#I'm in awe of this ceramics corner

[robinsceramics]

Realized I never showed off where my little friends ended up! They're so cute and I love them dearly

!!!!! GORGEOUS

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Every time I think I am free of the hybrid brain rot he pulls me in again 😭

Warnings: fem!reader, dog hybrid!gyu, cat hybrid!reader mean dom!reader, desperate horny gyu, ?unrequited love, dry humping, somnophilia, handjob, cumming in pants

Kitty!you (ofc) lives with rambunctious but very fluffy big dog hybrid gyu who you try to avoid most of the time because he just doesn’t seem to get how big he is, still thinking he is a lapdog and ends up smothering you everytime he tries to cuddle or groom you. He is always hurt when you reject him and his trembling wet eyes give you pause but not enough to let him come near you

Until your poor owner runs into financial trouble and can't afford to keep the heating on as much as usual and you find yourself regularly getting too cold to sleep. Beomgyu seems mostly unaffected. In fact he seems to like the cold, his large normally overheated body welcoming the change as usually your owner will have the heat cranked up very high just for your sake, leaving poor gyu forced to splay out on the floor, limbs spread in all directions and touching the cool ceramic floor (the only cool surface in the house) with his tongue lolling out as he pants the heat away

You always turned up your nose at him, feeling like it's inappropriate for him to lay out like that, shirtless and with his privates barely covered by his thin shorts but when you had complained to your owner, they sweetly but firmly reminded you that he's only like that because the heat has been turned up for you and that if you want to keep your eyes from being assaulted by the sight, you can always put the heat down.

Of course you didn't. Instead you scoffed and muttered something mean about the digusting view, hurting the big pup even more but you didn't care.

Well now the tables have turned, and you're left freezing even under all your blankets while he is happily sleeping in his bed with just a thin sheet covering him up. Bastard. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him and you yearn for it so badly you might actually make yourself suffer through the inconvenience of being near him just to get to it

You try to hold off as much as you can but between your shattering teeth and numb hands and feet, you can't help yourself. You stalk towards his bed with your blankets, not bothering to ask his permission before you curl up into his side and cover your bodies with the blankets.

"Huh?" Beomgyu wakes up confused, a bit of drool seeping at the corner of his mouth from deep sleep. Ugh.

"I'm cold. You're warm." Is all the explanation you give him and beomgyu does not ask for more. He doesn't want to mess this up, just happy you're finally accepting his touch even if begrudgingly.

You groan as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you tighter against him, burying his face in your neck to take a big whiff before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"It's okay. I'll keep you warm, kitty." You ignore the way his deep, husky voice right against your ear and the way his large hands wrapped around your frame makes you feel. This all doesn't mean anything. You're just cold and he is basically a free heater.

You try to ignore the noises he makes in his sleep--his little whimpers, his garbled moans, even the little urgent whispers of what sounds an awful lot like your name.

You ignore the feeling of something hard pressing against you at night, you even ignore the sometimes small, sometimes harsh rocking motions of his hips against you as he cried and whines about something in his dreams, pathetic voice calling out for someone to "please, please, i'll be good"

You ignore the way that makes your body tingle and your underwear get sticky. This is all just to keep warm.

But what you can't ignore is the startled way he wakes up almost every night and rushes to the toilet, spending 15 to 30 minutes at a time in there and leaving you to freeze again. No, this simply won't do. This defeats the whole purpose of your new sleeping arrangement. What good is it to get all warmed up in his embrace, wrapped in his large arms, feeling his heated breath panted against your neck, if he will rip it away from you and leave you for the cruel elements to ravage and reclaim your body in the middle of the night?

So when he starts crying in his sleep again and his hips begin to rut against you, you move your hand between your bodies to take a hold of his hard member that has been poking you for countless nights.

It takes a few seconds of coaxing before he realizes what's going on, a few seconds of his moans almost reaching a fever pitch at the sudden unexpected stimulation, before he wakes up with a gasp, his already big eyes massive with shock at finding you with your hand down his pants and jerking him off.

"Kitty, w-what--" you cut off his slurring words with a twist of your wrist that leaves him keening.

"You think you're so slick? You think I can't feel you humping my ass every night? You think I don't know that you run to the bathroom to jerk this stupid cock off so i don't wake up covered in your dirty cum?"

"I'm sorry. Can't help it. You smell so good." He cries out pathetically, his hips moving to meet your tight fist as you jerk him off. "Please don't be mad at me. Please don't stop sleeping with me. I can be good, I promise. I'll do better. I think I'm going into heat. I'll tell master to take me to a heat center so I can get it out of my system and be a good dog again. I promise I am not a perv. I know this is bad. I know I shouldn't do this. I'm sorry--"

"God, do you ever shut the fuck up." You growl, bringing his face to your and kissing him roughly, and despite all his emphatic proclamations, he immediately opens his mouth and lets you push your tongue in, moaning and sucking on it like the perv he claims he is not. He chases after your lips over and over again, all while his hips never stop fucking your fist, until you push his face away to catch your breath, strings of saliva joining you wet lips.

"You wanna go to heat center and fuck a pretty little bitch? You think any bitch would let a sick mutt like you who lusts after kitties near any of their holes? That's disgusting." You don't know why you’re so mean to him but you know that the thought of him breeding a random bitch at a pay to fuck facility makes your blood boil.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm bad. Just don't want you to be mad at me." He cries, real tears dripping down his long lashes. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll use my heat toys every night before we sleep so I can get it out of my system and be good for you. Would that be better? Please?"

"No need." You tell him, acting nonchalant but burning inside at his desperate need to please you, thriving off of it. Fuck this is so wrong but it feels so good and you can't stop. "I'll deal with your problem myself. You can't help it that you're a sick little mutt. I'll take care of you but you have to keep this between us. Master can't know or he'll take me away from you to protect me."

He whimpers at the last part and shakes his head, fucking desperately into your hand as if it will be taken away any second. "I won't. Just between us. I'm not a bad dog, not dangerous, just... just..."

He trails off in a whine, looking at you in frustration, his eyes trying to convey something to you that you're not sure you want to know so you pretend you don't see it.

"Just needy. Right?" You tell him sharply and he gasps, nodding, his fluffy puppy ears pressed down to his skull anxiously. "Yes. So needy."

"I know. Let me take care of you. Let go for kitty. I know you want to. I can feel you drenching my hand like a bitch in heat." You chuckle, rubbing your thumb quickly over his leaking head, making his breathing pause and shudder. "Well, i suppose you are. So come on, cum for me, my little bitch. But keep it down, we can't let master see you like this."

"Yes. Yes, pretty. Anything for you." He whines, and you ignore most of it, just focusing on the way he bites down on his lip so hard it breaks the skin just so he can keep his slutty cries at bay as he cums, shooting long ropes of warm cum into your hand and his pants, soaking both in his release that goes on and on until all that is left of his is a slumped, sweaty, drooling mess in your arms.

"Fuck, what a mess." You scrunch your nose, bringing you hand up to show him just some of his milky cum covering your hand.

"I'm sorry." He slurs, barely conscious. "I'll clean up."

He tries to get up but you hold him down firmly. You're not going to let go of your free heater after all you've just done to stay warm.

"Just clean up in the morning." You tell him, wiping your dirty hand on his pants.

"But I'm all sticky and gross."

"Good. I want you to sleep in your cum so you remember how nice I am to a disgusting perv like you."

[reidfucker]

two left feet

dr. spencer reid knows how to dance. keyword, knows how to — not that he's any good at actually, physically performing it.

or dr. spencer reid asks you to waltz with him.

an itty bitty reid drabble as i try to familiarize myself with tumblr. no beta or second thoughts at all !!! i typed all of this out experimentally. (update: edited it a tad :–D)

oh, and spencer is a trans man. it's not explicitly stated or dwelt upon, but i hope you know.

once reid gets into something, he gets into it. lately, he's been reading up on dancing: in particular, the waltz.

in his silently agreed on corner of the couch, with his feet in your lap as you sat beside him. you see him reading the waltz book, whatever that entailed.

it wasn't uncommon for spencer to be interested by things he completely hadn't dabbled in the past. he usually accumulated facts on a multitude of topics, storing each trinket of knowledge for later use. though, he hardly ever applied those skills after getting familiar with them.

this time, he closes the book, thinking to himself. you can't help but giggle to yourself and wonder, what is so thought-provoking about the waltz? but reid finds something to ponder on even in the most mundane things, so there's no need to question.

"hm." reid hums, getting your attention.

"spence?" you can visibly see his train of thought derail.

"oh– um– i was just wondering if..." he considers his words, "i was just going to ask if you'd like to dance with me."

you grin, "aw, of course. who am i to decline you?"

"um... i'm no good yet. but hey, what's learning without trying?" he gives a shy smile, getting on his feet pushing up his reading glasses, instead of taking them off. you told him he looked cute in glasses, and he'd look cute nonetheless, but you noticed he wears them more often now.

"what songs go well with the dance you have in mind?" you say, browsing through your cd collection.

"would it be cliché if i said 'cant help falling in love' by elvis presley?" spencer stands slightly behind you, sort of waiting for you.

"yeah... very cliché. but it's okay, i'll play it anyway." you can't help but grin at how anxious he is about nearly everything.

"well, it's because my mother loves that song. well, used to, now she can hardly remember things."

you turn to him once the cd is in place, "you don't need to explain yourself to me, spencer. i like the song." you reassure him, "now... shall we dance?" you hold a hand out.

spencer gladly takes your hand, gladly taking charge. you've never danced before, and it's evident that spencer hasn't either, but strangely, you feel like the ceramic couples spinning together inside a music box.

he closes his eyes, following the rhythm, visualizing the images from the textbook.

what a mind, you think. it would be nice to live inside his brain: to know every thought before it's fully processed, to see what images flash through his mind, to watch the connections between lines from books and quotes an unsub dropped.

on the other hand, you don't know what you're doing. spencer's eyes flutter open and closed every once in a while and he oh-so-softly laughs whenever he commits a mistake. you consider kissing him, but you don't want to interrupt this brilliant mind at work.

once he's comfortable enough with the pace, he leans his forehead on your shoulder, transitioning into slow dancing. you wrap your arms around his waist, and you just melt together.

rocking you back and forth just in time with the rhythm, he whispers in your ear, "you know, waltzing was considered... scandalous back in the day. couples danced in what they called 'closed position,' they were practically, uh, pelvis to pelvis."

you chuckle, giving him a nod. he feels you nod and takes it as a sign he's good to continue.

"yeah, up until the waltzes of strauss, it was deemed inappropriate. i get that, 'the blue danube' is such a beautiful song, it's hard to pass up the opportunity to... y'know..."

reid rambles on, whispering to you all throughout, as if he were professing his love for you. and in his own little way, you knew he was.

he takes a few (many) awkwardly timed steps, and even you can admit your bodies don't flow together seamlessly. but really, it isn't half-bad.

[lovezbrownies]

Jealous? (Chief of Police Yan x GN!Reader)

Masterlist

Grim Ludenhart x Reader

Synopsis: Grim boy gets a wee bit jealous!

You and your boyfriend of 7 months have been walking around a commercial district of the city for the past 30 minutes, stopping by any shop that managed to catch your attention, Grim buying anything he saw you stare at for more than 5 seconds.

"Oh honey, look at that shop, maybe you'd like something there." Grim pointed out one of the various shops along your walk. Seems like he knew you better than yourself because you did see some interesting things you'd like to look at. "You're right, can we look at it?" You looked up at the man you've been holding onto the entire walk, and see the soft adoring look he had on his face. The way he looked at you always made you feel special.

Grim turned towards the shop, ready to lead you with him. "Of course, you see th-" A loud ringing sounded off his phone, his peace has been destroyed, his face soured, and his body tensed. Grim took out his phone only to see it was one of his subordinates, one of the few people he allows to bypass the Do not Disturb setting on his device. He was about to decline but you grabbed his wrist, halting his very move.

"It's okay answer they need you, I'll be in the shop, take your time, honey." You tiptoed and pulled his face down and left him with a kiss on the cheek. You departed from him as he answered the call, you saw something that got your attention so you head towards it within the shop. Once you entered the quaint shop you slowly made your way down the few aisles of the shop. You grabbed something to look at it closer, but then you felt someone from behind.

You turned around just in time as the man who snuck up on you spoke up, "That's a very good piece, my grandda made it a while back, no one really appreciates the type of vision the elderly has." You guessed this was the shop owner or their son at least, he wasn't as tall as Grim and he wasn't as well built as Grim, the man in front of you looked a year or two younger than you.

You smiled back at him, nodded, put the item back, and continued on your onslaught. There was this fox ceramic piece that made you think of your cute overworked boyfriend. You turned back towards the Shopkeeper. "How much is this one?" He smiled at you, slightly creeped you out how much he keeps staring deeply into you but you can move on, you wanted to buy something for your boyfriend this time so you kept your thoughts to yourself.

"Hm, about 2 gold piece, but for you I can make it 15 silver pieces." What a bargain! "If you go on a date with me." Ah. Of course. Nothing can ever go your way can it. He took your silence as a sign of how suave and cool he was so he got closer to you. You obviously panicked, stepping away from the weird guy who barely know you but wanted to date you.

"Ah, sorry no I'm, uh, taken. My boyfriend's standing out there, if you just um look..." You stammered and got increasingly nervous as you walk backwards and he would follow you two steps ahead, "Aw, come on, you don't have to lie. It's okay people our age need to date around so let's just do one teeny date..." What neither of you noticed was the bell ringing because of someone entering while you were trying to tell the shopkeeper that you were taken.

You bumped into a shelf full of books and trinkets; you were cornered, you were stuck here with a weirdo-- Or you though you were. "What the fuck are you doing." A strong stern voice sounded from behind the young man. You let out a sigh of relief realizing your knight in shining armor had arrived, your amazing boyfriend is here!

The shopkeeper turned around, shifting his attention to the person who ruined his attempt at courting the cute thing in front of him. What the shopkeeper didn't expect was the large brooding frame of the Chief of Police looking down at him as if he was just some common bug. "I-I-. Ahem, sorry if it looked bad! Haha! Just friends playing around, uh, nothing to worry about!" That statement only made Grim growl in anger.

Grim grabbed at the shopkeeper's collar, using one hand he pulled the moron away from his sweet darling. "Wrong. You're bothering my significant other." The young man chuckled nervously, he looked back towards where you were supposed to be but didn't see you, when he looked back towards the man that's about to smash his skull open the boy saw you standing nearby behind the Chief.

The shopkeeper pointed at you, "Haha! N-no! I- We were j-just playing around, r-right?" Grim looked back at you, you looked scared, a look Grim had never seen on you before, which only succeeded in enraging him even more. Grim looked back towards the moron. "Fucking watch yourself, freak. Sleep with one eye open, I will ruin your life, your reputation, I will hunt you down. I will kill you if I feel like it. You have no life after this."

Most of that was lowly whispered to the boy, ensuring you won't hear a single part of it so you wouldn't get any more scared than you should. Grim pushed the man away, the shopkeeper fell right on his ass. Grim turned back toward you, poor darling, scared because of some lowlife roach. "Come on, sweetheart." The softness of his voice speaking to was vastly different to the way he spoke to the shopkeeper, and you felt... special yet again. You were happy he was yours, and you were his.

You were grateful that the next morning was still a weekend, because you knew he'd make love to you endlessly to reassure you that he will always love you dearly.

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumptober 2024 - Day 23

Quinn belongs to my beloved boyfriend @friendlylocalwhumper!! Thank you for letting me borrow your spy!!

TWs: someone asks for the death penalty and is denied

Forced Choice | Public Display | Broken Pedestal | “I’m doing this for you.”

Mariano stood in a suit, unmoving beneath the play icon. It was a warm navy, a color that brought out the soft gold in Mariano's skin. His tie was black. The shirt he wore under his jacket was white. It was all crisp, clean. Brilliant, even on camera.

His face was rounder. Softer. Even with the malnutrition that made his cheekbones sharper, he didn't look twenty. He looked like a teenager still.

He didn't look a day older than Quinn themself was.

They stole a glance out of the corner of their eye. That was him. Right there behind that counter, cleaning mugs, stood the war criminal himself.

This wasn't their first time watching this footage. They'd read up on it when the prison rehabilitation programs updated their website, naturally. Someone who'd burned whole towns couldn't just be better.

It didn't work like that.

All of this had to be a ploy. Mariano Ortiz, now Mariano Cross, had to be some sort of spy for the disgraced man he'd worked under. His begging for the death penalty had to have been faked. They skipped forward.

"Mister Ortiz, the court has accepted your plea of guilty to all the charges brought against you."

The Mariano on screen didn't waver.

"You have been sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole."

Until he did.

"No," He whispered, just loud enough to be heard. "No, I need to be neutralized. I'm too dangerous to--"

"The court's decision is final. You will be taken into custody immediately with credit for time served. Have a good day, Mister Ortiz."

A woman in the background started quietly crying as Mariano was handcuffed and led away, seemingly in shock. When the camera panned over, Quinn confirmed that it had to be Mariano Ortiz's mother, Lucia. She looked how she did in all the Facebook photos, and leaned into the man who had to be Ramon. They looked relieved.

There had to be more to this. Quinn had to be missing something. No one just did that unless they were playing the long game.

"Still doing alright?" A voice not coming from their headphones pulled Quinn away from their thoughts.

Mariano was at the counter, hand on the handle of a mug. "Need a refill? I know studying for midterms can be hard without some coffee to sip on."

Quinn smiled easily in return and tabbed over to the document they'd been keeping their notes on. "That'd be nice, Mister Cross. Thank you." They watched him fill a new mug with their order, made exactly like the last two they'd slowly worked their way through.

"Rough class? You've been frowning like fall break was cancelled."

"Ah, you could say that." They said, accepting the new mug that was brought over. They looked up at him over the top of their laptop screen. His ringlit eyes seemed to bore into them as he leaned closer to take their empty one.

"Well, you're free to stay as long as you like." He said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I certainly don't mind the company."

Quinn watched broad shoulders retreat back to the counter to begin washing the ceramic and swallowed. Somehow that was always worse than they expected. Somehow they expected to hear the crack of a whip, or the rattle of chains in a basement when they watched him walk away.

They had to find out what he was really in the city for. They couldn't see more innocent people die at one awful mage's hands. Not ever again.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper

@bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @whumpbees @painful-pooch

[languajix]

TMNT Write Fight Fic: From The Heart and the Hands

Prompt by @violeteyedmedium: "2003 Casey bonding with any of the turtles" + also kind of a little "2003 Capril fluff" for @tmnt-write-fight

Word Count: 1,750

Summary: Casey is looking for help with a birthday present for April. Donny is roped into helping, whether he wants to or not.

"So, uh, April's birthday's comin' up."

"Uh huh," Donny murmured, successfully soldering another wire. "We're planning a party."

"Exactly! But, uh," Casey rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I kiiinda, maybe, still have to get her something. And I dunno what. I-I just know I want it to be something meaningful, you know?"

Donny did know. Casey's crush on April wasn't exactly subtle. "You've got your work cut out for you, I guess. I think everybody here figured out theirs a while ago."

Everybody else was out for the evening, running around on various errands. When Casey had come storming in asking for help, the only turtle home was Donny, elbow-deep in his latest projects. A captive audience.

Casey tilted his head, leaning forward, curious. "Well, what're you gettin' her?"

Yeah, that wasn't going to be very helpful to him. "I'm upgrading her internet," Donny said, just a little smugly, "April's getting the fastest connection available on the other side of the sewer system."

"That's great an' all, but I can't do anything like that. Aw man," Casey held his head, his hip accidentally bumping the table. Donny held his soldering gun carefully out of the way as the wires he was working on started sliding around on him.

Donny's mouth ran away with him a little as he worked to steady his workstation. "I guess this kind of thing must come easier for a turtle."

"That's it!" Casey snapped, brightening up. "I'm gonna get her a turtle!"

"Pardon?" Donny slid the soldering gun back into its base so he could shoot Casey the skeptical look that that comment deserved. "I mean, I guess you could probably bribe Mikey to pop out of a box wearing a funny hat, but I don't think she'd appreciate that very much."

Casey waved away the thought. "No! I mean, uh, like a sea turtle." He motioned like he was holding something small in the palm of his hand. "An antique. For her collection."

It took Donny a moment to recall the assortment of sea turtles that had once decorated April's apartment - ceramic ones, a painting on the wall, a rug on the floor. "Oh. She never explained why she had them all over her place, before…" Before she lost it all in the fire. "She seemed a little embarrassed about it, when we asked."

Casey snorted. "That's because it's different when you're talking about it to a turtle, y'know. Those were presents from her family, growin' up. She used to really like sea turtles. She told me when she was eight she wanted to be a marine biologist." He was so proud of getting the terminology correct, pronouncing every syllable carefully. "She didn't end up doin' that, obviously, but they kept getting her turtle stuff anyways. She ended up liking 'em just for the, uh- for how it looks."

"That's… fun, actually." Donny and his brothers did the same thing for Leo, with Japanese items. Anything they could find in the junkyard, in the trash, sneaking into a shop in the wintertime all bundled up to hand over wads of coins they'd scavenged from beneath sewer grates… piece by piece, holiday after holiday, they'd built up Leo's collection of Japanese poetry, the scrolls on his walls, the mats on his floor. A stack of books on tape to hone his mastery of the language. The occasional imported ramen or other odd treat from the hipster store around the corner.

"Yeah! So, uh, I guess I just gotta find somewhere that sells… turtles."

Donny sighed, slipping off his safety glasses and setting them down on the table. "And you want my help." More like, Don wanted him out of his lab, and if this would get him there…

Casey perked up, then, a jerk so dramatic that he bumped his shoulder into a nearby shelf. It teetered precariously. "Aw, would ya? You're the best, Don! I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Don't mention it," Donny sighed, smiling a little nevertheless. "Seriously. Don't."

---

They tried secondhand shop after specialty store. While Casey talked to the various shopkeepers, Donny lingered by the shelves, bundled up until the only thing poking out of his many layers of coats and scarves was the slightest bit of green, a glimpse of his snout underneath the bridge of his sunglasses.

One by one, they struck out.

"That's it. I don't get it - it's like there aren't any sea turtles in the whole city! I gotta think of somethin' else."

"Like what?" Donny's head turned, and kept turning, attention suddenly laser-focused at the electronics store they were passing. "I- There are some parts of her home computer setup that are in need of an upgrade, I think, if you wanted me to help point a few things out to you."

Casey slumped. "Budget's kinda tight at the moment, Don. I was hopin' for something, y'know, from the heart, more than from the wallet."

From the heart, huh.

Just then, a couple passed them both by, deep in conversation. Donny only caught the tail end of the woman's words: "Oh Brad, it means so much more to me because you made it yourself, with your own two hands!"

Casey turned to look at Donny with an ear-to-ear grin.

Oh man.

---

"I need somethin' I can do that'll turn out really really good with no trainin' or practice, you see," Casey explained to the art store worker who was staring at him with the bored expression of an employee not paid nearly enough to deal with Casey Jones.

Donny poked his way curiously through wood bits and glue, racks of bobbins, fake flowers (he wasn't entirely sure how that counted as artistic, but okay,) and a scattered jar or nine of glaze. He couldn't say he'd ever been in a craft store, other than a quick in and out to get Raph some yarn, once or twice.

Apparently the employee wasn't any help, because Casey ended up stumbling back towards Donny, knocking into various objects and causing a couple of racks to tilt precariously as he went. He started poking through things, too, though with a lot less grace.

"Don! Look at this little guy!" Casey said loudly, causing half the heads in the store to turn towards them. Donny pulled his hood lower over his face. "It's a sea turtle! We found one!"

Pinched between his fingers was a paint-by-numbers kit. Right in the center was a sea turtle, swimming through the ocean, framed on either side by wiggling kelp. It was clearly meant for adults; the lines were close together, an incredible amount of detail, only subtle variations between colors.

"Casey, those kinds of projects…" Donny wasn't sure how to explain in a way that wasn't kind of mean. "…they take… patience. And precision. To come out well. And I don't think…"

Casey waved him off. "Oh, look! Here's one for you!" He held up a different kit - a scene with a gorgeous library. If it were real, Donny would be salivating. It looked equally complex, though. "We should do 'em together! Have a, you know, art night."

Donny sighed.

Guess they were doing this.

---

Casey was trying hard, to his credit. When his first little paint bucket dumped out on the table, he'd scrambled to right it, scooping it back in and cleaning up after himself. The second and third and sixth time, too.

After Donny had managed to wrangle some sort of excuse to his brothers about why he wouldn't be home, they'd set up in Casey's apartment, laying out their paints and brushes across his dining table, sitting across from each other. Casey's cassette tape collection was pretty extensive, and after a little back-and-forth they'd managed to settle on some classic rock.

It wasn't how he'd planned to spend his evening, but honestly, Donny was finding it kind of relaxing.

Every time Donny peeked up from his own project, Casey was covered in more and more colors of paint - his nose, his forehead, his hair. His hand, all the way up to his wrist, with dabs of color along his arms up to his shoulder. As he leaned forward over the small canvas, Casey pinched the tiny brush between his big fingers, gnarled from past breaks, with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

He was trying so hard.

"Okay. I think I got this. Whadda ya think, Don?" Casey asked him after a period of focused silence, picking up the little canvas with his paint-covered fingers, uncaring about the various multicolored prints he was leaving on the margins.

If Donny squinted, he thought he could make out the vague impression of a sea turtle. A lumpy, oddly colored sea turtle. Casey had definitely mixed up more than a few numbers, and possibly paints, and had not quite stuck to the lines that were supposed to guide him.

"I think… April will appreciate it because you spent the time and effort on it, Case," he managed.

He'd seen her hang up a few blobby shapes on her wall that she'd called modern art. Donny didn't get the hype, but he'd shrugged it off as not being the target audience for whatever it was. This would probably fit right in, honestly.

Casey grinned, and Donny wondered how he'd gotten paint on his teeth.

Okay, this was kind of fun.

---

April stared at the painting. "What a beautiful… modern art piece?" she tried, holding it up as though seeing it from a slightly different angle would make it all come together.

Casey's shoulders were up to his ears, sheepish. "It's supposed to be a sea turtle," he mumbled, looking away, face growing hot. He'd tried! He really had!

She paused to consider that, and then he heard her breathe out a surprised little 'oh!' as she seemed to figure it out.

"It's- its lovely." Seeming to pick up on his embarrassment, she put a hand on his arm. "Really, Casey," she said earnestly, "it means so much more to me because you made it yourself, with your own two hands."

Casey grinned, a little disbelieving. "You sure?" he asked, "because I-I know it's not going up in the Met anytime soon, but-"

She smiled back. "No, no, Casey, I think it'll fit right in, actually."

(The next time he came over, she had started her sea turtle collection again, but more importantly, his painting was up on the wall.)

[welcomingdisaster]

Many Sentences Monday!

i was tagged by @meadowlarkx & @thelordofgifs to share some fic! i'm super self indulgent, so here's the first scene of a "maglor comes to aman" fic with a twist.

1: The Pipe.

The little room is not decorated how he would expect. 

Though of course it is exactly as it should be. There are the many intricately woven banisters, hung along the walls, clearly Maedhros’ choices, his style. There are the gouache paintings of leaping long-legged horses, their features exaggerated by movement, so dynamic they seem almost birdlike, painted plainly by Fingon’s hand. There’s the huge padded armchair in a tasteful shade of forest-green—Maedhros—and the short coat of brilliant crimson slung over its back—Fingon—and the tangle of vines outside the windows and the short-legged hound on the duvet and the tabby cats outside and the ornate teal-and-lilac service set on the counter, certainly gifted because neither of them would pick it, and the open easternmost window and the smell of roasting garlic. 

It is the things which are not there, which he has come to expect. 

It is the outhouse, the lack of indoor plumbing, the candle-gems set into the walls, look of slight confusion on the face of the servant when he turns to feel for the light switch. It is the realization that he cannot call; cannot send a telegram; that is had not occurred to him to pack a typewriter and so all his correspondence and his writing will again be hand; that his poems, should they ever again be published in this land, will need to be painstakingly copied, word by word, onto the parchment. 

It ought to be easy to fall back into it. He had missed it, he tries to remember. He had thought the world noisy and overwhelming. He had wanted to run from it. He’d seen soot stains on trees that had once been virginal, had once been white, and his head had spun with it. He had watched the factory-smoke rise and thought it unlovely and unworthy of living for. He had stared at the monstrous bulk of a locomotive, had tasted its bitter smoke on his tongue, and felt the awfulness and sublimity of invention as he had at the gates of Angband. 

And yet he is happy that he has taken along his gramophone. 

No one had expected him. 

News of the boats do not come; gossip travels through word of mouth and webs of osanwë across the city and into the countryside, but his hosts are out hunting. There are two servants only in the house; a quiet young maiden, barely seventy, there to mind the horses and the goats, and a man who had clearly once been a soldier, watching the house in the owners’ absence. 

They speak to him in Sindarin, faintly accented with entirely different accents. The maiden, Cinnogil, lives there full-time, though mostly with the animals; she is responsible for the horses’ training and upkeep, and to this duty she dedicates herself with a fierce passion. He does not ask what brings her out of her house so young, as he would have asked in another life. 

The man, Singdan, is there only some of the time. He lives close by, he says. He comes and helps with the cooking and the cleaning, at times, in exchange for gems and for fresh cuts of hart and for legal work, now and again. 

But really it can barely be called an estate. 

“They keep a room for you, I think,” Singdan tells him, as he helps him unload his mule and stack his luggage in a jumbled heap in the mud room. The short-legged dog weaves around their ankles when make their way down the hall, lit by sparkling silver gems, the walls decorated with rugs far too warm and too heavy for the climate. “They have for as long as I have known them.” 

The room—his room—is at the end of the hall. His eyes trace the walls; the simpler, more elegant decorations in silver, the blue and white bedspread, the lyre and the flute, the inkwell, the bottle of aged rum with the books on the bookshelf, the ceramic horses on the writing table. Someone has hung a change of clothes for him in the corner closet. 

There is no dust, no trace of disuse. Only one thing out of place—the mahogany pipe on the windowsill. 

He crosses the room and picks it up, holding it up to the light. It is well-used. Warm from the sun streaming in through the glass, streaked slightly on the inside. 

Out of them three only Maedhros smokes. Likely he had sat here, and had the window open. 

(Why is there so much guilt, with that thought?) 

“Shall you come and dine,” Singdan asks, “while we wait?” 

Thank you. He is not hungry. 

---

tagging @eilinelsghost @outofangband @melestasflight @polutrope @grey-gazania @that-angry-noldo @searchingforserendipity25 & @polutrope @jouissants anyone else who hasn't done it yet and wants in!

[autumnshowell]

who: @sloedownwulf

coffee. coffee. coffee. she's had so much fucking coffee. The eggs and the sausage come and she doesn't touch them because the smell of the grease turns her stomach. She needs to write... something. Anything. A.J.'s fronting the bill for her school loans, the gallery opening... now that some of the dust from the absolute, well, wreck of the last week is starting to settle... all of that's reminded her that she hasn't fucking created anything. And they're not going to hang a poem of hers up in a gallery. Nobody's going to buy a one-off vignette of hers and hang it on a wall. That's not the reason she enjoys writing, and it never has been - but the barbs from her mother, real, and the jokes from A.J., in good nature but no less painful to hear, have her feeling some type of way about how useless that fifty thousand dollar piece of paper has become.

But its fucking hard. It's so fucking hard to write. To focus. She can't sleep because she still hasn't stopped being afraid that the world she wakes up into is going to be the real one, where she's being eaten alive. And the fucking... the sound. Everything bothers her. Things she's never noticed before. The hum a light gives off - the fucking awful sounds of a restaurant full of people stuffing meat and eggs and syrup down their fucking mouths. What started as brainstorming has turned into incoherent scribbling that she can't even read, and when the booth next to her scrapes silverware on ceramics it sends a shiver down her spine so intense that she snaps the pen in her hand in half, spilling indigo all down the palm of her hand. Autumn stands, abrupt, slaps... what, one, two, three tens down for her two eggs and sausage and coffee that she hasn't touched, and rushes out, shouldering past a waitress with a cursoy, grumbled apology on her way out. The outside light hits her eyes like a truck - even the colors seem off somehow. She's got hours to kill until she has to go pick A.J. back up, so she decides to just walk, rounding the corner to cut through an alley behind the diner and get back to the park where she's left the rental. She stops dead in the alley, sun overhead beating down on a shaggy, mangy brown hulk not fifty yards away, snarling and growling and staring at her. She feels her breath catch when she sees it tip its head down, tearing a hollow into a body underneath its paws, muzzle all slick and red. She recognizes the body, because its her. The beast snaps a barking grunt at her before it plunges its head into the cavity, and Autumn feels everything well up and out of her, spilling half-drunk coffee out of her guts and into a corner of the alley. When she looks up, though, it's just her and the daytime air. Then she hears somebody call out to her from behind, and she stands, shaking her head, trying to act like nothing that just happened happened. Pre-emptively, she puts an ink-stained hand up to the stranger "I'm fine, just... I'm fine."

[chim-aera]

the muse

I'm nothing if not an artist, oh my hands are small, bony and curved and shaking, always shaking like the trembling rattle when Kronos lifts his scythe at the end of a life force.

please, please let me be an artist. muses, nothing, I am nothing if not the flesh wrought bind of oil and ink and eons etched into this fraying feeble form.

I do not want to be lost to the spans of time flitting into the wind as another lost mishap but neither do I want my name carved into the rudimentary veins of existence and history, please, for once. for once! let me be the muse.

I've been once, but oh gods do they never see all of me. I'm nothing if not a mirror, cursed, and shattered, blood trickling down my forehead and knuckles like hawthorn harrowing horrors, I just want to be seen.

gnashing teeth, and mourning moon minted unholy uprisings and aching bones my eyes like pools of quicksilver a mercurial sort of madness and this terrible aching softness wound together with sewing thread and ribbon, red ribbon tied around my throat. It will suffocate me before I tear it off with these clasping claw like hands, no, Lachesis, please. please, let me seen. please.

oh please.

why am I a flitting little memory scurrying and huddling into far corners of one's perspective to fall into the icy embrace of cold stone and collisions nothing gentle ever graces my skin, no.

please, why do I find belonging with fellow foolish, flamboyant, useless things of the past. I do not belong here. I don't.

I'm nothing if not dramatic, I am nothing if not ideal.

please. please.

I'm so used to asking for more time. but what am I even doing with it?

I wait to fall, hard, unravel. let my joints and skeletons unwind and slip out of socket let myself go still and sordid into the snow blazened earth. let the ice chill and nip and bite at my body turn this ashen form flush and blossomed. my warmth seeping into Mother I look to the sky and I'll ask the pine trees for directions.

they never tell me where to go, just to not stop searching.

for what?

damn it all I'm spewing fantasy and folklore and centuries of rotting awful words from these taunt lips.

please.

please.

I'm so tired.

perhaps that's what I want. perhaps that's why I find solace in the cold corners where I creep of ages past in museums and archives, libraries, and silence.

make me a muse, make me a portrait, look but never touch, fleeting frivolous eyes to glance but never learn, only wonder.

make me a sacrifice all shimmering and sacrilegious, I'll go down without a fight, pull me down by the sleeves of my robes to the aching cold surface of your cathedrals floors. a holy demise, a sinful symphony. purify me? I was never pure. but run your dagger through my throat regardless. call my blood paint, an artist to the very end, how fitting.

I miss the statues in my grandmother's hearth room, they always smiled at me. I smiled back. now I'm all chipped china and twisted teeth.

now I grin at ravens, the stretching star lines of constellations, and moonlight. I am nothing if not an omen. I'll be whatever you want me to be. just wind be up and watch me spin.

oh look at me, sputtering maudlin meager cries for pity, or perhaps comfort, while I drag myself back to misery. I am my own executioner. I try to be soft, and mend my own wounds with yarrow, bandages, and the warmth of tea in a sunwarmed ceramic mug in these cold, trembling hands.

I try. I'll try. but oh, still, forever the poet, never the muse. alas, but that's just how it's meant to be, I suppose. I'll write you in and weave you into the heavens, remember me, or not. I'm just a poet, after all.

[moonsromance]

Hey Virote, are there any art forms (visual or other) you haven't tried but have been meaning to?

❝Lots and lots and lots… My backlog spans back, like, at least six years worth of shit I wanna do. I've been so busy, though—! Like, okay, let's start with encaustic painting. It's this old ass technique where you mix pigments with hot wax and paint while it's molten. Can you imagine the texture? The drama of it melting and solidifying all at once? Very me, I've been drooling over trying it. But, like I said, I'm busy.❞

He was already on one and off the shits with several cans of white wine from the corner market just a few blocks away. Now, he'd never shut the fuck up. This was his favorite subject; favorite, favorite, favorite, it was his most absolute favorite!

❝Then, there's kintsugi. You know, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold? I was pretty fascinated with it while I was working my internship, 'cause one of my colleagues was good at it. I've always thought that's such a romantic metaphor or something—like, let's take something shattered and make it more beautiful. I'd love to try it, maybe on some thrifted ceramics to start... For my own comfort. I don't trust myself to do it with an expensive piece… My starts are always awful. I remember when I got into metal sculptures. My first fifteen pieces looked like shit.❞

[raekensluver]

Not sure if you're taking requests. But If you are? Can I get something with Spencer Reid. Where reader is a bookstore owner, who has weekly events for children. JJ brings the boys, then becomes friends with reader and eventually sets her up on a date with Spencer. The date can go however you like, leading to smut or just make it sweet and fluffy. It's up to you.

Thanks for reading.

i love this idea!! thank you for your request!! (also this is not proofread!)

"you can do this," you murmured to yourself, your hands clutching the warmth of the ceramic mug. the scent of freshly ground coffee beans wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of the sugar cookies displayed tantalizingly at the counter. you glanced at your watch for the umpteenth time, feeling the butterflies in your stomach dance in time with the ticking seconds. it was just a blind date, you reminded yourself, no pressure. just a friendly setup by jj, who swore by her uncanny matchmaking skills.

as the door to the quaint little coffee shop chimed, your eyes darted up, scanning the newcomer with a mix of excitement and nerves. a tall, slender man with a gentle gait walked in, his eyes scanning the room with an air of uncertainty. he had a kind face, framed by a mess of curly hair that added to his slightly disheveled but utterly charming appearance. he was dressed casually, yet with an understated elegance that spoke volumes about his personality.

the man spotted you and offered a tentative smile that grew into a warm grin as he approached. "are you the one jj's been raving about?" he asked, extending his hand. "spencer reid," he introduced himself.

his voice was a soothing melody, and his grip firm but gentle. "yes, that's me," you replied, your cheeks flushing slightly. "she's been keeping me in suspense."

spencer chuckled, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "jj does have a flair for the dramatic," he said, settling into the chair opposite you. "but she has good intentions. she's quite fond of you."

you couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious under his gaze. "what exactly did she tell you?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

spencer leaned back slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "just that you're the heart of the neighborhood with your little bookstore," he replied. "she said that her boys adore you, and that you have a knack for finding the perfect book for every little soul that walks through your door."

you couldn't help but chuckle at her description. "well, i try," you said modestly, taking a sip of your coffee. the rich, dark liquid coated your tongue, the heat seeping into your chest. "so, you work with jj?" you inquired, eager to learn more about him.

"yes, i do," spencer said, his expression lighting up. "i'm with the bau – the behavioral analysis unit."

his job intrigued you, and you leaned in slightly. "so you catch bad guys?" you asked, a hint of excitement in your voice.

"in a manner of speaking," spencer said with a small smile. "we profile and analyze criminal behavior to help catch unsubs - unknown subjects. it's more about understanding the mind than the physical chase, though."

his words painted a vivid picture in your mind, and you found yourself awed by the depth of his work. "that sounds… intense," you murmured, trying to imagine the kind of cases he must deal with on a daily basis.

spencer's smile grew a bit solemn at the edge. "it can be," he admitted. "but it's also incredibly fulfilling, knowing we're making a difference."

his words hung in the air, and you nodded in understanding. the conversation flowed from there, a gentle stream of words that grew into a river of shared experiences and laughter. you talked about your love for books and how you'd turned your childhood dream into a reality with the bookstore. he spoke of his passion for knowledge, and how it had led him down the path of criminal psychology.

spencer had a way of speaking that was both engaging and insightful. he listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered at that moment. his curiosity about the books you loved and the stories you cherished was genuine, and you found yourself sharing more than you had planned.

you spoke about the quiet joy of reading a book to a room full of children, their eyes wide with wonder, as you brought the words to life. the magic of seeing a young mind grasp a new concept or feel the depth of an emotion for the first time. he nodded thoughtfully, sharing his own memories of getting lost in the pages of a good book as a child, finding solace and adventure in the quiet corners of his local library.

spencer leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "i've seen the way jj's son's light up when they talk about you," he said. "they adore the stories you tell, the way you make the characters come alive for them."

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "they're pretty special kids," you said, your heart swelling. "i've always enjoyed spending time with them."

as the coffee grew cold and the shop began to empty, spencer checked his watch and sighed. "i should get going," he said, regret lacing his tone. "i've got an early flight tomorrow."

you nodded, feeling a strange mix of disappointment and relief. the evening had passed more quickly than you could've ever imagined. "yes, i should be getting home too," you agreed, collecting your bag.

spencer stood, his movements graceful despite his height. "let me walk you home," he offered, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation.

you considered it for a moment, the warmth of his presence making you feel safe. "i'd like that," you said finally, smiling.

the night air was crisp, a welcome change from the cozy confines of the coffee shop. the street lamps cast a soft glow over the sidewalk, illuminating the way to your apartment. your conversation didn't falter as you stepped outside, the cool breeze playing with the leaves of the trees lining the street. you talked about your favorite authors, the books that had shaped you, and the ones that had left an indelible mark on your heart.

spencer walked alongside you, his long strides matching yours easily. his gaze was thoughtful, as if he was piecing together the puzzle of who you were, and you found yourself doing the same. you noticed the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his work, the passion that colored his voice. it was clear that he was driven by a desire to understand the complexities of the human psyche, to unravel the mysteries that lurked in the shadows of the human mind.

as you approached your apartment building, the anticipation grew. the night had been more than you could've hoped for, and you didn't want it to end. the bricks of the building looked warm under the amber street light, a beacon of comfort and familiarity. you stopped in front of the entrance, the light from the lobby spilling out onto the sidewalk.

spencer turned to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what was to come. "i had a wonderful time tonight," he said, his voice earnest. "i hope we can do this again soon."

you felt your heart flutter. "i'd like that," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "it's been a while since i've felt this… connected."

spencer's smile grew, and he took a step closer. "me too," he murmured, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. his touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

his eyes searched yours, asking for permission, and you found yourself nodding, your heart racing. he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. your eyes fluttered shut, the anticipation building.

his lips met yours, gentle at first, as if testing the waters. the kiss grew more insistent, a silent promise of what could be. his hand cradled your cheek, and you leaned into the touch, feeling a connection that was more than just physical. your hands found their way to his chest, his heart beating in time with yours.

the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you standing on the sidewalk, lost in a moment of pure, unbridled emotion. the air was thick with the promise of something more, and you felt your breath hitch as spencer deepened the kiss, his other hand coming to rest at the small of your back, pulling you closer.

finally, you broke apart, smiling up at him, your eyes shining with a newfound fondness. "i should really go in," you said, your voice breathy. "but i had a wonderful time."

spencer's grin was wide, his eyes never leaving yours. "so did i," he replied. "can i see you again?"

his question hung in the air, and you felt a thrill run through you. "yes," you said, the word escaping before you could second guess it. "i'd love to."

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; The aching, hollow feeling that had taken up so much space beneath Vash's ribs last night pries itself back open, yawning awake as though to join the two of them in being late to rise with a maw so determined to gnaw itself further open as Wolfwood pulls away from him, like the thread to pry the seam open is attached directly to him. And really, it was, wasn't it? This invisible tether wrapped so tightly around the both of them, tangling around everything that dared to come near it.

Still, Vash follows Wolfwood after a beat of hesitation, legs pulled up to his chest as he sinks into the opposite corner of their couch. If he had his other arm he would have grabbed the blanket nearby and wrapped it around his shoulders too, an extra line of defense to keep himself together, to try and block out the awful feeling of keeping that space in the cushions between them but not fully wanting to close it either, the same as the night before.

His own spiel had sat at the back of his throat last night, trying to form into something solid as he'd sat outside on the cool grass. But it hadn't been given the chance to fully form, interrupted, and any of what had been able to piece itself together had been swept under the rug by Wolfwood leading him back inside and guiding them both up to bed. It's hard to tell which would have been worse to stomach; letting everything he'd wanted to say come out half-formed, the both of them bone-deep exhausted, or trying to piece them back together now after they've both been softened by sleep and the brief illusion that what had transpired hadn't actually come to pass.

Wolfwood beats him to it, though. Steals some of his points right out of his mouth, leaves others to fester in new ways. But Vash listens, all the while staring down at the expanse between the both of them, unable or unwilling-- he's not sure which-- to bring his gaze upwards as he does so.

The half-empty mug is getting cool in his palm, but it gives him something to hold on to, keeps his fingers from picking at whatever they can reach, flexing around the ceramic instead. There's a long stretch of silence once Wolfwood finishes, Vash's eyes shifting to stare down into what remains in his cup, before he finally lets out a sigh long enough to cause his shoulders to slump.

"I..." Another pause. "I don't know what I want." Organic thumb runs up and down the side of the mug, for want of something. It's frustrating, only having one palm to work with. The ghost of his other hand aches to come up and press the meat of itself into the arch of his brow.

"You did let me down. It was disrespectful. It was stupid. ... Disappointing, I guess." How to piece it together? He'd been so close, before. All those days and nights out there in the dunes feel as though they've amounted to nothing, all at once.

The number of people Vash has been entirely honest with can be counted on one hand. But he has to be, here, no matter how many times he's been found guilty of being dishonest to the man across from him. That doesn't mean it's any easier to say, any easier to bare this hurt so openly.

"But it's not... it's not just that you put yourself in danger like that," Vash finally manages. "Even though I'm still mad about that, too. When you already knew about all that stuff from the doctor in the first place. When you saw, you felt how I--." How he'd fallen apart-- how that roughly-mended hole in his heart had been torn there in the first place. Vash's breath hitches, makes him take a moment before starting again, eyes stinging, still pointed down at his knees.

"S'that I..." Another wet breath, hardly helping. His voice is even smaller, this time. " ... Didn't it mean anything?" The heat of mid-day. Children screaming. The roar of thunder. The heavens falling. The black of his coat. Not having any other choice. A life. Memories that cling to the nape of his neck and make a habit of whispering in his ear whenever they're capable, make it hot with shame and grief.

"I watched you choose mercy, before. And I..." I did what I had to to protect it. And nearly fallen apart entirely in its wake, the enormity of it. " ... Changed."

Plip. Tiny ripples form across the once-still surface of cold coffee. The tears had come without his noticing, though now that they've started there's no taking them back. It's hard to speak with a throat that wants to close, that threatens to make his voice warble and crack.

"Didn't that mean anything to you? 'Cause after all of that, even if you weren't the one t' kill him, you still went. Still had every intention of killing him." Vash's mouth twists. His arm shifts, hugging his knees, though he can't reach to put his cup anywhere without unfolding himself, so it stays in his palm.

When Vash wakes up, so does Wolfwood. He doesn't say anything or really move, too caught up in the feeling of being held and the warmth against his spine. Not often that he gets to be in this position after all, so used to being the one to nestle up against Vash's back and hold him like that. It brings him a sense of comfort and security and he curls up tighter in the cocoon, brain still in a sleepy fog.

"Mm," he grunts when Vash mumbles into his shoulder. He almost blindly reaches over to drag him back into bed, but his limbs feel too heavy and he can tell, even through the haze, that they slept in a lot later than usual. He needs to get up soon, too.

For now he stretches out like an oversized cat, nuzzling into the pillow beneath his head. He dozes a little longer until the smell of coffee wafts through the house and reaches the bedroom.

So he peels himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes and then pushing his hand through his hair. A tangled, curly mess from sleeping with it fresh out of the shower. He'll deal with combing it later.

As his mind slowly crawls into full alertness he becomes more and more aware of something just being wrong. It doesn't hit him until he's got a coffee mug in his hand and his nose is against Vash's temple, when Vash quietly says his name. Wolfwood wobbles a bit, his grip on the mug tightening.

Right. So caught up in the morning rituals that he nearly forgot. Even after almost a week, when he woke up this morning it was like Vash never left.

He swallows and pulls away.

"Yeah," he says quietly. He'd rather not be standing for this, he's feeling pretty unsteady on his feet right now. Wolfwood sighs, turning to trudge towards the living room and sit down on the sofa. The mug is set down on a coaster. He doesn't say anything until Vash joins him.

He's feeling nauseous quite suddenly.

"...I don't know what t'say," he finally mumbles after some silence. "It was stupid. Irresponsible. I shouldn't a' done it. I made a promise n'I broke it. I put myself in danger. He might do somethin' to retaliate. I know. I know. Told myself all this while you were gone."

His voice wavers, but he continues regardless, "It ain't like I wasn't in my right mind. I knew what I was doin'. I was angry. So, so fuckin' angry. All I could think 'bout was how much I wanted t'hurt him.

"Yeah, sure, I didn't... kill him, but if I just kept my ass home he wouldn't've—"

Wolfwood chokes on his words a bit. It's hard to tell if he feels bad about the loss of life. What he does know is that he feels bad for disappointing the man who believed in him the most.

"I let you down," he says, voice quiet. "You, n'everyone else. ...'m sorry."

He shakes his head, takes in a deep breath. Wolfwood turns his eyes to his husband.

"When I finally saw him, I knew I wouldn't've been able t'do it alone, anyway." He shudders. "I got no right tellin' you to let me in when I- when I went ahead n' did all this. Not fair to you. Stupid n' disrespectful.

"...Just... tell me what you want. Please. I can't fix it, right? But..."

He looks back down, focusing on the ring on his finger. There's a pitiful whine caught somewhere in his throat that he's trying to swallow. How he feels doesn't matter here, but there's still that sickening thought of: Maybe I really can't love him right.

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 13: Work and Leisure

Summary: Loki picks and chooses what sort of work he can tolerate on a Saturday.

Word Count: 2,806

Masterlist

It was a market day. As such, you were up a little early, getting ready for the day ahead. You opened the stable and fed the animals, came inside and had your own breakfast. When you stepped back outside, you caught something out the corner of your eye. Loki was on the other side of the wall, near the gate. You smiled wide and called out to him.

"Loki! Good morning!" He waved courteously. "Good morning. Heading to the market?" "Getting there eventually." You laughed. You had a suspicion as to why he was here, but didn't want to get your hopes up. You would have to play this carefully if you didn't want to spook him. "Actually, I'm running just a little behind, would you want to give me a hand?" You prayed that was close enough to the truth to keep from tripping his lie-detector.

He stood and considered it for a moment. "I suppose I don't have any pressing engagements." "Great, thank you." You tried to keep your excitement from being too obvious, you could feel your smile stretching to its limits.

Ash left your side as Loki unlatched the gate and stepped through. He knelt down to greet Ash but you pretended not to see, instead turning to enter the stable. As you led Breidr out by his halter Loki was waiting.

"How can I assist?" "There are some crates I need loaded into the wagon. They're in the same place as last time. Do you remember?"

He nodded and set to work without another word. You went about grooming Breidr and tried your best not to watch Loki every time he walked past. You were still in awe of how easily he lifted those crates of ceramic. It seemed like it wasn't even a strain. Sometimes you almost forgot that the brothers weren't human until moments like these reminded you. It was a little overwhelming, thinking about how powerful they are. These were celestial beings. And one of them was doing your chores. Best not to think about it, the absurdity might send you spiraling into some sort of crisis.

You finished with the grooming, and Loki must have finished loading the crates because he approached as you were harnessing Breidr. Without a word he was helping you, buckling or straightening or passing something to you. It was as if the two of you had done this together a hundred times. It made a warm feeling settle in your chest, you tried not to spend the entire time smiling like an idiot.

The work went so much quicker with two people. You thought about it as you led Breidr to the wagon, with Loki following behind. It always felt like it should be done by two people, but you supposed that's just because there had been two people when you started. Gerdy had done this alone for years before you came along. Maybe that's why she'd been so happy when you came along.

Loki continued to oblige when you asked him to lead the wagon out while you stepped inside for a minute. You packed a sandwich for yourself, then made another, just in case. You weren't sure if Loki was going to join you at the market but you had your fingers crossed. You switched on a slow cooker so dinner would be waiting when you got back. When you returned outside Loki was holding Breidr near the gate. You tossed your pack in the wagon and opened the gate. He led the wagon through without instruction, you closed the gate and approached with a grateful smile.

"Thanks a ton. You've gotten me back on schedule." He nodded. "Never mind it. I had nothing else to do." You took the reins, bringing them up to the dashboard. "Well, if you're still looking for something to do, you're welcome to join us at the market." It's possible he didn't hear the nervous waver in your voice, right? You couldn't watch his reaction, and instead busied yourself by climbing into the seat while he considered the offer. "Thor had mentioned he might need my assistance today." You began nodding understandingly, hoping your disappointment wasn't obvious. Your surprise was certainly obvious when he stepped up into the seat beside you. He wore the slightest smirk. "The task was going to be rather tedious. It would be advantageous to be occupied at the market instead." You grinned. "You're playing hooky? And making me an accomplice?" He scoffed. "You're one to talk of accomplices." You acquiesced with a nod. "I guess I can't argue."

Ash had taken his place beside you so you started the wagon forward. You knew Loki did not like touching, you've seen his nervous looks when you hug Thor, so you tried to give him his space on the bench. Today he seemed much more relaxed than last time. Maybe whatever it was that had kept him up that morning was no longer hanging over him. At any rate, he didn't seem to be glued to the far end of the seat this time. You tried not to crowd him, regardless.

You arrived at your stall and Ash disappeared to make his rounds. Loki seemed to remember how this went, he immediately began helping you unload and unpack. Once all the crates were out the wagon you led Breidr off to a pasture on the far side of the market. You had an arrangement with the property owner.

On you way back you were stopped in the street by a voice calling out to you. "You there. Girl." You turned to see a man approaching. You didn't recognize him, but he was definitely Asgardian. "Yes?" "Are you the one I've seen with the princes?" He seemed concerned. You nodded. "We're friends, yes." "A word to the wise." The man looked solemn now as stood in front of you. "Be careful. Thor is a good enough sort, a good man with a good heart. But his brother is not to be trusted. They don't call him Serpent-tongue for nothing." Your brow creased. "I thought they called him Silver-tongue." He waved dismissively. "The same thing." You frowned. "I can't help but feel it isn't." If he picked up on your disapproval, he didn't show it. "You would do well to keep your distance. That man can talk you to your death, then feel no remorse at your pyre." You waited a moment, he appeared to be done. You responded flatly. "I'll take your words into consideration." He gave a nod and a reassuring smile, seemingly placated that his advice was heard, then went about his way.

You were fuming all the way back to your booth. His own people? You knew how humans felt about him, and they weren't entirely without reason. You didn't think they Asgardians held this much disdain for him. Not truly. Not after all this time here, where he had been helping them rebuild. This god that was helping you at your damn pottery shop had somehow been deemed beyond trust. No matter what he did. Could they not see what they were doing?

You must have been scowling still when you returned to your stall because Loki looked at you curiously. "Is something wrong?" You put on a smile and shook your head. "No, I'm fine." He gave you a look and you were reminded who you were speaking to. "I had an encounter with someone unpleasant, it's nothing to worry about." He looked serious for a moment. "Was it Hulda?" You laughed. "No, but they have similar poor judgment."

You noticed all the crates had been unpacked, everything was on display, organized by color. Truly the work of a fiend.

Then you spotted something that lifted your spirits. Khadija and Hani were approaching, pulling their wagons. You watched Hani's face, hoping to catch the moment she spotted Loki. It didn't disappoint, she lit up like Christmas when she recognized him beside you. Once she dropped her cart at their booth she made a beeline to yours. You could tell she was burning to talk to Loki, but, not one to break tradition, she asked you her question first. You told her a story about sword fighting with pirates. She was adequately entertained and gave a satisfactory giggle. You noticed Loki had an amused look as well and felt just the slightest hint of pride.

Hani turned her sights to Loki. "Mr. Loki, could you show me your magic?" Loki straightened from where he was leaning against the counter, lifted one of the ceramic pitchers on display and held it aloft. With a flash of light it vanished and Hani gasped with delight. You smirked. "Hey, you have to pay for that." Loki scoffed. "Oh, certainly not." Another flash of light and the pitcher was again in his hand and he returned it to the counter. Hani reached out and carefully tapped the pitcher. It was solid. She squeaked out an excited thanks before running back to her mother. You could see her chattering away while Khadija set up their booth.

It brought a smile to your face. "She's asked about you every time I've seen her since you met." Loki looked surprised but had no other response.

Customers began arriving and the day started in earnest. Things proceeded as expected, lots of folks taking a look, some sales were made. Loki was his usual sort of taciturn, for the most part. Occasionally he would respond to one of your comments or give a quiet laugh. He helped you when you requested, and sometimes when you didn't. More than once he began packing an item or making change before you asked him to.

A few hours in, an older couple arrived, clearly tourists from outside the country. They spoke some English and Norwegian and a bit of some other languages but whatever it was they were asking you was more complex than what they could convey. You and they were both gesturing, trying different words, but you couldn't find enough common language to understand. It was looking like the situation was going to end without resolution.

Loki cleared his throat. "If I may interrupt, I believe they're asking if you could ship an item to their home." You were surprised for a moment, but recovered. "Oh, yeah, hold on." You reached under the counter for a notebook and a a pen. "Can you ask them to write down their address?"

Loki turned to speak to the couple, whose faces lit up as they recognized his words. They took the notebook and began writing while talking to Loki excitedly. With his help the transaction was sorted out, their purchases set aside for shipping. The couple thanked him -- you could recognize that much -- and left.

You turned to Loki. "Impressive. So how many languages do you speak?" Loki was leaning nonchalantly against the counter. "All of them." You studied him for moment. He didn't seem to be joking. "What." He shrugged. "Asgardians are blessed with the All-Tongue. We can hear and speak any language." You tried to pick your jaw up off the ground. "Wow." You occupied yourself by shifting some items on the countertop. "Of all your powers I think that's the one I envy the most." He tilted his head and gave you a curiously appraising look. It seemed like he was going to say something but his attention was taken elsewhere.

The couple had returned and were speaking to him again. Loki suddenly looked uncertain. "They're asking for my assistance at another stall." You nodded. "Well, do you want to help them? You can always say I need you here."

He considered this for a moment, then hesitantly stepped out from behind the booth and followed the couple to a vendor across the way. You were watching surreptitiously, feeling a bit like a helicopter parent, which was ridiculous considering this man was centuries older than you. You saw the suspicious look on the seller's face as Loki approached and your chest felt tight. You were practically holding your breath. Once the couple began speaking and Loki was translating the vendor became much more relaxed and welcoming, smiling, happy to be making a sale. You breathed a sigh of relief. After they were done you saw them motioning Loki elsewhere, and soon you couldn't see him. You spent several minutes tending to customers and trying not to worry about the God of Mischief being on his own because that would certainly be a very silly thing to worry about.

Eventually they all returned, which was a sight; the celestial prince walking through the market with a couple of elderly tourists. When the group reached your booth the couple started talking to you again. The man produced a camera and held it out to you, motioning to himself, his wife, and Loki.

Loki looked uncomfortable again. "They... they would like you to take a photo of us." You laughed. "Yeah, I gathered that."

You nodded to the man and took the camera. He and his wife stepped back and stood next to Loki, wearing big smiles. Loki straightened his back and put on what you could only call a royal appearance. It occurred to you then that he likely has never done this before. He didn't manage a smile but he did successfully hide the nervousness you had seen a moment ago. You snapped the picture and handed the camera back. The couple said their grateful goodbyes and Loki returned behind the counter. He looked a little winded.

You took a sandwich out your pack and held it out to him. "Here, you've earned a break." He took it with a nod and sat down, spending a couple minutes in dumbfounded silence. "They wanted a photo." You smirked. "Oh, tourists will take a picture of anything." You started in on your own sandwich. "Don't worry about it too much."

When you finished your lunch Hani appeared, right on cue. You passed her some money and she bounced away, returning later with the glazed cashews. You took your packet and popped one into your mouth. You were satisfied to find that Loki didn't hesitate this time when you offered the package to him. You also took a moment to note that today was probably the most he had spoken to you since you'd met. Not to mention, Thor hadn't texted you today asking about Loki's whereabouts, which furthered your suspicion that all this was not as spur-of-the-moment as he would have you believe.

Yes, this hobby of yours was progressing nicely.

****

Altogether, Loki decided this day had proven to be a success.

Perhaps he had feigned the spontaneity of this outing, but he hadn't lied about its usefulness in skirting certain work with Thor. He had also begun to crave the anonymity afforded to him by working at your booth. You had been right, people didn't pay much mind to the help. That foreign couple had been a bit of a startle, but even the challenge of navigating that situation had been a nice change of pace. It wasn't clear if they had known who he was.

The rest of the day passed without much of note, and the tail of the afternoon found him helping you load your wagon and disembark. During the quiet ride something resurfaced in his memory.

"You said that of all my powers you envy my All-Speak the most." He was watching you from his seat. "Is that really true?" "Yes, easily." You answered without hesitation. He knew you weren't lying but couldn't help being skeptical. "More than my strength? My agility? My magic? My cunning? My impossible good looks?" "Your humility?" You looked at him sidelong with a smirk that matched his. "More than all of those together. The strength, the magic, those are amazing, sure." Your eyes returned to the road ahead. "But to always understand and be understood? That is a gift." Loki turned forward as well while he considered your answer. "You humans are silly things." You scoffed a laugh.

When the wagon arrived at your farm he helped you return things as they were, the horse set loose in the field and everything put away. You offered for him to stay for dinner but he declined. For some reason that felt like a bridge too far. Instead he bid you farewell and started down the road to New Asgard.

When he entered the humble building he called home he found Thor in the kitchen, the table entirely covered in stacks of paper work. His brother looked up as he entered. "Loki! Excellent, since you're here, you can help me sort these out." Loki groaned and made a mental note to accept your offer of dinner next time.

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[velvett-tearss]

Black Tea & Blushes — L. Ackerman

summary: The two of you never got along, but there were times that even fire and ice made a perfect pair.

warnings: cursing, no spoilers for anything past early s1, Levi’s a little shit at first (surprise, surprise), mentions of blood (they’re fighting titans :-) lol) gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

genre: semi-canonverse, fluff, enemies to lovers (?)

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this was very self-indulgent lmao, sorry if it’s a bit messy 😭, <Hange, Connie & Sasha3 make an appearance bc I love them and you should too, hope you enjoy it <3

"Couldn't you have gotten a cadet to do this?"

You raised a sharp brow at the man, trying to keep yourself from flipping his desk over. "Would you have yelled at them like you just yelled at me?"

The man's grey eyes didn’t meet yours, but there was a scowl on his face. Despite his steely eyes, he didn't say anything back. Instead, he pursed his lips and turned back to continue his paperwork.

You huffed in an attempt to ground yourself after being yelled at for the past two minutes. You took a sip from your own cup of the tea you had prepared for him, letting yourself savor the taste.

     "I don't understand." you said, tasting the earthy, black tea. "You said it was too cold last time, so I made sure it was extra warm. What's wrong with it? Is it too sour for you? I only added a few drops of lemon this time."

Levi remained silent, but you stood your ground, tapping your boot against the pavemented floor as you waited at his desk for an answer. You wouldn't let him win, not this time. Day after day, it seemed like he only grew ruder and ruder.

Your dislike for Levi Ackerman started the day you met him. He was still just a soldier when you joined the Survey Corp, and it wasn't long after that he become Captain.

He was mean, and he never seemed to care about anything, but God forbid you make a reckless move out in the field. It was as if all hell broke loose if you used a bit too much gas when slicing the nape of a Titan's neck.

     "Not everyone is Humanity's Strongest." you had spat at him when he scolded you on the way back to the walls. That only earned you a glare, seeing as Hange managed to secure your safety. If it weren't for them, you were certain you would've gotten stuck with stable duty for a month's end.

     You were glad he was nice to them, at least.

     At some point, you got promoted to Captain as well. One would think that since you shared the same rank, he would grow warmer to you, but that was another one of your mistakes.

     Everything about him rubbed you the wrong way, from his disagreeable manners to his awful way of speaking to soldiers. And, it was your disdain for him that got you stuck in this mess.

"A cadet could've done this." Levi stated again; you felt like you were being patronized. He raised a brow at you, holding the teacup in his hand. "A cadet could’ve made better tea than you.”

"Obviously not, Captain." you threw back sourly, snatching the cup from his hand. "A cadet could not have done this because if I hadn't interfered two weeks ago, who knows what you would've done to the poor man. And, all he did was make your tea wrong!”

Levi blinked at you, appearing bored with your conversation. "If you hadn't interfered, that soldier would be back with those good for nothing Military Police Officers doing what they're best at."

     You gritted your teeth. "And, what are they good for, Captain Ackerman?”

     His brow twitched slightly. “Absolutely nothing."

You let out a bitter laugh, placing the white ceramic teacups back on the tray you had brought in. "Now that you say it out loud, that reminds me a lot of someone I know."

     "What an awful way to talk about yourself.” Levi threw back with ease.

     The urge to roll your eyes at him was weighing on you, but you were stronger than the immaturity he seemed to bring out in you. "Captain, you must be growing old if you've already forgotten we're the same rank."

     Your decision of keeping yourself calm in his presence payed to be of use when you noticed the slight pause in his pen strokes at your words.

     But, you were well aware of how trustworthy Levi was in the sense that you knew he could always come back with something even worse than what he's told you before.

      "If you were of any use, you would know what's wrong with your tea. I'm sure even King Fritz could tell good tea from awful tea, and he's the most useless of them all." Levi told you, pen moving over the papers in front of him swiftly.

     "He could probably also tell a grown man from a spoiled brat," you told him, taking the tray with you as you left his office. "But, you make even that task seem impossible."

     You had to stop the triumphant grin from growing on your face when you heard his faint scoff from the other side of the wooden door.

Even if you managed to snag the last word of that argument, it didn’t feel as good as it usually did. The only reason you involved yourself in Levi Ackerman’s nightly tea was because 1) you didn’t like the way he spoke to the poor soldier who got stuck with job of handling it, and 2) Erwin asked that you try and be a bit nicer to your fellow captain.

You only did it to keep your job, really, and you would never let your Commander think less of you, even if he did favor Levi. Even Hange had tried to coax you into not letting The Ackerman’s sharp tongue get to you, but that didn’t seem to work.

Levi and you would never be friends, if that’s what Erwin meant when he pulled you aside at supper a few nights before. It was a lie to say you didn’t admire the man’s impressive skills, because you did.

But, admiration and respect were two separate things.

The two of you were jagged edges of broken glass that didn’t fit together, and that was perfectly fine. You didn’t mind being Levi being a sharp piece of glass, just as long as he kept his corners to himself and far from you.

Erwin, as observant as usual, caught on to the solution to your problem, and he even made sure you and Levi would rarely ever cross paths when the Scouts were out on an expedition. The two of you worked on opposite sides of the formation.

The only time you would ever work together would be if there were no other options, but both of you were reliable in your own senses: him with his... whatever he called it, and you with your wits.

You didn't mind being farthest from him, and if it were up to you, you'd go even farther.

     “Hey, you got new glasses.” you stated, noticing the new pair of brown frames that Hange wore the morning as the Scouts waited for the signal to begin the expedition.

“Oh, don’t remind me.” they said with a frown, holding the glasses in their hands. “Last night, Moblit and I were doing some research, and someone must’ve stolen my glasses because I couldn’t find them this morning.”

“Stole? Isn’t that a big accusation?”

They let out a hearty laugh. “It is! That’s why I’m saying it!” Hange replied, golden eyes widened at you in exasperation. “I’ve been stuck with these, and they’re too big for my face. All they do is fall off.”

“So maybe don’t wear them?” you wondered as you caught a glimpse of the dark head of hair you knew too well. “What’ll you do if you lose them out in the field? Better safe than sorry.”

“I wish, but I’m as blind as a bat without them.” Hange reasoned with a sigh before quickly composing themselves. “But, now that you mention it, I never did mind a challenge.”

The smirk growing on their face was one you didn’t quite like. Before you could talk some sense into them (if that were even possible) the signal went off to begin the mission.

They gave a wide smile and a thumbs up as a good luck token. "Don’t do anything crazy!” you called out when the two of you parted ways, taking your squad with you. “I mean it, Hange!”

Hange waved you off, charging in faster in their horse. It was up to poor Moblit to chase right after them.

Your squad remained close together for the majority of the mission. There wasn't much to do on your end of things, which was a relief. At some point, you decided to stop for a quick break before pushing forward.

If you were able to see five mintues into the future, you would never have let your squad talk you into taking a lunch break. Just as you were relaxing a bit, there was an Abnormal coming from the thick trees.

Your sense of smell wasn't as skilled as Miche, and if it weren't for one of the younger cadets on your squad who had a keen sense of hearing, you all would've been Titan food.

It didn't take long for you to spring into action, your squad following suit. You made sure to use the plans Erwin had issued out on previous Scout meetings.

When the Abnormal finally made it to where you and your squad stopped, the beastly creature managed to catch one of your soldiers in midair. As the young boy was raised in the air, his stomach couldn't contain his recent lunch.

Gravity works in wonders, you thought when his earlier lunch fell onto you with a splat! You couldn't blame the poor boy; it was better upstairs than downstairs. As terrible a feeling it was to have chunky vomit all over you, you knew it would be as even worse feeling if the boy died under your care.

Your squad got to him before any damage was permanent, at least physically. When the killing blow was done, you tended to your soldier. He muttered out apologies for having thrown up on you, but you were merely in the line of fire.

"It's okay, Connie." you reassured him after pulling off your green cape that had been soiled in aid to shield you. “I’d rather it be your lunch on me than your organs.”

You ordered that he ride with your other cadet, Sasha. He let out a pained laugh at your words, leaning against her on her horse. She scolded him for “wasting so much food,” to which lead to their silly banter, which you didn’t mind as long as they were safe.

     As unfortunate as it was, that incident wasn't the last of it. There wasn't much time between Connie getting his ribs crushed by a Titan and the numerous amount of red flares that were being shot into the air.  The amount of red powder in the sky was enough to cast a shadow of worry over you.

     By the time your squad made it to where the red flares had been signaled, it was a mess. Abnormal and Pure Titans were ambushing the rest of whatever was left of the Survey Corp. Your squad wasted no time in following your orders as you made a beeline for the trees where a group of Abnormals were huddled together.

     When you finally got a good look at the scene in the forest, your sight was met with Titan smoke and blood of fallen comrades. It was a disaster, as it always was. But you knew, where there was smoke, there was definitely fire.

And, that fire was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

He looked ablaze, nothing but a flash in the distance. Slicing Titan limbs as if they were merely flowers in his way, Levi Ackerman was kicking ass. It was in moments like this — where he looked like the answer to all the prayers of the people inside the walls — that you wondered if you truly hated him all along.

“Section Commander!” Moblit cried, chasing after Hange as they swung on the highest tree of the forest. It seemed as though they forgot all about how loose their glasses were as they did a number of twirls in the air. His voice was enough to snap you out of your trance and assist your fellow comrades.

You managed to fight off three Pure Titans and two Abnormals for what seemed like forever. It might’ve been even worse if not for Connie Springer’s lunch all over you that acted as Titan Repellant.

Perhaps you would tell Hange of your new discovery, but every time you managed to get close to them while fighting off the Titans, all they did was badger you with questions upon questions.

“Are you sure you haven’t you seen them?!” Hange cried for the fifth time, eyes squinted at you from their branch opposite you. Moblit was fighting off a creepy Abnormal with ugly teeth a few feet from you.

“No, I haven’t! And, didn’t I tell you your glasses would fall if you took them with you?!” you shouted back from your place on the tree before taking a breath to try to slice the neck of your second Pure Titan. “Go back to the wagon, Hange, before you get yourself killed!”

They huffed and puffed, but they let Moblit guide them to the wagon to wait until the rest of the Scouts could find a moment to retreat back to the walls.

After finally slicing the nape of your final Titan, you looked over to where you had last seen Levi. Only, he was nowhere to be found. A panic set in when you couldn’t find any sight of him.

“Captain?” you called out from your place on a tree branch where you were catching your breath. You squinted your eyes to get a farther look, but it didn’t help that much. “Captain Ackerman, are you there? Do you—”

But, that’s when you felt a jostle of wind hit your back. You turned quickly to see the dark-haired man swinging through the trees, holding an unconscious Oluo.

You followed him, figuring if you took his squad member off his hands that Levi would have a better chance of taking down more Titans. Maybe even with a man who weighed far more than himself in his hands, Levi could still have a better chance than you.

“Captain, I’ve got him. I’ll take—”

But, Levi wouldn’t budge. It was like he wasn’t listening to you, and you didn’t know if it was by choice or coincidence. You huffed and rushed quicker to help him in carrying Oluo.

Maybe it was just your luck, or maybe it was just his, but right before you managed to reach him, a Titan’s jaw came from below him, wide and ready for lunchtime.

There was nothing for him to do, not with his hands full. Surely he knew that from the way his grey eyes finally broke through from that awful void he’d placed you in, the one where all you ever got from him was scoldings and insults and cold stares that often made you wonder if he actually did hate you.

And, for the first time, you saw panic flash through his grey eyes, his life flash before his eyes.

“Levi!” you cried, using the rest of your ODM gear’s gas to catch up to him. You knew if he were to survive such an event, he would scold you for wasting your gas on an old lump like him.

But, for once, Levi had something to say about you that didn’t regard your incompetence to make decent tea or your recklessness that spurred you to use all your gas just to save him and the bullheaded, baboon by the name of Oluo.

It was your astonishing speed.

You got to the two men right before the great wide jaws of the Titan could snap closed and swallow the three of you for its meal, which Levi had to admit (but probably never would) was quite impressive.

“Shit!” you hissed out when the three of you landed on another tree branch. As quick as you got to the branch was as quick as Miche was to come and ensure your safety, slicing the Titan’s nape with ease.

Oluo was still unconscious and a little bloodied up and battered, but he was safe.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Levi yelled, voice slightly hoarse from everything that had just happened. His hair was a mess, and you held back a laugh at the sight of him. “Why— why would you? I mean, what— and, why do you smell like—”

“A thank you is perfectly fine, Ackerman.” you coughed out, catching your breath from the overexertion you just forced yourself through. Carrying two grown men was tough, especially when it was between life or death. “As for the smell, one of my soldiers threw up on me.”

Levi blinked at you, his expression consisting of disgust and confusion. “What?”

“My soldier. He threw up on me earlier.”

“I heard you the first time.” he told you, blinking quickly as if it were going to grant him some clarity. You didn’t know if his confusion was from your act of saving him and his squad member or from not knowing what to say to you after.

He looked funny, with his hair that of a bird’s nest and his cheeks flushed pink.

“Did you hit your head on the way down?”

“W-what?”

“Your head? Did you hit it?”

“No, I-I’m fine.” he scrambled upright, finding purchase on the unconscious Oluo’s shin. Your eyes flickered to where his hand was placed, and he snatched it right off immediately, burning a deeper shade of pink.

“Oh.” you muttered, holding back a chuckle. There was no way Levi was without a concussion, not with the way he was acting all of a sudden: stuttering and turning pink on you. It was a wonder you caught up to him before he collapsed.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Captain?” you asked again, fixing your uniform before getting to your feet. You wobbled a bit; Levi raised a brow at you. “You look sick. Why don’t you sit in the injury wagon for a bit on the way back? Just in case.”

He waved you off, standing on his two feet as well. You didn’t want to cause a fight, not right after what had just happened and not outside the walls, so you decided to say nothing about his seeming concussion.

The two of you lifted Oluo off the ground, blood seeping from the side of the man’s mouth. “Is it his ribs? Was it an Abnormal? They were awful today.” you questioned, looking to Levi for answers.

“He bit his tongue, again, before ramming into a tree.” Levi told you, averting his gaze from you as he shifted the man against his shoulder for a better grip. “He said something f-fell from the sky.”

You nodded, letting yourself chuckle. “What could it’ve been? Bird shit?”

Levi shrugged at your words.

He was far too quiet for your liking. Maybe he did have a concussion. It wouldn’t be good if he rode back like that. Perhaps if you spoke to Erwin or Hange about it, one of them could convince Levi to get checked out once you got back to the walls.

The two of you managed to get back to the rest of the Scouts safely. You helped Levi placing Oluo in the wagon with the wounded and the fallen while everyone else was getting accounted for.

All the while, Hange was trying to persuade Erwin into letting them form a search party for their glasses that had fallen while they were swinging on the trees.

Though you were straining to listen to their conversation, you were more than certain that Erwin would never allow such a thing, but you had to admire Hange’s efforts, as fruitless as they were.

“Thank you.”

You snapped your head to Levi.

He refused to meet your gaze again, busying himself with readjusting his soldier’s cape. If not for the obvious step into uncharted territory between the two of you, you would’ve commented on the rosy blush he adorned.

Suddenly, you were overcome with a laughter, waving him off with your hand quickly. “I was just joking about that, Captain. Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but I’m just surprised you actually—”

He scoffed, the expression on his face shifting to one of impatience. “Don’t be a brat. Just take the compliment.” Levi huffed out, visibly annoyed with your chatter.

A look of shock overtook your face. “Oh, so you’re complimenting me? Why didn’t you just say so, then?”

“Oi, that’s not what I meant—”

“No, it’s fine. I heard you, loud and clear.” you interrupted, smiling widely at him. “You’re oh-so very welcome, Captain Ackerman, and if you ever need me to save your ass again, you know where to find me.”

Levi opted to say nothing back, merely shaking his head at you when you gave a lazy salute and started back to the other side of the formation where your horse and squad awaited you.

“Besides,” you shrugged, turning back for a moment to catch him looking at you. “Who else would teach me how to make tea?”

note: I don’t think I specified it, but Oluo was knocked unconscious bc some object (Hange’s glasses) fell from the sky lmao 🐸

[melviships]

No One Even Knows This is My Pretty Year (EkuMel)

Melvis and Dimple stop by Spirits and Such and discuss plans in the new cafe. Dimple x Melvis pairing, implied Reigen x Dimple and Reigen x Melvis. Title taken from Pretty Year by The Technicolors. Written to the playlist (Narrator Voice) Reigen Arataka.

Word Count: 2,211

Content Warning(s): Tobacco usage, swearing, food, Divine Tree arc spoilers

Salmon rice: the perfect dish for fall, Reigen had told him before leaving the apartment. Melvis sighed as they arranged it in the bento box, making use of a fish stencil to outline it with nori. It was accented with a collection of mushrooms and sliced carrots (the host's preference for color coordination). A cold chill ran up their spine as they lowered the lid.

"Dimple," they grunted while pouring tea into a thermos.

"Are you heading to the office ? I thought you worked at the club this day of the week."

"Not today. I'm not up for socializing like that." 

His tiny hands felt warm in comparison to their icy neck. "Yeesh. You feel awful." 

"Haven't been sleeping much."

He watched their gaze drift to the floor, taking notice of their singular slipper. "I getcha. You need a hand getting there ?"

"I…" They licked their cracked lips. "Yeah. I would appreciate that. Very much."

-.-.-.-

"I'm coming in."

"The door is open."

Reigen glanced over as he scrolled through his inbox. "Hey."

Melvis held up the bento box. "Brought lunch. Don't eat it too early."

A grimace painted over their features as Reigen immediately untied the cloth keeping it closed and sunk the chopsticks into the rice. The two roommates exchanged looks. "I skipped breakfast." His eyes darted back up. "Dimple."

The spirit froze mid-air, groaning as he slid back around the corner. "Can I help you ?"

His eyebrows raised. "It's been awhile. You missed chances to eat."

His expression softened with amusement as the green blob scowled at him. "I don't live off of cannibalism, you know."

"Right," he cracked as he shoveled another bite of rice down his gullet. "Ugh, I need to figure out what to eat later. Maybe the shop will have something worth trying."

"I saw the sign. Where is it ?"

He waved towards the ceiling with his free hand, his mouth stuffed with carrots and shifting as he chewed carefully. 

Melvis liked them crunchy and Reigen was not one to refuse free food. 

His subordinate would have reminded them that the psychic disliked them altogether. 

Wrai leaned back, wraiths pupils dilating as he stared directly into the light. Gone were the fluorescents, but their photo sensitivity had only worsened with bought time. Ceramic clinking, muffled yet audible, found its way to their ears. They frowned. “There’s a new cafe, and it’s upstairs ?”

“Correct. It is pretty convenient, so I don’t have any complaints.” As the words left him, the sound of footfall overhead made his eyes dart to the ceiling. They narrowed at the loud squeal of a loose plank. “I am not certain that I can say the same for them.”

Melvis hummed. “I think I’ll give it a look-see.”

"Bring something back, won't you ?"

"I'll think about it."

Reigen's scoff was cut short as the door shut behind them.

-.-.-.-

A man looked up from the counter as the door bells chimed. “Welcome. Sit wherever you like." 

The host leaned forward as they scanned the shop. Two people sat in the corner, chattering away. One rolled their shoulder and exclaimed how effective the exorcism was. No more stiff joints ! Truly a miracle. Dimple rolled his eyes. 

"I hope my store is inviting enough." The owner coughed. "Menus are on the placemat. Our house blend is a medium roast with hints of dried fruit and nougat.”

Not a glance was spared towards the selections. “Can I smoke on the balcony ?”

He clicked his tongue. “Wouldn’t be the first one. Go ahead.”

They tilted their head curiously. "Thanks.”

As they strode past the table the pair of clients glanced over, their volume lowering as they continued to converse. One of the boards near the glass doors groaned audibly as he stepped towards them. Dimple snickered. Melvis smirked. They rocked back and forth on it a few times before sliding the door open, smiling as it closed with a satisfying thump of rubber seal meeting metal. The balcony was small, only able to house a single stool and a round low table. Some moisture clung to the cork coaster resting atop it- a ring of coffee drying and fading in the sunlight. 

They wondered if the flat whites they served were any good. Maybe on their way out they decided before approaching the railing. An ashtray was already waiting for them. It was a recognizable sight: a dollop of gray on the wooden ledge. They turned the ashtray over in their hands, running a thumb along the stained grooves that textured the earthenware further; a smattering of ash in the bowl told them it was recently used and emptied. The sole spot clean of grime was a solid fingerprint left behind by massage oil. Their lips twitched into a brief smile. 

Dimple cleared his nonexistent throat. “Want me to light… ?”

“Ah. While I would love that…” They glanced behind them and the ghost nodded. “Better not. Reigen has a reputation to uphold.”

He murmured, “I think it would be fine, in that case.”

They laughed and tapped out a cigarette from the box. “Let’s not, okay ?”

A snap from their gloves rolled the wheel and the mechanism ignited, smoldering the end as they inhaled. Sweet nicotine burned their lungs. Warmth spread through and they felt the bloom of Dimple’s residence. “That’s nice.”

“How about you let me get the full effect ?” A growl halted in their throat. “Dollface.”

“Fine.” 

He spun around them as they tucked the lighter away. Their gaze met his; his mouth opened and a stutter escaped as his body wavered, tiny hand clasping the end of their finger. They smoked silently until he flared up from the boost. 

“So,” they said, punctuating it with a smoke ring.

“So,” he replied, floating through it with a flourish. 

Their heads turned to the large green vegetation that broke up the blue of the sky. 

“They’re calling it the Divine Tree.”

“That they are. A number of groups have emerged, taking it into their belief system that it’s some sign of their savior.”

The esper ran their fingers through his form, flames licking at the leather before retreating. “You’re taking advantage of it.”

“W-well, yeah.”

“Any evil spirit would be a fool not to. Even if they aren’t after worship,” they said before taking a drag. Smoke billowed from their lips. “I can feel the negative energy ruminating. Some are saying it is signaling a calamity. They’re afraid this could finally be the end. With everything that’s happened, I can’t blame them.”

“We could bring that into being.” He flew around their head, poking their temple with a grin spreading across his glowing face. “The beginning, the end- they can be the same thing. A whole new world. And us, orchestrating it.” 

“Have you told Shigeo your plans ?”

He flinched. “No, n-not…. Not yet. I need more time to gather power and show him what I-” He swallowed. “What we’re capable of.”

They chuckled, resting their cheek on top of their hand, cigarette dangling from their fingers. “Hot stuff, you don’t need to tell me twice. You want to look your Sunday best.”

“That’s not really a thing here. Seasoning City may have a lot of religions, but I’m not a part of that Jesus crap.” 

“Just a saying. Didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Wrai pinched his cheek and he slapped their hand away, rubbing the site with a frown. “Anyway, I’ve been looking into the whole thing. You’ve seen the market- the place is crawling with goods and merchants capitalizing on the thing. Some of them are even consuming it. At least those brave enough to try.”

They quirked wraiths brow. “It’s broccoli.” 

“I know it’s damn broccoli !” He spat back, crossing his arms with an exhale. “People are stupid, but not everyone is so keen on eating anything that sprouts of the ground.”

“Uh huh…”

“It has interesting qualities. Whatever is taking shape there can spread its influence more when people come in contact with it. Ingesting it, even further. I’ve tested it myself and I was able to manifest some desires.” He sneered. “Unfortunately, your boyfriend meddled.”

“My boyfriend ?”

“What ? He’s not mine.”

“Ha.”

His face darkened. “Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

“Reigen isn’t capable of exorcism.” They shook their head, smoke zig-zagging a minuscule contrail. “It was Seri, wasn’t it ?”

“Shigeo helped. He did most of the work, to be candid.” His lips twisted to the side. “That boy has been the root of my issues, tch.”

“Sounds about right. He’s powerful, but that kid is on another level,” they sighed. “He might not be interested in your plans-”

“Since when is it only my plan ?”

“I wouldn’t have done this on my own, thank you very much. I was okay with sitting on the sidelines and watching the spectacle. Like the majority of spirits do. We’re not all after interaction and attention.”

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that. You’re here with me. That means something.”

“Back to the subject at hand, the kiddo is not going to interfere with us as long as we don’t impact others negatively. That was your mistake, I reckon.”

“I wouldn’t say that. The guy was already like that long before I got involved. I just,” he explained, voice fizzling out a moment, “Accelerated things for him. Sped things along the track he had already laid. Some people are destined for a life of stagnation and eventual ruin.” He chuckled. “It makes it easier to steer them towards salvation.”

“As long as we can give them what you promise. Hypnosis can only go so far. It will take some convincing for our first recruitment.”

"Are you ready to join me ?"

A laugh rose from their chest. Silently, they drifted over and sat on the balcony ledge. "I'm no fool, Dimple."

The spirit landed in their palm and let him stroke the top of his head. “Oh, I’m aware. Glad to have you on board.”

As the clouds collided with the growth on the horizon, two cafe patrons murmured about the strange man smoking outside and talking to themself. Plumes of smoke mingled that day, signaling an incoming danger.

-.-.-.-

“You better like dòushā bāo.”

“Huh ?” The blond rolled his chair back as the plate of steamed buns was set in front of him. Melvis shot him a cheeky look and he grumbled. “I ate not even an hour ago.”

“Heat it up later.” He watched Dimple collide with their back. “We’re heading out.” They stopped at the door. “Be careful.”

His hand raised as it closed behind them and he swore under his breath. 

He stared down at the buns and lifted each one to inspect them. The pillowy dough yielded in his grip, the red spot dimpled from the weight. He sniffed it and licked the sides: yeasty and slightly sweet. As far as he could tell they were ordinary red bean buns. His eyes narrowed and he muttered, “Why did I think I could tell if they tampered with it ?” He bit into one and hummed around the mouthful. “Pretty tasty curse.”

Each one was slowly reduced to nothing as he typed out a response to the new requests. He slid his tongue over his teeth to dissolve any lingering paste and washed his mouth out with tea from the thermos sitting next to the laptop. 

After sending the e-mails out, he stretched with a loud sigh. His eyes moved over to the clean plate. “I should… probably take that back.” It was a plain dish. Pretty cheap. They wouldn’t miss it if he took it back home. He shook his head. There was no way that Melvis would not comment on it. In the conman’s mind, his stoic face cracked into sneer. ‘Oh ? You liked the food so much you took it back, huh ? I’ll make sure to give them a big tip and let them know next time.’

Reigen grabbed the plate and paused as he noticed the platform it was sitting on. He set it back down and picked up the gray ashtray, brighter than he remembered and emanating a rosy, milky scent. Something fluttered from it and he grunted as his hand failed to catch it in time. “Urgh. Come on.” His back popped as he strained to reach under the desk. He dragged the paper across the floor and the scratching sound told him that he would be having to ask his new employee to sweep and mop when he stopped by. The torn end curled around his finger as he read the handwriting on the back. 

‘Reigen, the club has been exceptionally busy as of late with all the skepticism floating about. I will be busy, in turn, and will likely not be around to visit the office or be home for dinner. Do not worry. I will make sure to stock the fridge and to leave instructions for your meals. You are plenty capable without my assistance. 

Please do not look for me. I am hard to find. 

-Melvis’ 

Their signature was coupled with a moon drawing, a crater burnt into it with a cigarette butt. 

“...dammit,” he cursed and balled up the note, standing up, “Like hell I’m not looking for you. What are you two up to ?”

[vannahfanfics]

I'm always a sucker for Todoroki and Yaoyorozu. You can use the prompt "chocolate" if you like. 😊

I kinda took liberty with the word “chocolate,” but hopefully this is still acceptable! :D It was super cute to write. Thanks for requesting!

In My Arms

The microwave had been beeping for several seconds, indicating that her glasses of milk were thoroughly warmed. Unfortunately, Momo was too busy staring blankly at the device’s black shiny surface to realize. She heaved a heavy sigh for perhaps the twentieth time that day, and in her discolored reflection in the shielded window’s surface, her lashes fluttered in a languid blink. Shoto…

The boy had been on her mind all night, and not in a pleasant way. The image of him falling to his knees, sweat pouring down his face and hands clasped in a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had spared his father’s life, was simply too visceral an image to ignore. After the news program had wrapped up the coverage of Endeavor’s battle with the Nomu, Shoto had retired to his room despite the fact it was early in the afternoon. The time was inching closer to 9 p.m., and the boy had not ventured out of his bedroom, not even when Mina called everyone for dinner. Surely he must be at least a little hungry, Momo pouted worriedly. It was then that she finally realized her milk had finished microwaving, and she opened the appliance. Two glasses of milk for hot chocolate- one for herself and one for Shoto. If he would accept it, that is.

Momo removed the jar of homemade hot cocoa powder from the cabinet then stirred generous spoonfuls into each of the ceramic mugs, followed by a spritz of vanilla extract for a homey, calming flavor. Just inhaling the fresh scent eased her nerves a little- but only a little. Careful not to burn her fingers, Momo carefully gripped the handles of the mugs and walked out of the kitchen to slowly ascend the stairs. Her lips remained drawn into a firm frown, and her anxiety mounted with every step she took.

What if he doesn’t appreciate my gesture of kindness? Oh, I don’t want him to find me insensitive or annoying, she fretted as she rounded the landing. It was a good thing she could operate from muscle memory, for her mind was whirling. What if it’s too hot and it scalds him? At that worrying thought, she compulsively blew on both mugs a few times to cool the surface layer of thick, creamy liquid. Or what if it’s not hot enough? Momo doubted it, from the thin white wisps of steam curling above her fingers, but it wasn’t like her mind was willing to listen to reason. She even debated scurrying back down the steps to pop them in the microwave for another thirty seconds or so; she didn’t, but only because she had arrived at Shoto’s room. She inhaled sharply to steel her nerves before knocking on the door with one of her sock-covered feet.  

“Shoto? I brought you some hot chocolate. I thought you might like some,” she called buoyantly. There was no sound for a few seconds, so she wondered if he had fallen asleep. “Shoto?” she repeated, though more softly just in case he actually was slumbering. This time, she distinctly heard the creaking of bedsprings. Oh no! I did wake him up! she panicked. If her hands were not occupied with the two mugs, she probably would’ve started chewing on her nails. She fidgeted, unsure what she should do to amend her rudeness, and Shoto cracked the door open. She fell still as his heterochromatic eyes regarded the steaming mug of hot cocoa uninterestedly. Well, to Momo, he seemed indifferent, but who could tell with his usually aloof demeanor? She gulped loudly before pushing it towards him. “… It’s warm. I just made it.” Her voice was soft, like she was coaxing a stray dog to accept her affections. That’s certainly what it felt like with the way Shoto ever-so-slightly backed away from her extended arm. He did not retreat fully, however. After a few tense seconds, he took the cup from her. An electric jolt traveled up Momo’s arm as his fingertips brushed against hers.

“Thank you.” His eyes flickered up to meet hers, and Momo wanted to start crying then and there with how miserable he appeared. Dark circles ringed his grey-and-blue eyes, and his entire face sagged with weariness. His bi-colored hair was disheveled and sticking up in odd places, like he had been tossing and turning in a fever fit. Shoto must have thought she was waiting for him to try it with how she stood there, studying him in mounting concern, so he brought the mug to his lips and sipped. His gaze never left hers. “It’s good,” he offered cajolingly.

“O-oh,” she stammered, because replying was the right thing to do, her sparking brain recalled. “Thank you. I suppose… I shall be going.” Momo hesitated to finish the statement because she did not want to leave, not with how terrible Shoto looked. Social decorum dictated, however, that she be respectful of his boundaries- no matter how badly she wanted to comfort him.

As she turned on her heel, his other hand darted out to catch her elbow in a light and almost fearful touch. Momo felt that crackling electricity shoot up her limb again, this time coursing into the muscles of her neck and making them spasm. Momo obediently halted, glancing down at the hand delicately gripping her arm and then up at him. He was looking away from her now, frowning frustratedly and blushing with slight embarrassment.

“Momo, I… Please stay with me.”

She could not help but release a startled squeak. Blood rushed to her face, dying it the hue of rose tea. Despite her mortification at the blunt request, Momo had no intention of refusing. Shoto was staring at her so pleadingly, so brokenly, that it was liable to break her heart. His fingers tensed around her elbow in silent begging. Please, his eyes implored, I don’t want to be alone.

“Of course I will.” Her face relaxed into a soft smile, and she reached around to brush his knuckles gently. His hand slipped from her arm only to entreatingly grasp her fingers. His intense gaze remained on her face as he stepped back into his bedroom. His fingers curled around hers, and he tugged on her arm to guide her through the doorway. Momo allowed him to puppeteer her body as he wished. She sucked in a small breath when he leaned in to shut the door. His chest bumped against hers, making her flush. He must have seen the redness blooming over her cheeks because he retreated quickly and muttered, “Sorry.”

He gasped the ceramic mug in both hands and seated himself on the edge of the bed. Momo stood awkwardly in the center of the room for a moment, unsure how exactly to go about comforting the reserved boy. After a few moments of consideration, she eased herself down onto the mattress beside him, with a good nine inches of space for comforting closeness that did not override respectable boundaries. “Shoto,” she frowned as he sipped wordlessly at the chocolate beverage. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just confused; that’s all,” he responded honestly. Momo breathed a small sigh of relief; at least he was forthcoming. She wasn’t sure if she had the willpower to pry his troubles out of him. His two-colored gaze flickered to her before fixating on the creamy brown mixture below. “I’ve always despised my father for the awful things he did to the rest of my family and me. Yet, watching him fight for his life on that screen today… The only thing I kept thinking was ‘Please don’t die.’”

Momo tutted understandingly and reached up to tuck a loose chunk of his white hair behind his ear, because that felt like the right thing to do. Shoto didn’t flinch or reprimand her, and even leaned a little into her caress, making her knuckles bump against his cheekbone. His gaze was bitter and ashamed as he watched small bubbles pop one by one on the hot chocolate’s surface. “I almost feel like I’ve betrayed my brothers, sister, and mother by not wishing him dead.”

“Shoto,” she breathed and pressed a little closer to him and went to rest a hand on his knee. She faltered though, leaving her hand hanging in midair, because she was afraid that she was crossing a line. He looked down at her hand, and then he shifted his leg to seek her comforting touch, making their knees bump. Following the silent cue, she placed her hand on his leg and another on his upper back, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades. “Even with all the things your father has done, it is not shameful of you to pray for his life. You are a kind and wonderful person who’s aspiring to be a hero. Frankly, I would be more worried if you had wished him dead.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, and he peered at her out of his periphery. She smiled kindly and lifted her hand to stroke once over his hair. Her heart fluttered as he rolled his head a little to press against her palm. His eyes were like a blizzard and a storm, pulsing with energy as he regarded her. “There is no right or wrong way to respond to the trauma you’ve suffered,” she explained softly, “and however you respond to it is valid. You can forgive him, or you can’t. You can recognize his attempts to change, or you can’t. You have the right to heal and process how you wish.”

“Thanks, Yaoyorozu.” His voice cracked with the small utterance, and even with how downcast his head was, she could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought back the tears. Momo gently clucked her tongue and eliminated the few inches of space left between them, hugging him into her side and pulled his head onto her shoulder. He willingly sought out her embrace, burying his face into her neck. His hot breath and his cold tears tingled her nerves, but she ignored the peculiar sensation, focusing her energy into soothingly stroking his two-toned hair.

“Of course. I’m here for you anytime, Shoto. There’s no shame in asking for help either, you know.” His entire body was trembling with barely-suppressed sobs, so he only nodded weakly in response. The hot chocolate writhing in the mug as his hand wracked with tremors, so Momo gently took it and set it on the bed behind her alongside her cup before wrapping both her arms around him in a firm hug. His hands pawed into her woolen sweater as he finally broke, releasing a choking sob. “It’s okay,” she shushed him as he groaned in frustrated agony. “I don’t judge you. We all need to cry sometimes.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his. “You take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shoto choked out deep, agonized sobs now and then, but he primarily cried silently. The thick collar of her sweater soon dampened with his tears and felt clumpy against her collarbone, but she hardly minded or even noticed. He painted the skin of her neck with salt and water, a portrait of misery and trauma long overdue. He was so touch-starved and desperate for comfort that he slung his leg over hers at one point and almost climbed into her lap, unbalancing her with his superior weight. Momo made the quick decision to set the mugs of hot chocolate on the nightstand and lay down on the bed, allowing him to climb on top of her and bury his face back into her neck. It was a bit awkward and hard to breathe with his muscular bulk, and her face burned with the implications, but Shoto had no ulterior motives in mind. He wanted love and affirmation, and she was the only one there to give it. She would yield that, gladly.

His muffles sniffles gradually quieted into deep breaths. Momo had taken to idly running her fingers over his spine and into his hair and back again. “Do you feel better?” she asked him. He groaned a little under his breath and pushed himself up onto his forearms, blinking at her with bleary, watery red eyes. His gaze then dropped, and a pink haze appeared on his cheeks.

“… Much,” he admitted in a small voice. Momo giggled and cupped his face in her hands, making him blush further.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“This is a pretty embarrassing position we’re in. I’m surprised you’re not embarrassed.” Truthfully, Momo had been too busy soothing the boy to pay much attention, but he was right. His thigh was lodged between hers, and his entire weight draped over her left side, chest-to-chest. Her face blazed with a sudden pink fire, and he narrowed his eyes. “I knew it,” he sighed and moved to get up. For reasons she couldn’t process at the moment, her hands snapped to his biceps to dig in and hold him in place.

“N-no! I’m all right! Really!” she squeaked in protest. His eyebrows shot up to the roots of his hair, and he regarded her bewilderedly. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, not settling on any one thing for more than a second, while she pitifully attempted to voice her scattered thoughts. “I-I mean, we’re friends, right? Some platonic cuddling is good bonding! N-not that this was about the cuddling, of course. I just wanted to make you feel better, a-a-and I just don’t know how to comfort someone without, you know, t-t-touching and h-holding…” The more she blathered explanations, the more mortified she felt, and her face took on the hue of an apple. When she finally looked back at him, he was smiling widely in amusement.

“So… you won’t mind if I do this?”

All the breath was knocked out of her lungs in a whistling wheeze as he flopped down on her.

“Shotooooo,” she groaned as her chest muscles tightened under strain, and she could feel his body rumble as he chuckled. He propped his cheek into his hand and grinned mischievously at her, to which she responded with a babyish pout. She gasped when he suddenly stroked her cheek with the backs of his index and middle fingers, ever so softly.

“Thank you, Yaoyorozu. I mean it.”

She smiled warmly at him and tilted her head a little, her black hair falling over his pillow.

“Anytime.” She frowned thoughtfully and then grinned. “You know, considering we’re…” she gestured generically at their current position, “you can call me Momo.” He snorted with laughter and then nodded.

“Of course… Momo.” Something about the way he whispered her name sent pleasurable tingles propagating all through her nerves, lighting her up with invisible fireworks. His eyes searched her face, studying it intently like he wished to memorize every nuance. Momo knew not what to do about it, so she remained still, breathlessly watching his heterochromatic eyes roam over her flushed face. After what seemed like hours, his wandering gaze settled on her lips. Without looking away, he quietly asked, “Momo… Can I…?” He did not finish his sentence, but she knew what he was asking, nevertheless. She responded with a tiny nod, and her breath stalled in her lungs in anticipation.

Balancing himself on his elbows, he descended over her to press their lips together in a sweet, virtuous kiss. Momo tilted her head slightly, allowing his lips to mold over hers; it felt so natural, the way they fell into place, like they were two halves of the same whole. He held the kiss for several heart-pounding moments before pulling back, brushing the tip of his nose along hers as he did so. Momo compulsively swallowed and licked her lips, tasting the very faint hints of hot chocolate he left behind. Shoto smiled affectionately and ran his hands through her fluffy black hair. “I suppose you should get going before the others get curious.”

“I could,” she supposed, “but I’m not sure I want to.” Shoto blushed at that, looking at the two half-drunken mugs of now cold chocolate. He then looked back to her, and she turned her head to display the curve of her neck invitingly. His eyes flashed roguishly before he grinned and buried his face there, his chest swelling as he inhaled her scent. Momo wrapped her arms around his middle and closed her eyes contentedly. She savored the rise and fall of his chest, the puffs of his breath against her skin, and his fingertips trailing down her curves. Momo knew she was well over the line of propriety and decorum, but she didn’t care much.

I’ll hold you in my arms forever, if that’s what it takes for you to heal, she thought as she drifted into the pleasant twilight of half-sleep. Here with me, you will always be safe and loved.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

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