm, or well…his left eye is.

He’s got a scarred over gash that practically splits his face, something between a burn wound and a cut, halfway in the middle. Whatever it was that gave that to him, took his eye with it, or at least tried to. It’s still there, but it’s milky white, whereas the other one glows a liquid chocolate as the light of the setting sun hits it.  

He’s handsome, utterly and completely handsome.

He’s also still hanging by that noose, and you still don’t know how he ain’t dead, so despite all of that, you can’t help but blurt out,

“What the fuck is this?”

The man clearly was not expecting such a question, because he almost loses his footing on the black horse’s hide, and goes sputterin’ for a moment as he tries to right himself.

“Excuse me?” He’s got some sense of humor, you think, because he’s frowning at you, scowlin’, when he steadies himself once more.

“How are you doin’ that?” You clarify, gesturing with one hand to the fact that he’s alive, how he must’ve been hanging here for two whole days, and is still alive.

“Well,” The man sighs, and you can imagine that were his hands not bound behind his back, he might’ve scratched at his chin or his scalp. “I think my old girl Sam here is trying to teach me a lesson. She won’t come close enough to make this easy for me, but I figured if she were really sick and tired of my bullshit, she’d’ve rode off and let me hang. You know how horses get sometimes.”

Who is this person, who is so seemingly confident and sure of himself, and simultaneously must be the most lucky motherfucker to ever live? You can’t tell if you wanted to smack him or kiss him. Maybe both, but that decision can stay safely locked inside your brain. Even after the two minutes that you’ve known this man, something tells you that his ego would go through the roof if you gave him the satisfaction of a kiss.

“Oh do I.” You bite back a raised brow. While his presumptions may be correct, you were taken slightly aback with how freely he was willing to give them.

“Yes ma’am, I can tell by the way your horse is lookin’ up at you. Sam gives me those same looks, well, when she ain’t bein’ so difficult, of course.” He grumbles, and the black horse, Sam, seems to chuff in exasperation.

The sun is setting faster now, and you start to feel anxious. Surely folks would be still eatin’ dinner by now, surely no one would start walkin’ out and about at night, aside from those who take some comfort in the music and beer in the saloon. Surely no one would see you, see you talking to the hanged man, but…but suppose they did.

What would they do then?

What would you do?

You frown, wanting to get this whole interaction over with. You’ve resolved to cut him loose, but first, you’d like the honor at least bein’ introduced to this strange wonder of a man. You’d like to know just whose life you’re saving.

It ain’t often, that you go around saving lives instead of taking them.

“Quit calling me ma’am.” It’s too formal, too proper for the kind of woman that you are, somethin’ about it reminds you of your mother and – you nip that in the bud real fuckin’ quick.

“Yes sir.” The man offers with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and you wonder if he ever smiles. He’s certainly got the humor for it, but as far as his face has moved, those lips are held firmly in a scowl, even as his eyes sparkle.

Without getting off of Agnes, you reach into a knapsack of your own and pull out a knife. It’s nothing too fancy, but the blade is sharp and it should do the trick.

“I have a couple questions.” You begin sawing at the thick rope which binds his hands together, carefully twisting him so that you can have a better angle. You don’t want to accidentally cut his flesh, don’t want to do anything other than get some information and be on your way.

“Please, ask away.” The man is sarcastic, and the thought of stabbing him clean through the chest flits across your mind like a smooth stone over a pond. Although, as you brace yourself against his back with one hand to keep yourself steady when you cut through the rope, you’re not surprised at all to find he’s made of nothin’ but hard muscle.

“What’s your name?” The rope gives way and immediately he wastes no time rubbing at the chafed skin around his wrists, cracking the joints that had gone so stiff.  

“I ain’t so sure you’d’ve ever heard of me, but I go by the name of Kylo Ren.” He says quietly, gauging your reaction.

It isn’t one that he expects.

Something inside you lights up like the flickering flare of a candle, and before you know it, you’re reaching for your gun and holding it steady in his direction. Immediately, his newly freed hands go up in a display of surrender, but you don’t dare waver, not one inch. After all you were willin’ to do for him, you’d take it back in a heartbeat – you ain’t got no desire to go helpin’ a lying man.

“Bullshit.” You spit, drawing the word out into two different syllables, scowling at him.

He wasn’t Kylo Ren, he couldn’t be. Kylo Ren was a legend, a myth of epic proportions. They’d be singin’ songs about him and his gang until kingdom come, they’d be tellin’ stories about his escapades and adventures ‘til the cows came home. Kylo Ren was uncatchable, he was elusive, no one had ever met his wrath and walked away -- there was no way that here he was caught in front of you. Just because this man was blind in the same eye didn’t mean nothin’, lots of folks had injuries like that, and it makes you mad to know he’s hidin’ behind someone else’s identity.

“Beg pardon?” He almost sounds offended that you don’t believe him, and that only makes you more angry.

What, did he think you were stupid? Did he think you were so easily swayed by pretty falsehoods? Naw, you might’ve been easy on the eyes but you had a mind sharp as a tack, and he wasn’t going to make a fool out of it.

“There ain’t no way Kylo Ren would get himself strung up and left in a tree to die. So I’m going to ask again, and you’re going to tell me, otherwise I’ll shoot you clean through the gut and then you’ll have wished they hanged you right.” The gun doesn’t move, and instead of growing angry or brash or violent in the way you might expect a man to act while he’s starin’ down a barrel, he flushes a deep red.

“You’re mighty quick with that, I have to admit I’m impressed.” He chews on his lip, eyes crinkling up at the corners while he blushes and mumbles softly, “I like a woman who can handle her steel.”

“I like an honest man.” You counter, cocking the trigger. His reaction to bein’ held at gunpoint was nothin’ like you’d ever seen before, you’d never in your wildest dreams imagined you’d meet someone who thought being threatened like this was a turn-on.

“Kylo Ren’s the most honest answer I can give you.” He shrugs simply. He speaks with a sincerity that you still have a hard time believing, but there ain’t much you can do about it, you’ve done too much already, wasted too much time.  

You’ve wasted so much time, here with this man already.

“If you’re Kylo Ren, then I’m Angel Eyes.” You huff, wondering how he might feel about that, if he’d ever heard of you in return.

You’re countin’ on him thinkin’ that you’re bluffing, countin’ on him to throw his head back and laugh, to underestimate you. He doesn’t, instead of all of that, he only blushes a little harder, looking away from your gun and straight into your soul. Whether he’s heard of you or not, his eyes are wide and hopeful, starin’ at you like you put the stars in the sky.

“Won’t you cut me down, Angel?” Kylo asks, voice velvety and deep. The sun gleams off his teeth in a glint that has you realizing most of the ones on the bottom are made of gold, as the last slips of light make one last hurrah over the canyons.

He’s charming, too charming. Even with the noose around his neck, even still balancing like a moron on the back of his horse, he’s charming. A man like that is bound to be nothing but trouble, you think. You don’t know why, but something deep in your bones tells you that he won’t be leaving you alone so easily, once you cut him free.

If you cut him free.

But the sun is setting faster faster faster, and the last of the orangeredyellow is gone from the sky, leaving only the dusky blues and purples of twilight. There’s no more time for games, and you both know it.

“God dammit.” You sigh in aggravation, eventually giving in and holstering your gun once more.

You nudge Agnes to move a little closer, and she obliges warily. The rope around his neck requires a bit of elbow grease to saw through with your knife, but it only takes a couple of minutes before it too gives way, like the rope around his wrists had.

As soon as the tension around his neck disappears, Kylo loses his balance and falls off his horse with a great big thud, and you roll your eyes. Putting the knife back in your own knapsack, you don’t really pay much attention to whatever the hell he’s doing on the floor, trying to get his footing after two whole days of being stretched out. His muscles are probably on fire, burning from the effort to not succumb to strangulation, but that’s ain’t really your problem.

“Alright Ren, you’re free to go. I suggest you find some salve for that nasty burn you’ve got – hold it right the fuck there.” When you do eventually look up, it’s to see Kylo standing too close.

Far too close.

Your gun is back, and you jab it straight in the hollow of his scarred cheekbone. For having such good reflexes that you do, he caught you completely off-guard by popping up the way he just had. How was he so tall? He didn’t look that tall up in the tree, the man must be over six heads high. Once again, his hands are up over his head in surrender, and you’re confused, jumpy. You don’t like strange men gettin’ too close to you, don’t like it one bit.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you! I swear.” He rushes to say with a shake of his head, “You saved my life, I’m in grateful service to you. Wherever you go I’ll follow, and keep you safe from harm, until the day my debt can be repaid.”

Kylo realizes then, that he must’ve messed up, said the wrong thing. You can see it in his eyes, or at least, the one good eye he’s got, the one that ain’t scarred over and milky white. You can tell he didn’t mean to go causin’ no offence by offering you his protection, not at all.

“I don’t need any help, not from you, or from anyone.” Your tone softens just a little when you regard him, lowering the gun that you’d had held firmly against his cheek. You decide that there’s no use in blowin’ his head off, no point in wastin’ a bullet when you could’a just let him hang.

Kylo seems to know this, and when your gun isn’t digging into his cheekbone any longer, he takes a hesitant step towards you, so close, too close.

“Well then,” Kylo’s voice is equally soft, soft and deep in a way that’s almost unnerving, how it can be so soothing. He kicks up some of the reddened earth below his boots, sticks his hands in his pockets and gives you the most honest not-smile you’ve seen in your life as he blushes, “Looks like we’ll be together for a mighty long time.”

The sun is completely down now, darkness creeping in all around. You need to get away from this place, need to put some distance between yourself and the town, between you and Kylo, so you simply urge Agnes forward, and without another thought, you’re galloping into the great unknown.

 Agnes is fast, even in the dark.

Maybe especially in the dark, you think. She’s always had a penchant for roaming around at night, in fact, it was at night that you had found her. That was seemingly eons ago, and you don’t have the energy to mull about in your head dwelling on the past more than you already do.

In the moment, there, right there in the desert, it is a clear night. Light from the moon is bright and pale, a silvery wash of deep toned blues and a million stars in constellations you have memorized like the back of your hand illuminate the vast expanse of nothingness ahead of you.

Agnes is fast, but Kylo’s horse has no trouble keeping up, and though you’re not entirely surprised just because of the sheer size of the creature, you’re still impressed. Sam can’t quite match Agnes, her small stature making her all the more quicker, more streamlined that the midnight creature. It’s a slight observation you can’t help but make, their colors. Where Sam is pitch black, Aggie’s coat is glossy white and reflects the moon easily so Kylo can keep up.

When was the last time you rode like this with another person? Not away from someone, but with them? Kylo can’t see you grinning, the dark cloaking your smile as your hair whips around your head, but you are. You are, out there in the dark, flying through the canyons under the moonlight, putting that distance that you need between yourself and the town. No one would find you, no one would even know where to look, should they come try.

You don’t trust him, you don’t trust Kylo one bit, but you have to admit that the fact he hasn’t killed you point blank and stolen all your possessions means a lot. You’re not really in the business to go around trustin’ strangers, you’ve spent nearly your whole adult life alone, on the run. Now wasn’t the time to start…but it felt good, to be with another soul.

Eventually, when you’ve had your fun, when Agnes and Sam have stretched their legs enough, you and Kylo slow them down to a trot. You’ve come to the edge of the canyon here, so neither of you move any closer. Leaning over ever so slightly, you can hear the gentle trickle of water, can see the light sparkle of moonlight glittering off the rippling water of what has to be the Colorado River a thousand feet below in a gorge that you’ll have to descend in the morning. The map had named this place Horseshoe Bend, and you’re looking forward to seeing it in the daylight.

Neither of you are anywhere near Colorado yet, you’re actually closer to Utah than anything else, but you know that if you can just stick close to the river, you’ll be going in the right direction. Kylo notices you noticing the river, and eventually he pulls gently on the reins to get Sam to come to a soft stop.

This is a good place for the night, you think, and you swing your legs off Agnes’ back. Kylo mimics your movements, coming over slowly and carefully so that you hear him.

You don’t know it, but he doesn’t want to scare you again like he had by the tree, he doesn’t want to scare you ever again.

You’re too tired to protest when he begins helping you lift the bags off Aggie’s saddle, his arms are far bigger and stronger than yours, and though you want to tell him to fuck off with his chivalry, you’re undeniably grateful for the help.

Kylo seems to notice, and you’re just glad that he doesn’t make a whole to-do about it. He must be exhausted too, you’re sure.

Not exhausted enough to let you simply throw down a bundle of something for a pillow and sleep though, as he lights a match on the sole of his boots and tosses it onto a small pile of dry brush and sticks that he scrounges up quickly. The fire makes you wary, wary that someone might see, but you’re too close to the gorge for it to be a problem. No one would dare come rushing towards you here, lest they’d be risking falling straight over the edge and cracking their skulls on the rocks below.  

Watching as Kylo makes the fire and keeps it steady, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders. Nighttime got chilly out in the desert, and you’re lucky to have such a beautifully made blanket to keep you warm. You had purchased it just earlier this year at a trading post, it to this day it remained your most prized possession.

A woman had had a selection for sale or trade, hand woven wool in the most striking of patterns, and when you saw the black and beige striped one, you had given her all the money in your pocket for it. You wear it with respect, always make sure to keep it clean and mended, folded neatly in your bag, always remembering that human hands had created this, remembering that it is the skill of that woman and her hands which keeps you warm, keeps you alive on the harsher desert nights.

Kylo has no blanket of his own, or if he does, he doesn’t bother to wear it. Instead, he lies down close to the fire and adjusts his arms behind his head so that it can act as a pillow. You wonder how he can be comfortable like that, but you bite your tongue. If he’s doing this in an attempt at manliness, you won’t be so quick to give in to the bait.

You are looking at him though, with enough interest that Kylo feels the need to clear his throat.  

“Where are we headed, then?” He asks quietly as he settles down, shuffles a little closer to the fire.

You meet his gaze, but there’s nothing upsetting about the intensity of his eye contact. In fact, lying on opposite sides of the small fire like this, your faces cast warm by the glow of the soft flames, you feel almost as though you’re in a spell, caught in his eyes.

Where were you headed, where were you headed really? What a loaded question, you think.

He’s lookin’ at you, and you’re lookin’ back at him, and unshed tears prick the back of your eyelids just for a moment because if you think about it too hard, you’ll realize that in the end, you’re headed where all the wanderers, drifters, loners and outlaws head; “Nowhere.”

Kylo gives you the ghost of a smile, and shrugs, reaching forward enough to light a hand-rolled cigarette by the embers of the small campfire.

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” He says softly, and you can’t help but let a small chuckle slip through your lips. Kylo offers the cigarette to you, but you shake your head and decline, never havin��� gotten much into smokin’. He nods in understanding and puffs on it once or twice, blowing blue smoke up into the night sky.

“Are you always like this?” Tightening the blanket around your shoulders a little more, you try and get some sort of idea of who this person was. You’d always been a decent judge of character, well, you had to be, all alone like you were. Get betrayed one too many times, you start seein’ the signs of shifty drifters from a mile away.

But with him, with Kylo, you can’t sniff out anything rotten in him, not yet. Maybe it’ll come out in a day or two, hell, maybe it’ll come out in an hour once you’re fast asleep. If you wake up and he’s still there, if you even wake up at all tomorrow, you’ll be more surprised of that than anything in the world.

“That depends.” Kylo finally replies around the huff and puff of his cigarette, giving you more of those vague half truths that you can already tell are going to drive you over the cliff.

“On what?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“On whether you like it or not.” He gives you another one of those not-smiles, where he somehow looks at you, straight through you, with all the warmth of an old friend, though he be but a total stranger. You scrub a hand down your face in exasperation; it ain’t hard to see why Sam wanted him to suffer a little bit, back by the tree, you think.

“Let’s say for argument’s sake that I don’t.” You offer, and Kylo lets out a sharp breath of a laugh through his nose.

“Then yes, I’m always like this.” Kylo smokes pleasantly, and you curl in on yourself, and roll onto your back.

There’s a million stars up there, you’re sure. Maybe a hundred million, a million million. You used to tell the stories of the constellations to your students – no, you think. Don’t go down that memory lane, the one fraught with fire and anguish.

Shaking your head slightly, you open up your eyes as wide as they’ll go, your pupils swallowin’ up all the light they can. There’s purple white blue clouds in a thick cluster above the gorge, and you know that to be a wisp of the Milky Way. The view is impressive, and humbling. After all, you are nothin’ but a small spec in the universe, aren’t you?

“Ain’t it wild?” Kylo starts to ask, smokin’ and turning his head up to the galaxy above you both. “To think that a thousand years ago, someone was lying where we lay, was starin’ up at these stars we see? To think that a thousand years from now, someone else will be in our position, wonderin’ about their place in the cosmos.”

“What is that you’re smokin’?” You tease softly, no real bite to your words. His baritone nestles into your chest and you feel the thrum of it in your bones, your eyes wetting, not daring to look at him as the fire snaps and crackles between you.

“Nothin’ but tobacco, honest.” Smoke pours out of his nose, his mouth. You can feel his eyes on you, can feel him lookin’. “Don’t you ever think about it, about your place in the world?”

“No.” That answer comes easily enough.

“How come?” Kylo’s voice is a deep deep deep whisper in the night, and it weighs heavy on your stomach as your hands twist in the blanket.

“I don’t got one.” You can’t believe you’re admitting something like this to him, to this stranger.

Something about being here with him, lying so close to another human being for the first time in years, makes you spill all your secrets. You’d told him your name, you’ve never told someone your name. Granted, he probably thought you were just jokin’, but still, whether he knew it or not, he knew the truth. Kylo hasn’t laughed at you yet, though.

He hasn’t mocked you or pushed you in any way. He’s answered your questions and the ones he asked in return weren’t nothin’ of too much trouble. In fact, out of all the men you coulda picked to be stuck with, he seemed like one that wasn’t too shabby. Had a good sense of humor, at the very least, and was calm under pressure, if his behavior by the tree was anythin’ to go off of. He seemed sane enough, or maybe just insane enough. You weren’t sure.

Whichever one it was, it had to be why he had declared undying loyalty to you so quickly. Maybe that was the kind of person he was, Kylo was. Maybe that was all you needed to know about him.

Maybe he was just as lonely as you.

Maybe he hadn’t slept beside another human being in just as long.

The sky above you moves, creeps and crawls at a snails pace, but moves. The Milky Way turns, and with it so do the stars. Your eyes are tired, every part of you is tired, and you shudder from the sheer exhaustion in your muscles. Those seven hours at the hotel were more sleep than you’d gotten in the whole week prior, and it was as if your body remembered how badly you needed that sleep, once you’d gotten it.

You sigh a little to yourself, not so sure when another opportunity like that would come again.  

“You’re cold.” Kylo speaks up enough so you can hear him even as your eyes slip closed, darkness around your vision lulling you into that in-between state of consciousness and slumber.

“I’m fine, the fire’s enough.” You mumble, your words slurring together as you turn closer towards the fire, let the heat of the flame seep into your body, trapping it under your blanket.

“If you’re comfortable with it, you’re more than welcome to come sleep next to me.” He offers, and if you were awake enough, you’d probably chuckle at how bold he is, how forward. You still had your wits about you, still had your decent judgement, you know nothin’ about this man and you don’t trust him as far as you can throw him.

You don’t know anything about him, nothin’ at all. Not even his name.

Maybe you do know his name. The odds of that are so astronomical though, so outta this world, that…well…you’re inclined to believe them.

“Are you really Kylo Ren? The Kylo Ren?” You have to ask, forcing your eyes open to look at him one last time, before you fall asleep completely and deal with whatever trouble tomorrow might bring you.

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, Angel.” Kylo whispers, giving you one of those sincere not-smiles, and looking right back.

[rueren]

3 𝓪𝓶 ~ 𝓡.𝓣𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓪

warnings : #none #this shits cute  #swearing #sneaking out(?)

content: prev. established relationship. basically he misses you and you guys go out at 3 am.

word count : 2513

pairings : Tanaka Ryūnosuke x reader

Finally.  Sleep at last.  It took so long to go to bed; the anime you had been waiting for for so long had finally dropped its first season at 6 pm, and you binged your way through the whole thing.  So by the time your head hit the pillow it was …. 1 am?  Not too bad, you thought to yourself as your head finally hit the pillow. 

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Your brows furrowed, still groggy from sleep.  That stupid tree branch.  You knew you should've told someone that it's gotten dangerously close to your window.  First thing in the morning, then. 

Tap.  Tap.  Tap tap tap.  It became more insistent.  Your blood rushed to your ears.  It's just the tree branch... Right?  Remnants of sleep leaving your system, your nerves were on end.  Slowly, your head peeked out from under your covers, twisting towards your window, without your body moving an inch.  There seemed to be no shadow of anything, so you stood up slowly, and grabbed the bat you left under your bed.  

You slid across the wall and made your way over to the window.  Still, nothing could be seen from outside.  Your ears filled with the sound of your pulse, you forced your hand to the latch that unlocks the window, and threw it open, and at the same time swung the bat out the opening.  

“What the fuck, babe” a voice cried from the other side of the window followed by scuffling.  Your ears picked up at the sound, and you threw your curtains to the side. 

“Ryu?” You said exasperated, breathing heavy from the adrenaline.  “What the hell are you doing here, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Answer your phone once in your life, and you won't get scared,” He heaved, hand over his chest, “I almost died, you know.  Your damn bat literally grazed my lashes.” 

“My phone…what are you talking about?”, you stomped your way over to your phone, “You never called me, what are you talking about…” 4 missed calls and 12 messages.  

You turned around, sporting a guilty smile, to see your boyfriend staring at you, eyes sharp, and lips curled in a sly smirk.  “Gonna say something?” 

“You gonna come in or you want me to come out?” You avoided the question, rubbing your eye and pulling down your shirt over your pajama pants.  

“Come sit out here with me, it's pretty,” he smiled, pulling his hood off.  You crawled out your window onto the  small sliver of roof, ducking under the branch that pressed up against your window.  He held out his hand for you to stabilize yourself as you sat down beside him, tucked into his side.  

You tilted your head back to look up at his face.  It’s amazing how often it would slip your mind how good looking he actually was. His face had a tinge of pink to it from the crisp fall night air, his nose red from being nipped by the cold.  Sharp eyes with stars dancing in them as he watched the night sky, his jaw just as sharp.  With his chaotic personality, it was almost impossible  to forget just how serene moments like this with him are.  

He noticed you looking up at him, and hummed in response, squeezing his arm around you before running his knuckles along the bare skin of your arm. “Whatchu lookin at, huh,”  his smirk replaced the calmer expression he previously had on, and you rolled your eyes and poked his ribs.

“So why are you here?”  You quirked up a brow, “It’s the middle of the night, shouldn't you be home?”

“Yeah, but Saeko’s got friends over and they're so freakin’ loud I can’t even hear my own thoughts” He grumbled, his head gets thrown back and it thunps against the bricks of your house. 

“Don’t act like you were even sleeping, you liar,” You laughed.  “And aren’t you used to this by now?  She's always got people over.  You sleep like a log, anyway.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay fine.  But do I really need a reason to wanna come over?” 

“At 2 am, yeah.” Your hand cupped his face and his cheeks squished together.  Even under the darkness, you could see his face go red, and not just from the cold.  His eyes wandered everywhere but to yours.  

It was cute, you always thought. How even after dating for so long, he’d still get bashful and turn into a blushing mess over the smallest things.  Things you’ve done multiple times, he would randomly get flustered over.  Hugs, kisses, small intimate moments.  You fell for him more each passing day, if it was even possible to fall for someone that hard.

“Well, too bad.  I don’t have a reason.  I came to see you just because I can,” He puffed out his chest, and your hand slipped.  He smiled,  “I’m just that nice of a boyfriend.”

“You came here with no reason?  Then what are we gonna do, stare at each other?”

“If you let me, yeah.” He said.  Now your own face flushed. It didn’t even make sense how the same boy who would randomly get flustered over a hug coils say things like that with such ease.  He didn’t even realize what they did to you, which made them affect you that much more.

“Oh my god, shut up,” You mumbled, shoving your face into your hands and falling into his chest. His laugh rang through you, shaking in chest, and his arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close out of the cold.  

“You’re freezing, oh my god I’m so stupid,” He panics, and nudges you to move for a minute. “Here, take this.” He pulls off the puffer jacket he’s got on and draped it over you, leaving him in his olive green hoodie.

“You’re not cold?” You ask, pulling the collar closer to your chin.  He shook his head, “I’m good. Got a shirt under this,” he motioned to the hoodie.

“Weirdo, who wears shirts under their sweaters,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and he flicks your forehead. He pulled your legs over his own, and tucked you back into his side.

A stray cat wandered underneath the lamp post across the street, no cars in sight.  The silence was welcomed, both just enjoying each other's presence for a while.  Your schedules had gotten really hectic, with his team going to nationals in a few weeks.  You honestly couldn't have been any more proud of him. 

“Just missed you, you know” He muttered.  His temple rested against the crown of your head, tugging your legs even further across his own, hand on your thigh.  “Missed you so much. Practice is a lot.  I love it, you know that.  The guys are all great, amazing.  They all work so hard, so I can't just .. not work as hard as them, you know.” He kissed your head, and you look back up at him, your hand going to hold his.

“You’re doing so great,” a chaste kiss is pressed to the back of his hand. “You work so hard,” another kiss to his other.  “I know everyone's so proud of you,” a kiss to his forehead. “And you have no idea,” to his cheek, “How proud you make me,” his other cheek.  “Never wanna imagine my life without you,” and finally to his lips. 

His hands seemed frozen in place for a minute, before going to the small of your back, pulling you in further.  Your hands find purchase on the sides of his face, thumbs caressing his cheek bones.

You missed him. It's been over a week since you guys hung out outside of school, and even then it was cut short sometimes by practice.  Not that you would ever hold it against him.  He tries his best, he really does.  His team relies on him. He relies on them.  The way he is on the court - it's like he’s a different person.  It’s all the best qualities of him brought to the surface.  Determined, stubborn, loyal, reliable, uplifting.  Everything you loved about him.  

What felt like hours later you pulled apart, and rested your foreheads against one another.  He smiled before pecking your lips one last time.  

“Okay, I know what we're doing.” He smiled proudly.  Your eyes followed him as he made his way to stand up on the small sliver of your roof on your side of the house.  

“Going to sleep?” you said, as he held out a hand to get you up. 

His head shook, “Nope, corner store.”

“What?” 

“Corner store.  You know, that place that sells buns and drinks and snacks and shit,” once you're on your feet, he hops over onto the tree by your room.  You watch him, mouth still open in confusion as you watch him climb down.  When he’s down on the ground, he looks back up at you, and beckons you down to him.  “C'mon babe, come down.”

“Are you crazy, I can't climb down that thing.”

“Sure you can,”  he says, grinning.  “You do it all the time.”

“Not in this dark!”

“I’ll catch you, don't worry.” 

Mulling it over in your head, you eventually rolled your eyes and gave in.  “Gimme a sec.”

“Hurry up, baby.”

“Shh, not so loud!”

“Woops, sorry.” He smiled, a toothy grin flashing up at you, swinging back and forth on his heels.  He whisper-yelled, “Hurry up!”

You ducked back into your house to check if your parents were still asleep.  When you saw them snoring away in their rooms, you crept back downstairs to grab a random pair of shoes. Back in your room, you picked up the first hoodie you could find - Tanaka’s old one, all black with a red pocket on the front  - and your phone and wallet.  You scoot your way out the window, pulling it down without locking it.

Climbing down the tree was so much harder than he made it look.  He stuck his arms out to you on the last branch, and you half jumped half kicked off the tree trunk.  He caught you with little problem, and the two of you ran down the street light lit road, stumbling over your own two feet.  

***

The fluorescent lights flickered.  You grabbed the bag of chips from the corner and tossed it into the corner of the cart by your foot.  Tanaka grabed another bag you pointed to that was out of your reach and dropped it on your head.  You cover your head too late, and tilt your head all the way back to glare at him.  In one swift motion he's grabbing your chin and leaning down to kiss you, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip once before pulling away. 

Your eyes stay closed for a second longer than his ego should witness.  Once they open, you can literally see his eyes shining and that stupid grin plastered right across his face.  

“Push this damn cart, Ryu.” you laugh and turn around in the cart, so that you're facing him with your back at the opposite end of it.  “I want candy.”

“Of course, what am I a heathen?” He shoves the cart and lets you glide for a while, your eyes widening in a plea for him to not let you knock into anything.  “It’s not a 3 am snack run without candy, duh.”  He catches up to the cart and stopped it before you rolled into a stack of toilet paper.  He avoided the glare you sent him, and turned you guys into the next aisle.  

You pulled out your phone to take a video of him studying the candy aisle, talking to himself.  The second the video starts, you’re instantly reminded of the fact that you had to put your flash on earlier, and bright light shines into his face abruptly, ruining your plan.  He covers his eyes before grabbing the camera and turning it to the two of you and a squeal leaves your lips.  Cupping your chin again, he’s tilting your lips up towards him and right before smashing them to yours, the question leaves his mouth. 

“This okay?” You nod, your stomach doing flips. He stays there smiling down at you, too long for your liking, and you take the initiative, grabbing the drawstrings of his hoodie in your hands and using it to tug him down to meet you.

You don’t see it but his eyes widen from the abruptness of it all.  He may seem smooth, but whenever you one up him he’s flustered all over again. He recovered though, tongue sweeping over your lips, gaining access and then sweeping over your own tongue.  He’s hovering over you, bent so far over due to his height. He’s got a hand holding the railing of the cart, so he doesn't fall over, the other’s got the phone still pointed towards you, and you can feel the light of the flash on the back of your eyelids.  

You don’t pull apart until you hear shuffling from behind you, and you pull back long enough to see some dude trying to get by.  You immediately push Tanaka back, who’s eyes flutter open, and see the dude glaring at you both.  A meek “sorry man” slips his mouth and he turns to grab the cart and move you both out of the aisle.  

Once you've both left the aisle you look at each other and muffle your laughs into your hands.  Tanaka’s got the camera pointed at you, as you laugh in that sleepy state you're both in.  He smiles as you cover your face with your hand stretched outwards to block it from the camera.  He motions for you to come closer, and the metal bars of the cart digging into your knees as you lean over closer to him.  Another kiss presses to your lips, this time less intense.  Softer, loving, more meaning.  He pulls away and looks at your eyes, your own mind still reeling from all of his straight forwardness today.

He pushed you both to the front to pay for your items, the cashier half asleep himself when he’s scanning your items.  The walk back, he’s got his arm around your shoulder and holding your plastic bag with the chips and candy in it.   You’ve got your own arm slung around his waist and you walk together, passing one of the drinks you bought between you two, laughing and talking about anything and nothing.  

You’re talking about something that happened in your class yesterday, and he’s watching you, listening to you.  But somewhere in your story, he doesn't hear you anymore.  All he hears is his heartbeat in his ears.  All he sees is the stars in your eyes, the way the light dances across your skin, the way your head tilts back as you laugh at whatever you were remembering.  

You look up at him and your lips tilt up to the side, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course.  That dude said something to Noya and he said something back and ... yeah,” He grabbed you down in a headlock, laughing.  When you came back up you rip his beanie off his head and place it on your own.  You stick your tongue out at him, before saying “Ugh now I gotta start over.”

“If it means I get to listen to your voice some more, I should just pretend I don’t hear you every time.” 

“Lover boy,” You scrunch up your face and kiss his cheek, and he makes a mental note to not take back the beanie when he drops you off at home “Anyways, basically what happened was...” 

And its this moment, at 3 am, on a deserted street, with you in his old hoodie and his hat, when he realizes that the only thing that matters any more is you.  That he doesn’t do anything to fuck up what you two have.  He can’t afford to do anything to fuck it up, because he knows this is it for him.  You’re it for him.  Always will be.  

[mimicteruyo]

The Little Teahouse Around the Corner

[Touhou Ship Week Day 7: Free day. KomaEiki + AkyuSuzu, 2.7k, crack/fluff]

---

If described very charitably, the construction before Eiki and Komachi could have been called a teahouse, exactly as the bamboo plank above the entrance claimed it was. More accurately, it was simply a large tent lit with red lanterns, standing conspicuously close to the Human Village.

"At least it's open?" Komachi eyed the obviously wet paint on the sign, then peered within. "I figured that at this hour, we'd have a choice between grilled lamprey and nothing this close to the village."

"Indeed." Eiki followed Komachi's example. There were certainly plenty of people within, each with a beverage in front of them, but the overall mood in the tent was quietly puzzled. Besides chairs and tables, there was also what looked bafflingly like an oden cart. "Something about this seems wrong."

"No worries, Sis! It ain't anything weird! We're runnin' a perfectly nice temp teahouse!"

They straightened up in unison. The speaker was a calico cat perched on a stool just barely to the side of the tent's entrance, grinning at them. "Lookin' for a cosy place to chat? We've got ya covered!"

Komachi grinned back. "Mike Goutokuji, right? Don't tell me this is your shop."

"It ain't. I'm just workin' here for a bit." Mike's tail swayed gently from side to side as she talked, its many-coloured fur catching the light of the lanterns. "I'm a barker! Which I know sounds really weird since I'm a cat an' all, but I can do the job. For a few days, anyway. Steady work doin' the same thing over an' over again ain't really my thing."

Komachi chuckled. "I know that feel— er."

Eiki chose to ignore the aborted remark. In any case, Mike's plans made it sound as though she was doing precisely what she supposed to do. Losing interest in things and loafing around were some of the chief goals in a cat's life, after all.

"Anyway," Mike curled up her palm. She beckoned three times. "Welcome to the Juniper Teahouse."

The next moment, Eiki found herself within the tent with no memory of stepping inside.

She halted, blinking in the sudden light. There were half a dozen customers within, humans and youkai alike, nursing teacups and expressions ranging from vexed to serene. Although there were multiple chairs for each table, every single customer was solitary. What had looked like an oden cart from the outside was precisely that; no-one appeared to man it, although the occasional bang and tuneful whistle from within it told her that someone was indeed there, just beyond sight.

"Komachi," she began, more puzzled than troubled even as she clutched the Rod of Remorse closer to her chest. "We should keep our eyes—"

It was at that moment that she became aware of a distinct lack of Komachi by her side. Only Mike was there, waving her legs in the air and looking very pleased with herself.

Eiki spun around. "Komachi?"

No answer. No sight of Komachi, either.

Standing by the entrance feeling foolish wasn't going to do anyone much good. Ignoring the slow blink Mike was giving her, Eiki stepped back outside.

And collided with an invisible barrier with enough force to momentarily bounce her off her feet. She staggered back in surprise.

Mike gave her an apologetic wince. "Sorry, Sis." Her tail swished low as Eiki studied her forehead for bumps. "After I've invited ya in, ya've gotta stay a while."

"Is this your ability?" Eiki prodded at the barrier with the Rod of Remorse. It proved as solid and unyielding as a ten-foot block of ice. "What happened to Komachi?"

"She'll be fine," said a familiar voice behind Eiki. "At least, she will be according to what Mike told me. You'll be a better judge of whether it's true or not."

Eiki turned to see a slightly less familiar face smiling at her close to the back of the tent and responded in kind. "I didn't notice you before. May I join you?"

Hieda no Akyuu assented with a nod. She waited for Eiki to take the seat opposite of her before continuing. "I hope you've been well. This present situation expected, of course."

Eiki crossed her hands on the table. "I would say so. The situation in Hell remains both confusing and volatile, but that's to be expected. Has your work progressed well?"

Akyuu took a careful sip from her cup. "It has, thank you. I've kept comfortably busy. And Kosuzu..." Akyuu's smile, which bore a distinct resemblance to that of her previous incarnation, brightened and then immediately dimmed. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but I expected her to sit where you sit now." Her smile grew more rueful still. "Especially since she's the one who wished to come here."

"Has this establishment..." Eiki gestured at their surroundings and discovered that she couldn't call them that without correcting herself. "...Tent been here for long?"

"It appeared yesterday. As for me, I have been here for ten minutes. Mike informed me that it takes at least an hour for her invitations to be considered fulfilled."

"That's longer than I had hoped." Eiki frowned at the innocuous-looking exit and Mike, who was currently occupied with a moth circling the lantern nearest to the entrance before turning her attention back to Akyuu. "Can you tell me precisely what's going on in this place?"

"I can explain that!" a muddled but cheery voice called from the bottom of the oden cart.

---

Komachi had walked merrily along for several minutes, taking in the twilight air and seeing if she could get her breath to fog up in the lingering cold from the past winter, when she realised she had at no point decided to take an evening stroll. Moreover, she was now alone, something which was the exact opposite of her plans for the night.

She halted in the middle of the path and turned to look over her shoulder. The greenness of the teahouse tent blended into the evening behind her, but she could still see it when she squinted. Distance of course meant little to her: she could be back there nearly as soon as she decided upon it.

But first, it was best to figure what had happened. It was likely nothing serious: the situation had the feel of a fairy prank to it. Still, the fact that she couldn't actually remember what had passed rubbed her the wrong way.

"Alright..." She adjusted her scythe to rest more comfortably on her shoulder. "What happened here?"

So, there was the weird teahouse, and Mike, who did strike Komachi as bit of a prankster, but who had seemed earnest enough inviting them in. Had Mike addressed her invitation to Lady Eiki alone? No, Komachi was sure it had been extended to them both.

She recalled her only previous encounter with Mike, on a lazy afternoon not that long ago when she had wandered into Gensokyo and struck up a conversation with the cat upon meeting her on the road. Mike had mentioned arriving in Gensokyo not that long ago, having only recently left behind the temple she had been born at, and that due to circumstances she had done so before she had completed her training as a maneki—

"Damn."

At the moment of realisation, Komachi became aware of of running footsteps rapidly approaching her, just in time not to be entirely surprised by someone small but fast-moving crashing into her.

"Ow!" The person who had collided with her tottered back, holding a hand to her nose. Even in the dying light and with half her face covered, she was obviously Kosuzu Motoori. "I'm sorry! I just..."

Kosuzu trailed off. Her eyes travelled first up to Komachi's face, then to the blade of her scythe. She took a startled step back.

Komachi grinned. "No need to fret. You're not dying tonight."

Kosuzu relaxed quickly in that quietly alarming way of humans who made of habit of traipsing too close to the border of the mundane and the supernatural. As her shock drained away, it was replaced by an almost mournful expression, so out of place it was almost comical.

"What's the matter?" Komachi almost began walking to see if Kosuzu would follow, but she had a funny feeling it would only result in Kosuzu crashing into her again. "It's not wise for you to run alone on a dark night like this. Did someone refuse to return your favourite book?"

Kosuzu fidgeted with her sleeves. "No, nothing like that." For a moment, she looked hesitant to speak, but once she did, the words spilled out of her in a tumble. "Actually, it's our anniversary today."

"Whose?"

Kosuzu's cheeks flushed pink. "Mine and Akyuu's."

"Really?" Komachi couldn't help but chuckle. "That's a funny coincidence."

"What is?"

"Never mind." Komachi relaxed her stance. "Let's see if I can guess what happened. Since it was your anniversary, you decided to go out to celebrate."

"That's right."

"And you happened upon a new, strange teahouse."

"Exactly!" Kosuzu halted her eager nodding to blink. "How did you know?"

"Because it sounds like we're in the same figurative boat."

"Oh." Kosuzu smiled weakly. "I suppose that's better than a literal boat. Um, I mean..."

Komachi laughed. "That'll be another day." Before Kosuzu could become too unsettled, she nudged her head towards the road behind them. "Come on. Let's go find our dates."

---

"Here you go." Suika Ibuki slammed the teacup onto the table with enough force to make half the liquid within leap into the air. Miraculously, not only were both the table and cup undamaged, but the drink returned into the cup without so much as a single drop spilling. She winked. "I'd say it's on the house, but I'm guessing you'd take that for a bribe."

Eiki took the cup gingerly. Seeing its contents in the air had already made it obvious it was filled with anything but tea, but the scent confirmed it. "Is this sake?"

"Well, yeah."

"The sign outside said you're running a teahouse."

"Yeah, yeah. Is there a law saying you can't serve sake in a teahouse?"

Eiki had to concede the point. "Not in Gensokyo, no."

"See? Try it. It's good." Suika turned towards Akyuu. "Care for a refill?"

As Akyuu murmured a demurral, Eiki took a sip from her drink. It was indeed rather good, but that was beside the real matter at hand. She looked up. "Suika—"

Suika had already left the table. Eiki watched her stalk around the tent, grinning as she went, gathering empty cups and refilling others with seemingly no input from the patrons.

"So where was I?" She returned and cheerfully pulled out the remaining seat for herself. If she was discomfited by any lingering memories of the less than auspicious circumstances during which she had last encountered Eiki, she showed no signs of it, instead beaming with the brightness shared by the very innocent and inveterate liars. "A story of some kind?"

"You were about to explain why we can't leave."

"Yeah, that's right. So this teahouse is just a bit of fun. I'll get going as soon as Reimu finds out I've set up shop this close to the village." Suika grinned. "Actually, I think I'll wait for her to show up. It's more fun that way."

Akyuu offered her a polite smile. Eiki pushed her cup aside. "And then you hired Mike?"

"That's right." Suika took Eiki's cup and downed it in a single long swig before continuing. "Of course, I don't really need her to gather customers. I can use my foregathering ability to bring people over just fine. But it feels more like a proper teahouse with an employee, doesn't it?"

"A floor might have a similar effect," commented Akyuu dryly.

"Anyway, since Mike can only invite one person in at a time, I decided to gather people into the area so that even if only half of them got in we'd still have plenty of customers. It worked really well, too. Until people tried to leave. I tried making the people disperse once they got stuck, obviously, but for some reason it only worked on those who hadn't been invited in at all. I'm guessing our abilities got entangled in some mysterious way."

Eiki nodded. "I see."

"Anyway, you don't have to worry. Everyone gets to leave eventually. Even the person stuck for the longest managed to walk out after two hours."

Akyuu set her cup down. "At least one of us may not have to wait for that long." She raised her voice. "Mike?"

Mike, who was no longer paying attention to the moth and was instead swinging her leg back and forth, jerked her head upwards. "What's up, Sis?"

"Can you step out for a moment?"

"Sure." Mike dove out. "Now what?"

Akyuu stood up and nodded at Suika. "Thank you for your hospitality." She gestured at Eiki to join her at the tent's entrance and waited until they were both there before speaking again. "Mike, can you attempt to invite us outside?"

"Oh, I see." Eiki smiled as she grasped Akyuu's intent. "Even if the invitation can only work on one of us, it still means one of us will be free to go."

"I hope you're the one invited out." Akyuu's smile was thin but sincere. "Unnerving as it is being this close to multiple youkai, I have made my peace with waiting here. After all, by remaining in one place I have better odds of re-uniting with—"

"Akyuu!"

They turned to look outside. Kosuzu hovered right behind Mike, bopping her head around in an effort to see past her. Behind her, calm but still curious, stood Komachi. Upon noticing Eiki, she gave her a cheery little wave.

Akyuu's smile immediately warmed to the point where its brightness was a match to the lanterns. "Everything is fine, Kosuzu. It's only a small supernatural obstacle."

Kosuzu gave a distracted nod, then turned towards Mike, looking almost ready to put hands on the cat. "Please invite us in!"

Mike's eyes darted from Komachi and Kosuzu to Akyuu and Eiki and then back. She frowned. "Kay, how about we try somethin' like this?"

She positioned herself in the tent's entrance, one foot in, one foot out. Before anyone could do anything to stop her, she beckoned with both hands. "Welcome!"

The next thing Eiki knew, she had collided with something unyielding but relatively soft.

"Oof." Komachi staggered back, then reached out to steady Eiki. She grinned. "At this rate I'm going to be qualified to work as a roadblock."

Back on her feet, Eiki looked around. She was outside again, with Komachi's hands on her arms and the tent securely behind. "Who knows how far I would have walked if you hadn't stopped me. Thank you for catching me."

"Did you ever doubt I wouldn't?"

Eiki smiled back at her. "No. I didn't."

They looked back. Within the tent, Kosuzu was clinging to Akyuu's arm, speaking rapidly but too quietly for any discernible words to make it outside the tent. Mike was watching them from her perch, smiling with self-satisfaction.

"Well, that worked out great." Suika came to the entrance, beaming as though Mike's success was hers as well. "Must be fate." She winked. "And don't worry about paying. The drink was on the house after all."

Given that most of the drink remained in the house, Eiki found little cause to complain. "Thank you." She frowned. "Don't invite more people in until you have understood what causes this. Consider—"

"Yeah, sure." Suika made a sweeping wave. "Have a good night!"

She retreated back into the tent. Only Mike remained near the entrance, still pleased with herself.

"That didn't exactly work out, huh?" said Komachi, smiling all the while.

"Yes, I suppose it didn't." Eiki watched Akyuu and Kosuzu retake the table Akyuu had previously occupied, smiling at each other all as though they were the only two people in the world. "But it doesn't seem to have done any harm, either. Should we consider the grilled lamprey stand?"

"Funny. I was just thinking I was in the mood for some fried fish." Komachi let go to adjust her scythe, which had nearly fallen from her shoulder in the collision, then held out her hand. "How about we go see what else fate has in store for us tonight?"

And so they did, continuing down the road together, filled with newfound appreciation for the beauty of spring nights.