#Let me know what you think! :)

[ghostofwriting]

riding the edge (smau): one

R.C x Reader

Synopsis: Rafe Cameron is a “bad boy” motorcycle creator known for his thrilling rides and shameless thirst traps, which attract a massive following. Y/N is a thoughtful and passionate Bookstagram influencer who thrives on sharing deep literary insights and reviewing the top trending books.

Note: okay whatever I'm back maybe. Let me know what you think and if you're interested in this continuing! Thanks to @zyafics for re-inspiring me to smau away. ilysm angel darling ❤️

Ps. Sofia is not a face claim, yn and her are just besties.

Parts: two

[fanboyoff1]

Landoscar- Losing your bags at the airport (1.7k words)

Hello all! This is based off that one tweet about Lando losing his bags at the airport and Oscar staying with him. Disclaimer- I know nothing about airports, all of this was google searched stuff, so go easy on me. (I made it an American airport because dealing with a language barrier was too complicated lol) It's mostly fluff, but I suppose a bit of angst?

Also, this is my first fic I'm posting online, so please be kind ❤️

Lando sighed loudly, blowing hair out of his face as he exhaled. He wasn’t the biggest fan of airports by principle. They’re boring, the lines are long, and the whole thing seems so much bigger than it needs to be. But it’s kind of a necessary part of his job, so he’d mostly gotten used to waiting for stupid amounts of time at airports.

But this is just kinda ridiculous. He and Oscar had been waiting for Lando’s suitcase to show up at baggage claim for… well he didn’t know how long it had been, but it was longer than he’d ever had to wait before. Even worse, Oscar’s bag had practically been the first to get dumped out onto the carousel, because of course it had. They were going to the hotel together, so Oscar was staying with him. The Aussie was on his phone, sitting on his suitcase and texting someone. Lando hated the silence, so he tore his eyes away from Oscar’s gorgeous side profile and yawned.

“This is taking foreverrr,” he said, stretching from his place crouched on the floor.

“It’s been ten minutes,” Oscar corrected, not once looking up from his phone.

“Screen-ager,” Lando decided to retaliate. Oscar looked up now, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment clear on his face. Lando looked back to the baggage carousel, satisfied by getting a reaction out of the younger man.

Oscar cleared his throat. “How about we just wait a few more minutes and then go to the baggage desk.”

“Huh?”

“The baggage desk. Where you go if you lose your luggage. It’s right there.” He pointed, and sure enough, back against the wall and a few carousels down was a little front desk-looking thing, with neon letters spelling out ‘Baggage Desk’ above it.

“Oh,” Lando mumbled, adjusting his hat. 

“I’ll just tell Zak we’ll be a bit later than expected,” Oscar said, giving Lando a blinding smile that made his stomach twist with that complicated more-than-just-a-crush feeling he preferred not to think about. He hummed in response, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

After a few more minutes, everyone that had been on their flight (aka about half the Mclaren crew, including Zak and Andrea who had ditched them first chance they got) had left, and Lando was getting more and more stressed out. He was biting his lip and running his hands through his hair repeatedly, imagining practically every worse-case scenario. What if his suitcase got on the wrong flight? What if there was something bad in there he didn’t realize and they wouldn’t let him get his stuff? What if some rando took his stuff?

He didn’t realize Oscar was talking to him until a hand waved in front of his face. He looked to his teammate who was already staring at him worriedly.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, resting his hand on Lando’s arm. Lando managed a small, likely unconvincing nod. 

Oscar let go of his upper arm with a gentle squeeze, and Lando might just melt away at the spot. “Well, I was asking you if you wanted to go to the baggage desk and ask about your suitcase?”

Lando nodded again and stood, walking away before even giving Oscar a chance to do so as well. He felt a bit bad as he heard Oscar scramble upright and start pulling his suitcase behind him, but it had been a long day and he really just needed to collapse into his hotel room now.

He reached the desk and made eye contact with a short woman, her long brown hair tied up in a low ponytail and wearing official looking clothes, who was standing near the back of the small room. She rushed forward and sat down in a swivel chair, pushing her glasses up.

“What’s your issue, dearie?” she said in a strong Southern accent, only slightly muffled by the thick glass separating them.

“Uh, can’t find my bag. Didn't show up,” he said with a guilty smile. He tried to turn on his charm as much as possible, his train of thought being, Maybe if I’m nice she’ll be nice back and then I can go to bed quicker. 

“Alright love. Name?”

“Lando Norris,” he said. Oscar had reached him by now, standing so close to his side that their shoulders were almost brushing against each other.

The lady did some typing on her computer, then let out a little tsk sound in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, it seems like your luggage got sent to the wrong place. We’re trying to get it here as we speak.”

Lando shot a glance back to Oscar, who raised his eyebrows. “Do you know what happened?” he asked the lady. He looked at the pin on her shirt, which said her name was Charlotte. Huh, she didn’t look like a Charlotte.

Charlotte gave a shrug in response. “Could’ve been anything. My guess, there wasn’t enough space in the cargo hold on your plane. It got placed on the wrong extra-storage space, and got sent somewhere else. You’ll have to wait until it gets here. That might take a while.”

Lando worked hard to suppress a groan. “Okay. Thanks.” He tried for a smile that ended up more like a grimace.

“You two can sit in one of those chairs on the right while you wait,” Charlotte said with a sympathetic smile. Lando turned to his right and flopped into a chair. At least they were cushioned. 

This night was turning shitty fast. He just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask? And what was even more awful about this was that Oscar had to stay with him.

“Sorry about this,” he told his friend, who looked at him confused.

“Why? It’s nothing you could control.”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” he trailed off, not sure how to explain that somehow he was blaming himself for this. No, he’d never tell Oscar that, he’d think he was weird. The edge of Lando’s eyes were starting to water with tears, and he wanted to scream. You’re such a baby. What’s your problem? Bury it, you can’t do this right now. Crybaby.

“Hey, Lando, it’s okay,” Oscar said, reaching out with one hand. He touched Lando’s shoulder tenderly. “I don’t mind.”

Lando hugged his legs to his chest and buried his head in his knees. “I’m just having a bad day,” he mumbled, and for a second he wasn’t sure if Oscar heard him.

“That’s alright,” Oscar said, and he let go of Lando’s arm. Lando didn’t even get a chance to mourn the loss of contact though, because then Oscar’s arm was wrapping around his shoulders and gently tugging him closer. Lando practically fell onto his chest, and could feel his cheeks reddening.

“This okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You can rest. You know, if you want. I know you’re tired.”

“Will you wake me up when my suitcase shows up?”

“Mm-hmm,” Oscar hummed, and Lando let himself sink into his embrace, their breaths and heartbeats syncing. Oscar was really cuddly, he thought as he drifted off.

# # #

“Hey, Lando, wake up.”

Osc, Lando thought and smiled. “Wake up, Lando.” Then someone was gently pushing his shoulder, and he blearily opened his eyes.

He took in his surroundings with a moment of slight confusion before remembering. The airport. His bags. Crying. Oscar.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” the man in question said, and Lando swore he felt his fingers brushing through his curls. “C’mon, your stuff got here.”

A part of Lando wanted to jump up and start doing a victory dance on the spot. The annoyance of getting up overruled it though. He was so comfy.

Wait, where exactly was he? He knew he was at the airport, but this was way too comfy for a chair. His eyes flickered around trying to figure it out, and oh God he was in Oscar’s lap. He quickly sat up, using his hands to push himself upright. However, he didn’t account for where he was putting his hands, and ended up putting half of his weight on Oscar’s thigh. Oscar let out a little grunt of pain, wincing.

“Oh shit, sorry sorry sorry,” Lando hurriedly apologized, backing up.

“No no, you’re fine,” Oscar reassured him, but his voice was strained. He looked at Lando with a smirk. “Are you trying to sabotage me, Lando Norris?”

“I’m sorry!”

Oscar just giggled and stood. He reached a hand out to Lando, who took it. He used his free hand to grab his suitcase and took off confidently to the left, not releasing his tight grasp on Lando’s hand.

“Uh, where are we going?” Lando asked, desperately trying to stop the stupid butterflies rising in his stomach. God he was so childish, they were literally just holding hands. But they were holding hands. 

“To get your bag. Obviously.”

With no further explanation, he proceeded to get dragged through what felt like half the airport. Not that he minded. Every once in a while Oscar would look back and give him a trademark Osc Smile that made his insides turn to mush, so that made up for the mystery part pretty well.

Finally they reached their destination, some obscure part of the airport. A few official people gave him his suitcase along with many apologies and a crap ton of airline points (not that those were especially helpful to him, Mclaren paid for most of his flights anyways. It was a nice gesture though.) He accepted the apologies quickly, not wanting to drag out this process any longer than necessary.

 Then they were in a taxi headed to their hotel, and the exhaustion was coming back ten-fold.

“Tired?” Oscar asked once Lando had yawned for the fifth time.

“Just a bit,” Lando quipped.

“Want to sleep again?”

“You’re fine with it?”

“Of course.”

Lando hesitantly let his head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. Oscar’s arm found its way around his shoulders again.

Just before Lando fell asleep again, he felt a feather-light kiss pressing against his head, and he scooted closer to Oscar with a sigh.

Here are some people who said they were interested: @slugesh, @peppysinc, @sunnykasarova, @alto-the-avocado, @lailau7904, @standgrand, @chamberkat

[gamergirl929]

I'm Burning Up For You Baby (Alex Morgan x Reader)

If there was one thing you loved to do, it was tease your wife, Alex Morgan, and wearing your uniform was something that would gurantee a night spent together in bed, and tonight wasn't going to be any different.

Anonymous Request: Alex Morgan/G!P!Reader, getting turned on by their partner's new uniform.

I fiddled with this request a bit, so the uniform isn't TECHNICALLY new, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

You take a deep breath, taking a small sip of the amber colored liquid you’d gotten from the open bar.  

A smile stretches across your face when you see your wife, Alex Morgan, making her way across the room towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck as she presses a kiss to your lips.  

“I’m sorry, traffic was a nightmare.” She says and you smirk.  

“Are you sure it was traffic, or were you just taking forever to get ready?” You tease and she scoffs, hooking her arm around your own.  

“I’ve never taken forever to get ready for anything.” She rolls her eyes, and you laugh, turning to press a kiss to her cheek.  

“Sure, you haven’t.” You wink, her cheeks noticeably flushing.  

Your eyes rake down her front, the woman wearing a simple sparkling black dress, which hugged her curves in all the right ways.  

You lean closer, ducking down to whisper in her ear.  

“You look stunning.” You say softly, unable to stop yourself from grinning when her cheeks visibly darken.  

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She smiles, turning towards you, her hands resting on your shoulders, giving them a squeeze. 

She leans in, her hot breath dancing across your neck as she whispers.  

“You know what your uniform does to me.” She purrs and you smirk.  

“Oh, trust me, I know.” You say, your tongue swiping at your lips, something Alex intently watches.  

Once after an award ceremony, you’d spent the entire night in bed, bringing the woman to the precipice of pleasure over and over again until the two of you were entirely spent.  

You rest your forehead against hers.  

“Is it working now?” You ask, your brows wiggling, and she hums. 

“I suppose you’ll have to see.” She whispers, sending you a wink before she unhooks her arm from yours, making her way towards the open bar to get herself a drink.  

You down the remainder of your drink before following after her, intent on seeing if in fact, your uniform was doing what it would typically do to your wife.

************************************************************************

Alex knew you were trying to work her up, the light brush of your fingertips against her ass, followed by a mumbled apology that Alex knew you didn’t mean.  

In all honestly, just seeing you in your uniform made her core ache, the thought of what happened last time you wore it prominent in her mind.  

After that session, she wasn’t able to walk correctly for a number of days, sore from the number of times you’d made her orgasm.  

Her throat bobs, her breath catching in her throat slightly, something you take note of, a smirk stretching across your face.  

You lean towards her, Alex’s eyes darkening at the proximity between the two of you.  

“You alright baby?” You ask, Alex’s breath hitching at the pet name.

“I’m just fine.” She smiles, doing her best to mask her arousal, but you catch on immediately.  

You’d been married for over 3 years; you could instantly tell when your wife was turned on, and by the way she was fidgeting, she was aroused.  

Inconspicuously, your lips brush her neck, her throat bobbing roughly.  

“Whatever you say.” You say with a smirk, turning to glance around the room, when you hear your name called, your chief waving you over.  

You turn, kissing Alex’s cheek before moving across the room towards the group staring expectantly your way.  

Alex doesn’t take her eyes off of you as you strut across the room, your head held high, the group of men greeting you with handshakes and smiles.  

She smiles softly as she makes her way across the room, leaning against a nearby wall, her blue orbs remaining firmly on you.  

You held your head high in confidence as you talked to the group of older men, your chief patting you on the back with a grin.  

You loved your job, even if it meant putting yourself in danger to save others, something that worried Alex to no end, but she was confident you would always return to her at the end of the day.  

You’d earned several medals for your bravery and had become someone that many of your coworkers aspired to be.  

Alex couldn’t have been more proud of you.  

Her blue orbs widen when your eyes catch hers, a smirk stretching across your face as you send her a wink before turning back to the conversation.  

Alex smiles, bringing the wine glass to her lips and taking a sip, knowing full well how this night would end.

*********************************************************************** 

Eventually, you make your way back to your wife, a charming smirk stretching across your face, the one that never ceased to make her weak in the knees.  

“Hey.” You say, your voice raspy, the sound making her throat bob.  

“Hey you.” She grins, her cheeks flushing when your hands move to her waist.  

“Miss me while I was gone?” You ask and she giggles.  

“No, I’ve had my eyes on someone all night.” She jests and you hum, giving her sides a squeeze. 

“Oh? Who?” You ask playfully and she hums.  

“I don’t know her name, just that she looks REALLY GOOD in uniform.” She purrs and you smirk, your tongue swiping at your lips.  

“I do know ONE thing.” You say, Alex’s brows furrowing when you lean towards her, your voice dropping below a whisper.  

“She’s going to absolutely rail you tonight.” You place a kiss to the smooth skin beneath her ear, catching the sound of her hitching breath as you pull away. 

“Is that a promise?” She asks gruffly and you nod, your throat bobbing, the member between your legs reacting to the sound of her husky voice.  

“It is.”  

Alex leans in, pressing a slow, and tender kiss to your lips before pulling back.  

“I’m holding you to it.” She winks and you smirk seductively.  

“I wouldn’t want anything more.”  

************************************************************************

As the night went on, Alex became more and more aroused, the image you’d painted in her mind of what would happen after the event making her core ache with want.  

There was nothing she wanted more in this moment than to have you inside her, your body pressed against hers as you rutted into her. 

If the night was anything like the one you shared before, she knew you were both in for a long night, one that would more than likely end with the two of you sore the following day. 

She’s made her way to the bathroom, throwing cold water in her face in an attempt to stifle her arousal.

“What’s on your mind...?”  

Alex’s breath hitches as your arms wrap around her from behind, your chin resting on her shoulder, your hot breath dancing along her ear.  

She feels your smile stretch across your face.  

“Actually, I think I already know what you’re thinking about.” You rasp in her ear, the woman swallowing roughly.  

“You’re thinking about later tonight, aren’t you?” You ask, your tongue swiping at her ear.  

Thankfully, she’d excused herself to the restroom, but she was unaware that you’d followed her there.  

“You’re thinking about how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.” You say as you suckle on her earlobe, your nails scraping at the front of her dress before sliding lower, lightly caressing her lower abdomen.  

Alex turns in your hold, slamming her lips against yours, silencing your teasing.  

You only part when you feel her hips arch against you, the woman craving some sort of friction. 

“As much as I’d like to make you come right here, I think we should save it for home, don’t you?” You ask and she huffs, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout, a pout you immediately kiss away.  

“I guess you’re right.” She mumbles, a smirk stretching across her face as you turn away.  

Your breath hitches when the woman gives your ass a light smack, your eyes narrowing as you turn back towards her.  

“Watch it, Morgan.” You tease, taking her hand and dragging her out of the bathroom, eager for the party to be over so you can spend some ‘quality time’ with your wife. 

************************************************************************

Thankfully for you, the party ends soon after, you and Alex being one of the last couples to leave.  

You make your way towards the car, albeit a bit faster than necessary, but you and Alex were incredibly eager to get home.  

You open the door for her with a seductive smile, the woman sliding into the car and crossing her legs, hoping to alleviate the pressure building between them.  

It isn’t long before you’re sliding into the driver’s seat. 

“Ready to have some fun?” You ask, Alex’s tongue swiping at her lips as she reaches across the center console and boldly places her hand on the bulge in your pants.  

You clench your jaw, biting back a moan as she gives it a squeeze.  

“More than ready.” She purrs, pulling her hand away painfully slow before she turns away, watching out of the corner of her eye as you jam the keys in the ignition and back quickly out of the parking lot, wanting to get home as quickly as possible.

************************************************************************

The moment Alex steps out of the car she lets out a squeak, giggling as you lift her into the air and carry her through the front door with ease, the woman kissing your neck all the way.  

You kick the door shut behind you and place her on a nearby table, the former soccer player moaning when your lips slam against hers.  

You kiss feverishly, your tongue eventually slipping into Alex’s mouth, the two of you moaning as your tongues meet.  

Alex hastily unbuttons your jacket before shoving it off of you, neither caring that your formal attire was now on the floor.  

Alex holds her arms up, letting you pull the dress over her head, leaving her in a pair of panties and a strapless bra.  

“Gorgeous.” You mumble as you unhook her bra and palm her breasts, the woman throwing her head back as you roll her nipples between your thumb and index fingers.  

“God, look how wet you are.” You say, spreading her legs, your tongue swiping at your lips you brush your fingertips against the damp patch in her panties.

“Y/N...” She sighs as you caress her through her panties, the woman moaning.  

You were now rock hard, you honestly had been since before you arrived at home, the thought of what you were going to do to Alex when you got home arousing you beyond belief.  

It isn’t long before your upper half is bare, Alex moving at lightning speed to make you as bare as she was.  

She kisses your breast, sloppily kissing the mounds of flesh as she undoes the belt holding your pants on.  

You kick off your boots, which takes some maneuvering but soon they’re off and your pants are around your ankles, your member standing at attention beneath your boxers.  

Alex kisses you hungrily, her tongue running along your own, the two of you moaning into one another’s mouth.  

Your fingers hook into the waistband of Alex’s panties as you kiss, the woman’s hips rising as you pull her panties down her legs, the soaked garment ending up on the floor along with your other clothes.  

Alex groans loudly as your hand slips between her legs, your fingers tracing her slit before giving her clit a gentle nudge.  

“I’m gonna fuck you right here.” You growl, moaning when Alex’s cups you through your boxers, rubbing your already throbbing member.  

Alex shoves your boxers off, no barrier remaining between you and her hand, the woman wrapping her fingers around your rod, pumping it slowly.  

Alex’s movement ceases when you lift her in the air and place her back against your front door, the two of you entirely bare as you take your member in your hand. 

“Ready for me?” You ask and she nods rapidly, shivering in anticipation.  

She clings to you as you run your head through her lower lips, your head positioned at her entrance.

Her brows furrow in pleasure as you head slips inside, the woman unable to wait as she lowers her hips, the rest of your cock sliding into her.  

“Shit.” Alex moans loudly, the woman panting heavily against your neck.  

Her legs wrap around your middle as you give your hips a slow thrust, her fingers prodding into your back.  

You slid slowly and deeply into her, knowing that she enjoyed it more when you thrust as deeply into her as you possibly could.  

“Oh god.” She moans, her toes curling.  

She’d been worked up the entirety of the night, and now she FINALLY had you inside her.  

“Harder.” She purrs, and almost immediately your thrusts increase in speed.  

Soon your thighs are slapping together loudly, the woman in your arms moaning shamelessly as you rut into her, making do on your promise from earlier in the night.  

“Fuck... Fuck... Fuck...” Alex moans repeatedly against your neck, her hips bouncing in time with your own wild thrusts.  

You clench your teeth tightly, mere moments from erupting inside your wife, but you’d be damned if she didn’t come first.  

Alex’s breath hitches rapidly, a sign to you that she was teetering on the edge, her walls fluttering around you.  

She stiffens in your hold, letting out a high-pitched whine against your neck as she shudders violently.  

Her core tightening around you makes you groan, your hips canting upwards as you come, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer.  

Her nails dig into your back as you erupt inside her, filling her with your seed, the woman’s core still squeezing around you.  

Alex presses tender kisses to your neck as you moan, your hips still rocking as you come down from your high, eventually stilling.  

“Christ.” You moan, pulling back to press a tender kiss to her lips, your member still buried inside her.  

You reluctantly part, a smirk stretching across your face as you bury your face in her neck, nipping at her pulse point.  

“Want to take this to the bedroom?”  You ask and she laughs.  

“I think you already know that answer to that.”  

You reluctantly slide out of her, before carefully maneuvering your way through the home and to your bedroom, where you deposit Alex onto the bed, the woman’s legs spread wide open as she teasingly slips a hand between her legs, rubbing her clit.  

Her hips arch off the bed as the circles she’s drawing against her clit grow smaller and faster, the sounds she’s making, making your semi flaccid cock harden.  

You take her hand from between her legs, bringing her fingers to your lips before wrapping your lips around them, sucking her fingers clean, the woman’s eyes rolling back in her head slightly at the sight.  

Alex watches as you take your member in your hand, sliding it between her nether lips, your head brushing her clit, making her moan.  

You’re unable to slip inside her before she rolls the two of you over, your back hitting the mattress.  

She takes your hard cock in her hand, stroking it gently before she lines it up with her entrance and slowly lowers herself down onto it, impaling herself on your cock.  

“Shit.” You moan, your back arching as Alex’s hands rest on your abdomen the woman lifting her hips, your member slipping out of her slightly before she drops back down, your member sliding back into her tight heat.  

“Oh, Jesus.” You moan as she throws her head back, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  

“God, so good.” She moans, her bouncing quickly becoming erratic.  

You start a rhythm, timing your thrust in time with her bouncing, the woman moaning loudly as you slide deep inside her.  

Her core starts to pulse around you before it tightens, your wife throwing her head backwards as she moans loudly, coming for the second time that night.  

You watch lustfully as her hips slow, the woman eventually stilling.  

Alex yelps when you flip your positions, the woman now beneath you, your member slipping out of her momentarily.  

Her hands settle on your shoulders as you press a hand against the headboard.  

Alex moans loudly as you slide into her without hesitation, the woman still sensitive, but eager to have you inside of her again.  

You brace yourself against the headboard before thrusting into her roughly, Alex letting out a raspy moan as you pound into her, your headboard smacking the wall loudly.  

Alex is unable to catch her breath, letting out repeated high-pitched moans, the woman overcome with absolute pleasure.  

Your thighs slap together loudly and repeatedly, your cock throbbing as you make do on your promise you made earlier in the night, absolutely railing your wife.  

She grips your shoulders tightly as you slam into her, sweat forming on your brow as you plow into her.  

Alex’s core tightens around you, the woman letting out a loud and lengthy whine as she comes again.  

This time, her orgasm throws you headlong into your own.  

You thrust deeply into her tight heat, as you explode inside her, again coating her walls with your release. 

You thrust slowly into her, working the two of you down from your highest peaks.  

Eventually you still, collapsing on top of the woman, the two of you attempting to fill your lungs with the air you lost.  

Alex kisses your neck softly, lazily drawing patterns against your bare back.  

You pull back, staring into your wife’s glassy orbs, a smile stretching across your face.  

“I love you.” You whisper, the woman surging forwards, pressing a tender, and loving kiss to your lips.  

“I love you too.” She smiles, scratching the nape of your neck softly, the fine hairs there soaked in sweat.  

You duck down, your lips again meeting hers, the kiss a complete contrast to what you were just doing.  

You pull back with a smirk, glancing between your bodies, your smirk splitting into a grin.  

“You don’t think I’m done with you yet, right?” You ask and Alex giggles, wrapping her legs around your middle.  

“You better not be.”  

It isn’t until hours later that the two of you are entirely spent, your bodies sore from the rigorous activities you just performed.  

Your wrap your arms around Alex from behind, kissing the soft skin beneath her ear.  

“I love you, Alex.” You whisper, the woman snuggling back into you, covering your hands with her own.  

“I love you too Y/N.”  

You chuckle, Alex’s brows furrowing.  

“What?” She asks in confusion and you grin.  

“I told you I was going to absolutely rail you.” You tease and she rolls her eyes.  

“Shut up.” 

“I think I just need to start wearing my unform around the house.” You laugh and she rolls over in your hold.  

“If you do that, we’ll literally never leave bed.” She smiles and you shrug.  

“I like the sound of that to be honest.”  

Alex giggles, closing the distance between you again, her lips pressing against your softly.  

“Me too.” 

[boinday]

The Water Dog is a prose novel I'm working on - by which I mean, it's not a comic/illustrated story - but thanks to the encouragement of some lovely followers I thought it would be fun to introduce people to the central characters of the book ^_^

[weevmo]

Can't wait to pour you a cup! 🍋

Corduroy Stew is a dark comedy by @KMODOchords and I - we're still in early development but things are tightening up! Given it will be partially animated I'm putting this here on this Indie Animation Day -

[luimagines]

I dare you to do one with your favorite trope to write (unless you've already done it)

Oh my goodness, this might be longer that usual. XD

And I really had to think about what I wanted to write. I think I'll make this a one-shot. (unless you guys want more anyway) Prepare for this to be as self indulgent as hell. :D

And I'll make it Time while I'm at it.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

This was the third time this week that you found something like this. You didn't know who was doing this.

A basket, filled to the brim with goodies and trinkets alike, sat properly outside of your window sill. It would be charming if you weren't on the third floor. Someone was climbing up to your balcony and leaving the baskets for you to find.

It was creepy- to a degree. There was never anything malicious about it though. The baskets typically held a flower, a warm meal (or groceries) and some little thing for you to put around your apartment.

You see, you moved to the Kingdom of Kokiri with nothing but a backpack and small child's wagon. Your apartment wasn't even on a nicer side of town. But it hard to be worried about robbers when you're home is bare and empty.

Slowly, that's been changing though. The baskets always had a poem attached, but no name. You secret admirer would give little things from time to time. The baskets are getting more frequent too.

What used to be a small monthly thing, turned weekly then bi weekly- and you're beginning to suspect that they're turning into a daily thing.

Part of you worries that whoever this is, is spending too much on you.

But seeing that the last basket had a new set of dining wear with plates and cups and a some nice utensils to match- you're not inclined to have them stop anytime soon when they're improve your very living conditions as it is. Even if you feel a little guilty.

That being said, this basket had a warm meal already prepared, still steaming in the glass tupperware. There was a small bouquet of roses near the top and a small little box that you opened to see a single slice of chocolate cake.

The card was attached on the inside but it lacked the typical poem. It simple read: "Rest well, Love. You've worked hard today. Dinner's on me. I just want to see you smile in the morning."

You smiles and tucked the card back into its place, bringing the basket back into your apartment.

You have to figure out who this secret admirer of yours is. It has to be someone with access to your floor but it can't be a neighbor. Right? You're on the corner so it can't be anyone to your left. But maybe your neighbor to the right? That's a creepy thought. You hardy ever see him and you don't think he showers throughout the week.

It can't be him. Or at least you're going to deny it.

Maybe it's someone from above? That's more likely. There is this cute guy that you know lives on the floor above you, but you don't know which apartment. It wouldn't be hard to drop the basket secretively onto your balcony from above if that was the case.

The thought rotates in your head as you eat the food. It's delicious. Decadent, even.

Gratitude fills your heart and soul. you have to return the favor somehow after everything this person has provided for you. But how?

You head to bed with a smile on your face and a full stomach. You'll have to start small but you can think of something.

The next morning you head to the castle and walk straight to the throne room.

It was a deal that the king had proposed personally to you. You get to work concern free in his kingdom but you have to report to him every other Tuesday. Seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you didn't think it wise to refuse.

You've grown somewhat close, but with his power and status by his side, you couldn't help but slightly intimidated by him even now.

The king- like most Royals of Kingdoms of Hyrule- was a dragon. Sure, he could take the form of a typical man, but he stayed in his half form more often than not. His age and strength add to his credentials. As the current senior amongst dragons, all you've gathered is that he's lived longer than he appears. The older the dragon, the stronger they are.

King Link is a force to be reckoned with.

However, he's kind and patient with you. He's not all that bad.

You nod and grin at the Captain, who's affectionately called Warrior. Another dragon hidden among the people. You don't know his story, but he's a hard working fellow. He also came to the king in a time of need, looking for asylum and has been working under his employ ever since. He is the king's right hand man.

Warrior smiles back and salutes you softly as you enter. You'll never understand why you've more or less been given free reign of the castle, but with his approval, you feel better to head on in.

You meet the king and curtsy clumsily, still feeling rushed. He's asked you call him Time and he stands from the throne. His face is kind, amused even. A chuckle tumbles out of him as he walks toward you, his marble like tail swinging behind him. "I thought we were passed the formalities, my dear."

You clear your throat. "Were we? I don't recall."

He laughs again. "Come. We have much to discuss."

You nod and follow. He leads you to the back room with a gentle touch the small of your back. It's a familiar routine that you've grown comfortable with.

There's a small rounded table with a pale blue laced table cloth. There's a delicate tea set and it's covered to the brim with snacks and treats alike. You think you see a few of your favorites and your eyes light up at the sight.

King Time notices and he smiles, pleased. "Sit."

You nod and take your usual spot. Time sits across from you and serves you the pieces that you eyes earlier. You almost feel bad. You're still full from the night before.

Time notices. "Something wrong, dear?"

"No." You shake your head, afraid of insulting him. "Someone gave me dinner last night and I'm still a bit full from it."

Time seemed to be shocked by the tidbit. "Really?... Was it good?"

"It was delicious!" You can't help but gush. "I would normally cook for myself but they send food from time to time and it was still warm so I couldn't resist."

His smile turns a little tight. "Is that so? I'm glad that you were fed adequately then.... May I ask who?"

You falter, the smile on your face turning more soft and shy. "Um... I think it was my neighbor..."

"...You don't know who it is?"

You blush and look down onto the table, playing with the treats on your plate. "I know that I should be more cautious. But they've only ever left it on my balcony... It's a secret admirer so to speak. They've given me trinkets and flowers and food. It seems as if they've slowly been furnishing my house for me. I don't know... I've been trying to think about who it may be, but I'm coming up short. Regardless, enough about my lack of love life-"

Time abruptly puts his hand under the table but you catch the reason why before he can hide it.

He's bent the fork in half with his hand, seemingly without realizing it. He smiles brightly, as if nothing happened and the thought gets put on the back burner for now. "Right... Well, you can always ask for my assistance, Darling."

You shake your head with a small smile. "Thank you, but I'm here to report my work. Let's get to business then."

Time clenches his jaw slightly but nods in agreement. "Right. I believe last time you mentioned that you were following a trail of some suspicious individuals on the property of the farm lands for relief efforts. Did that bloom into anything substantial?"

You pull out a manila folder with a smirk and hand it to the king. "Did it ever."

The time passes before you know it. Little by little, as you give your report, if drifts away and you're talking about your lives as much as you can before you leave.

Warrior comes in, informing Time of another meeting has to attend. He looks apologetic.

The king winces but you're quick to stand up, mid panic. "I'm sorry. I've overstayed my welcome."

"Impossible." Time blurts, standing abruptly as well. He reach out as if to stop you and moves around the table as if to block your path. His tail curls around your ankle, stopping your in your tracks. It's gentle but firm. Even if his grip is painless, you can already tell that you wouldn't be able to escape on your own.

You freeze and after a beat he lets you go. Time gulps and stands, seemingly more aware of what he was doing. His grip falls away and he takes a step back. "R-right... I won't keep you from your work much longer then."

You can't help but blush. He's always been fine with putting a hand on your shoulder or your back... but the tail is one of the most sensitive parts of a dragon. And he just grabbed you with it. For some reason, you find yourself blushing.

You nod dumbly, as if your schedule is jammed packed like his. Your heart is pounding. You follow Warrior out of the room as he leads you back to the main gate of the castle.

"Sorry." Warrior says quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonono-" You're still shaken by the phantom feelings of the scales around you. Even if it was just a brush, there was a power there. You don't know why you're so out of whack suddenly. The act was more intimate than you were able to admit. "If you didn't say anything, I would have kept going. Honestly, I swear he's just humoring most of the time."

"This is the only time we get him to actually take a break." Warrior tells you. "He'd work himself t the bone if it weren't for you. It's not like he can't afford it. He's two years ahead of his work. By all means, keep him there longer."

You flush and look away, walking out of the gate. "Oh please, he'll get sick of me before we'd know it."

Warrior is quick to bite his tongue, biting back the instant retort that no doubt sat on his tongue. He takes a breath and shakes his head.

"...He likes you." Warrior looks pained. Like there's something there that he wants to say but can't. You don't see it. "Would you like me to walk you home? If I recall you live far enough away-"

"Not enough to cause concern, Captain." You smile and pat his shoulder. "But thank you."

"His Majesty wouldn't like it if anything happened to you." Warrior tries to push it a little bit.

You shake you head. "And take more of your time away? You work just as hard, if not harder, than the entirety of the castle staff. I think only the King works harder than you."

He presses his lips into a thin line. His own scales poke from under his skin. Something is riling him up but you don't know what. You've never seen his dragon form or even his half. He seems to hide it more often than not. You would never know he was a dragon if the King hadn't said anything earlier.

Warrior sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Very well... Just... be safe, yeah? I don't think the goddesses themselves would be able to calm the king should things go wrong."

"Like what?" You snort. "I end up in the hospital? I'll be fine. No worries."

You wink for good measure and head home, happy, fulfilled and ready to take on the rest of the week.

You miss the next three visits.

Part 2

[sir-walton-goggins]

Kiss of Purple, Blue and Green

Summary: After a drunken night together, Arthur sees a love bite on your neck and mistakens it for a bruise.

Warnings: bit of angst and a whole lot of fluff, suggestive themes

Word count: 2,361

Ask and you shall receive. Here's a one shot of the scenario I posted a few days ago ;)

Check this out on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54854827

Last night was still a bit of a blur, pieces of it manifesting disorderly, like trying to fit puzzle pieces into the wrong spots. All you knew for certain was two things: the pounding headache that was making you wince at each sound, and… that you and Arthur Morgan had been up to no good.

You shivered in the cold morning air, pulling the blanket over your trembling shoulders as you sat down in front of the last embers of the campfire, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands to warm you up. You could tell the sweet nectar was doing its job, as you were feeling more awake already. You thanked the Lord for coffee.

But you cursed him out the very next second, because you felt someone sitting next to you and you froze, your entire body stiffening. It wasn’t nice company.

“Hello there, cowpoke!” The mustached man roared, sending a wave of pain directly to your already aching temples.

“Micah… not now” you begged, features scrunched up in pain. Turning away from him, you downed the rest of the coffee in silence.

But you knew Micah. He wasn’t resisting the opportunity to have his fun with you in one of your rare vulnerable moments. He spun you around rudely, and grinned under his blonde stache when you recoiled and slapped his filthy hands away.

“Geez, does the liquor at least make you gentler? I’d have to ask Mr. Morgan about that!” he sneered loudly, prompting you to look around, alarmed.

“What do you want?” you hissed, moving in closer to shush him. Micah’s expression relaxed.

“Me? Oh, nothing, nothing at all!” he got up and paced in front of you, grabbing his belt. “If you want the whole camp knowing what you got up to, that is.”

His stupid, cocky smile made you want to punch it off his face, but you tried to keep your composure. Micah was Dutch’s second in command now, you didn’t think it smart to attack him like that. Inside, anger was boiling in your chest, filling your gaze with venom. The mere thought of him knowing what you did (something that was nebulous even to you, and so very private) made your skin crawl. Was he in Valentine too yesterday? Did he spy on y’all?

The man approached you, lowering his voice condescendingly. This would stay between the two of you, if… you did something for him. You were sitting there, trying to interpret his ominous request, you heart beating steadily faster as you felt cornered by this damned fool.

“What is it?” you sighed, wondering if being blackmailed by Micah was worth it, if it meant your foolish actions remained concealed.

This time, he got so close you could feel his foul breath on your nose. You grimaced and tried to suppress a gag. Man, he was disgusting, both inside and out. He cupped your chin, squeezing it firmly. He had just parted his lips to speak when you heard loud, thundering footsteps get closer and closer to your position. Next thing you knew, Micah was tumbling backwards, narrowly avoiding the campfire.

“DON’TCHA DARE TOUCH ‘EM, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

You tilted your head upwards in shock. There he was, the man you spent the night with; Arthur Morgan, a man you knew for years and who you never saw lose his temper was there, fists clenched and a murderous rage obscuring his usually sweet blue eyes. A man you had witnessed murder, steal and intimidate, yet his violence always felt calculated, measured in a way, but not this time.

And it was gone in seconds. He turned to you, his fury fizzled away into a worried expression as he asked you if you were okay. You nodded, dazed, still processing what had happened.

You both glanced at Micah, who was still trying to regain his balance after the fall, wiping away the mud and grass from his pants. His expression was his usual, douchy one, but you saw the genuine panic and the fear in his eyes when he was on the ground: he was scared of Arthur. It was clear as day, from the way he kept a safe distance from the both of you, his wounded ego showing. Arthur put on his intimidating gaze and scowled at him until he disappeared into his tent.

“So, what did the bastar-“ he interrupted himself, noticing something on your neck. There it was again, the rage. You saw his face become completely red with anger as he gently hovered his fingers on your bruise, the contrast between the two baffling. You tried to think of some words to defuse him, but before you had a chance to say anything, he shot up and started yelling at the whole camp.

“Okay, which one of ya bastards did this?! Jus’ lemme find out…” Arthur snarled, quite literally growling the threat like a rabid animal. He frantically looked around for the culprit, only finding tired eyes and people still in their night clothes blinking at him, incredulous and concerned at his unusual display of anger.

“Arthur…” you tried to get his attention, but his mind was miles away from you. He wanted justice for whoever dared to put their filthy hands on your precious skin. He was pacing menacingly, glaring at the other men in the gang.

“Come out, ya goddamn coward!!” he shouted, spelling the word “goddamn” even more harshly and slowly than usual. Boy, was he angry… he was starting to scare you, too. You sat there, frozen, pondering what to do.

Javier, Sean and Bill exchanged confused looks, standing each in front of their tents. Sean was the only one who darted a look at you, and you widened your eyes at him, shaking your head in disbelief. But Arthur interpreted that differently and marched towards the Irishman threateningly.

“I’m watching you, boah” he threatened, but Sean was difficult to intimidate, and kept that dumb smirk on his face. The older man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, but Sean assured him he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Leave the boy alone, Arthur” Javier intervened in his usual pacifying tone. “Besides, wasn’t you out with them last night?”

Arthur kept his grip on Sean, but his expression softened a bit, his scrunched eyebrows trying to remember the events of last night. Little by little, it came back to him: you had been out on a mission, robbing a stagecoach, and then… he vaguely recalled stopping at the saloon in Valentine.

He let go of the kid and you sighed in relief. You approached him, grabbed his arm and walked him to the edge of camp, where you two could have a private conversation.

You thought you were hiding it well, but Arthur still noticed the fright in your eyes. He realized he had gone too far.

“I’m so sorry I scared ya, darlin’…” he apologized, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it, his eyes firmly on his feet. “That was way outta line… it’s jus’…” he gestured aimlessly, struggling to find the words. 

You took one of his hands in yours, gently kissing his bruised knuckles. You got was he was trying to say. When it came to you, all rationality went out of the window. He was sweet on you for a while now, and he was incredibly protective… this was just the first time you’d seen his feelings in action.

“I know. If someone hurt you, I’d probably do the same” you said gently, and his face relaxed into a smile.

You pointed at your neck, smiling in amusement. “This, however? All you.” you laughed, and then cracked up some more at Arthur’s sheer panic.

“Did… did I hurtcha?!” he gasped. He couldn’t stand the idea, not even for a second. It would destroy him if it was true. He’d never forgive himself.

“No, you fool!” you elbowed him in his ribs and explained that that was no bruise. It was a love bite.

“A… what?” he repeated, blinking rapidly. He never heard of such thing. You tried to explain that when he kissed your neck, he did it so… fervently, that he left a small mark just under your jawbone.

“Oh.” His cheeks lit up in a bright, tomato red and his pupils dilated in realization. You two kissed last night? He was starting to remember now…

The stagecoach robbing went exactly as planned. Of course it did: you and Arthur were a great team, excellent criminal minds that foresee every possible outcome and handle everything expertly. You made off with quite a lot of money and jewelry, so you both decided to celebrate the successful heist with a few drinks in Valentine.

“Just a couple, we still have to go back to camp to deposit the loot” you reminded your partner, putting a coin on the counter and gesturing towards the bartender.

“Of course, no crazy business tonight” the cowboy promised, downing his first shot.

Of course, you were both full of shit. The drinks kept coming, and coming, and coming, until the next thing you remember was you waking up in Arthur’s tent, his arms wrapped around you.

And there was a room… it had a bed, so maybe it was at the saloon?

“Did… did we share a room at the saloon?!” you asked Arthur, alarmed. He was staring straight ahead, hand on his chin, as the scene revealed itself to him.

He saw your exposed neck, head tilted backwards into the pillow as he peppered kisses all over your collarbone and chest, stopping at the edge of your jawline to suck on the tender skin that bruised so quickly, so easily. He heard your moans and his name repeated over and over in delight, as you went deeper and deeper, the friction of skin against skin delicious and exasperating at the same time.

He felt breathless now, his face burning unbearably in what? Arousal? Shame? Maybe both. He didn’t dare to look you in the eye, but seeing him that flustered was enough to prove to you what had happened. You did drunkenly sleep together in that room in Smithfield’s saloon. Some recollections came back to you, making your stomach flutter and your abdomen warm with desire. You saw Arthur in his entirety, remembering his touch on your bare skin, his tongue on your neck and chest, the hair a tangled mess that covered his face. His figure revealed itself in all its vulnerability, the mask of tough outlaw crumbling to reveal a tender, passionate lover that, even in his inebriated state, made sure to put your pleasure first. You silently watched him now, trying to piece together the two sides of him: the side that you always knew, and the new one that opened up to you last night.

Arthur looked back at you, interpreting your surprise as hesitation.

“You regret that, don’tcha?” he asked, an almost imperceptible note of sadness in his tone. “I do too, in a way.”

You were not sure whether to take that as an insult. “What do you mean?”

Arthur walked towards you, taking your hands in his. He lowered his voice into a whisper that covered you in goosebumps. His expression was hard to interpret.

“I regret not making our first time special.” He rubbed his thumb on your hand lovingly, smiling at you. There they were, the eyes you always knew, those breathtaking blues you would lose yourself in every day.

You tucked a hair strand behind his ear and lingered there, caressing his scruffy cheek. Arthur leaned right into your hand, melting under your touch.

“Oh, Arthur” you smiled at him, radiant. “It was special, because it was you.” You grabbed his collar and gently pulled him closer, then put your lips on his for a brief, chaste kiss.

“Nah, I could’ve done it right for ya” he shook his head, as always rejecting the compliment. One of these days you had to make him accept one, you promised yourself.

“Now I’m curious. What would you have done differently?”

Arthur took a moment to think. “Well… for starters, I wouldn’t have been that drunk!”

You chuckled. “Then, I’d book a nice bath for the two of us, with some good wine…” as he talked, he fidgeted with the collar of your shirt, resting his hands on your chest. “Then we’d have some dinner, maybe a walk… and then we’d go back to our room, to sleep in a nice, comfortable bed.”

“That does sound nice…” you remarked, almost disappointed that it wasn’t how it actually went. “Although that’s where it did end. In that nice bed.” You joked, making the man grin.  “I guess you’re right” he laughed, pulling you closer.  

“Besides,” you continued, lowering your tone, “there’s always the next time, y’know…” you purred, putting a lot on emphasis on the word “next” and giving him a playful smile. Arthur’s eyes lit right up, and he licked his lips.

“S’that so? And when is that?” he asked, his voice so deep it boomed inside his chest, so filled with desire that the warmth in you lower belly returned unannounced. Before you could answer, he was kissing you again, taking his time with it. His stubble tickled your skin, so thick and rough compared to his soft lips. You put your hands around his neck, one cupping his nape as he pushed you against the tree, lost in his affection for you.

“Get a room, you two!” you both jolted at the voice, realizing you weren’t as well hidden from the group as you’d thought. You smiled, embarrassed, watching Hosea wink at you as he walked away.

“Well, there goes our little secret, Arthur” you exhaled, laughing nervously.

“A secret? Who do ya think is responsible for pairin’ us up on every damn mission?” the cowboy laughed, pointing his thumb at Hosea’s back.

“C’mon, let’s go get some breakfast, darlin’.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, Arthur took your hand as you both went back to the group, relieved to not have to hide your love anymore.

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

THIS TOOK ME 10 HOURS WHAT???

Anyway, here's the reference sheets for Adult Sector V! The Adult AU takes place 10 years after the Teen AU, and, as you can see, a lot of things happened...

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Prompt (it's okay if you ignore this one cos it's a bit dark/triggering): Lena, post S4 having just killed her brother & finding out about the SG secret, is suicidal, like seriously considering ending it once and for all. BUT she finds something that brings her back to wanting to live and be happy (a new goal or motivation?) Side reigncorp would be nice, having Sam there to support her etc and she's the only one she trusts right now plus she's the only one who never lied to/betrayed her. Thanks!

WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/INTENTIONS

----

Lena stares at the pill bottle in her hand. It would be so easy, she thinks. Just tip the bottle to her lips and swallow the lot with a chaser of bourbon. Let herself drift away into sleep. Maybe she'd get lucky and remain blissfully unaware of the vomit and foam that would likely follow. Perhaps her mind would block it out, allow her to sink peacefully into death while her body convulsed to reject the poison.

She considers who might find her. The cleaners perhaps, due to return in two days time. Or more likely Jess, when she fails to come to work or answer her phone. Certainly not Kara, who believes everything between them is fine-- that their friendship hasn't shattered into irrecoverable shards.

Kara. No, Supergirl. Fucking Supergirl.

Lena clenches her eyes shut, but the image of the hero simply projects against the backs of her eyelids. With her stupid hair and her stupid cape and her stupid, lying smile. But no. The truth is, Lena is the idiot. An idiot to think she'd made true friends, to think she could share the innermost parts of herself with someone who wouldn't turn around and use it against her.

They played you for a fool, Lex's voice echoes from beyond the grave.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Suddenly, an explosion of glass issues from her living room. Lena surges for her handgun, and carefully creeps from her bedroom. Her fingers clenches unnecessarily-- angrily-- against the trigger when she recognizes the caped figure that rises shakily from the floor. But she doesn't fire.

"Lena?" Kara croaks, cradling her middle as though her ribs are broken. Lena watches her scan the living room and kitchen before locating her outside the bedroom. "Lena..."

"What do you want?"

She means it to sound angry, or at the very least irritated. Instead, she just sounds tired, even to her own ears.

"Something's happened to Alex-- to everyone. The DEO is compromised. They--" The hero grimaces in pain. "They tried to kill me."

"So you came to me."

"I hoped you wouldn't be affected. Whatever it is... it's bad. It's really bad."

Lena tries to feel something. Concern, outrage, curiosity-- anything. But she can't. She feels flat, like the air has deflated from her, leaving her a sagging balloon, pressed down by the weight of the air around her.

"Kara..."

Lena sees the exact moment the name hits home, and its implication hits home. Her eyes close in resignation-- not apology, Lena notes distantly.

"You figured it out--?"

"No."

Kara nearly sighs. "Your mother?"

"Brother," Lena allows, "but interesting that you know Lillian knew."

Lex was right. Everyone in the world but her knew the truth. Even her mother. And Kara knows that Lillian knows. That she allowed Lena's family to know the truth, but not she herself.

Fuck her.

"And now you've come to the Luthor you've managed to keep in your pocket."

Like always, Lena notes. Every time she's been involved with Supergirl and her allies, it's been as a last resort. Not because they truly wanted her or her help. Because they had nowhere else to turn.

Her stomach turns, and again Lena's thoughts flicker back to the prescription bottle in her bedroom. She feels sick, and she doesn't want to. She'd rather feel nothing at all than feel this.

"Lena..." Kara straightens as best she can. "I'm not here because I have to be. I'm here because you're the only one I trust."

Their eyes lock for a long moment, and Lena hopes her gaze conveys her disbelief. The words mean nothing, and the fact Kara expects her to believe them is actually insulting.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"We need to know what's affected them and find a way to neutralize it."

"I'll need a current blood sample, and a sample from before the changes in behavior occurred for comparison."

Lena turns back towards her bedroom.

"Then I'll see what I can do."

---

What she can do, it would seem, is quite a lot. Per usual. She isolates a chemical signature in Agent Schott's blood that stands out as abnormal, and traces it back to readings taken from clothes that have arrived on several alien refugee ships. The chemical is alien in nature, but it's not long before Lena synthesizes a counteragent to render the chemical inert until it could be processed from the bloodstream on its own.

She does all this before it can spread further than the DEO. Kara looks at her with gratitude and relief and a little bit of patent awe, but Lena isn't impressed with herself or her results. Isn't this what she always does? Pulls a rabbit out of her ass and saves the day-- but never enough to breach that final circle of trust she never even knew existed.

Once she confirms all DEO employees are returned to their normal selves, Lena withdraws. She relinquishes her role at L-Corp to Sam with some easy bullshit about taking a sabbatical. She hoards her prescriptions, waiting for the moment to be right.

The night she chooses is dark and rainy. But she manages to prod herself to going to the boutique liquor store beforehand-- might as well go out sipping something luxurious and expensive.

On her way back, she pauses on the sidewalk when she hears something moving beneath the car parked next to her along the curb. When it doesn't come again, she moves to resume her march home, but is stopped again by a new sound.

A whine.

Lena hesitates. She can keep walking, pretend she never heard it. But her feet remain rooted against her intentions to leave, until she finally relents and climbs down to her hands and knees. Pressing her cheek almost to the cement, she peers under the sedan and sees the soggy silhouette of a small quadruped.

A puppy. Or some sort of small breed. When it shifts, she sees disproportionately gangly limbs and a long tail curled around its trunk. Puppy.

Lena sighs. "C'mere," she mutters, reaching her arm under the car. The dog is far enough under that her shoulder feels like it nearly dislocates before she finally catches the sorry creature by the scruff of the neck.

It yelps when she drags it out into the rain, but makes no move to escape when she stares down at it appraisingly. Short brown fur darkened by rain, small half-flopped ears, and big brown eyes. It's certainly the picture of a creature any decent human being would cleave to.

"All right," she says heavily. "Let's get you somewhere dry."

She picks the pup up and tucks it into her coat. It curls into the warmth of her chest, shivering all the way back to her apartment. She snags a towel from the linen closet before removing her coat, and transfers the animal directly into it.

Once it's mostly dry, Lena sits back and stares at the beast as it stares at her. She glances at the bottle of liquor she'd set on the coffee table next to the pup.

Lena sighs.

"You chose a hell of a night to turn up," she says drily. Lena gives the dog's head a rub before picking it up to set it gently on the floor.

"Let's get you some food."

----

(Prompts are closed)

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog. 

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance. 

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?” 

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door. 

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped. 

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into. 

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it isn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems…empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost. 

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale. 

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around. 

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you. 

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?” 

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure. 

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.” 

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair concession if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true. 

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face. “Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on. 

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead. 

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

[Part Thirty-One]

[inprogresspokemon]

I'd like your opinon on my Pokemon Index!

For those of you who access my blog on desktop, you may be familiar with my sprited Index pages for each generation. With the probable return of new Mega Pokemon designs coming with Pokémon Legends: Z-A, it occured to me that I can better show what's been done or not done on my index pages by including Mega Pokemon.

Although I use my index pages to navigate within my blog, I keep track of what’s been done or not in my personal tracking files, so this would be more for the benefit of you the viewer. Is that something you'd be interested in?

Here's a comparison (original version without Mega sprites on the left, and a mockup of what it would look like with Mega sprites on the right) for Gen 3, as an example:

[itz-darktrax]

Chased By Yokai - Big Hero 6

[paintpanic]

FERMI PARADOX REFUTATION

[purlturtle]

Untitled Post-Apocalyptic Fic, part 1

(I first developed the idea of this world with @anandabrat, and then further with @tryingthisfangirlthing. Also inspired by @drizzledrawings' cowbians; check them out! This is going to be a loosely connected series of scenes, I think, not a fully fleshed out fic, but who knows.)

She wished she had a hat.

The sun was brutal here in the Badlands.

And maybe a water bottle that refilled itself – somewhere in the Warehouse there had to be such a thing, hadn’t there? Even after Paracelsus had pilfered the place?

She kept walking.

Artie had given her instructions on where to go and what to do. “Trust no one” had been his main mantra, repeated five times in three days. Trust no one, stay out of sight, head south to get out of the Badlands, and then west to get to the Rocky Mountains. Then south again along the foothills, and then a number of landmarks and turning points that he had made her memorize. Because trusting no one meant not to write down how to get where she was going.

Presumably she could trust the people at her destination. She wouldn’t be delivering what she was delivering, if she couldn’t. She’d asked him that, and he had only sighed.

A fool’s errand, then, that not even he who’d sent her on fully trusted.

Part of her resented being unbronzed for this; she’d hoped to awaken in a better world, and this?

There were signs of accidents on the road she was walking: black streaks where tires had rubbed their rubber into the tarmac, minuscule bits of glass and other debris, blackened spots where fires had burned. Of the vehicles, though, there was no sign – Artie had said that in the weeks and months after the cataclysm, people had taken to salvaging what they could. An engine block might not be much use anymore without gasoline to burn, but its metal could still be sold off to someone who thought they had the means to make something of it. He’d told her there were wreckage sites further back in the hills, where airplanes had fallen from the skies, bereft of fuel.

This was not what she expected. Not in her darkest moments would she have thought— And yet here she was, putting one foot in front of the other, sweat running down her back, eyes focused on the blacktop rather than the mercilessly beating sun, hands clamped around the straps of her backpack, when she heard the sound of hoof beats behind her.

[tys-kitty]

What is your unpopular shadowhunter opinions 👁️👁️

Okay listen, I don‘t truly know if it‘s an unpopular opinion since the fandom so rarely talks about it! My unpopular opinion is that I think it‘s the best if Livvy truly gets to rest in piece after TWP. To be honest, I don‘t even consider her being totally resurrected because I believe we will see her kind of losing her mind in TWP. And I think at the end of TWP, Ty will be able to let her go and say his final goodbye.

So what do you think?

[neiptune]

'tis the damn season

❄️ eren x female reader

❄️ older brother's best friend trope

wc: over 5k

warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: it's been a while & literally can't believe i ended up writing for this maniac but it's december and i become weird around the holidays. enjoy!

It was almost Christmas, the first time he had shown up at your house.

You vividly remember each detail of that day: the smell of the gingerbread cookies you were baking with your parents, Tequila, your dog, running to the door as soon as it had flung open, nails impatiently scratching the parquet floors, paired with joyful barks that signaled your older brother’s long awaited return. Your mom’s puzzled face, as she was not expecting Armin to bring someone over with him, confusion quickly replaced by a warm smile as the his flight was cancelled due to a snow storm and he would’ve been the only one staying at our dorm for the holidays explanations were gently offered while taking coats off and hanging burgundy scarves on hooks.

“No need to make a fuss, he’s welcome to spend the holidays with us. Is this the infamous Eren?”, your mom smiled again as she cleaned her flour covered hands on her apron.

As you went to hug your brother, you were only able to catch a glimpse of the smile the stranger next to him offered to your parents.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to barge in like this, Armin insisted–”

“Please, it’s Anna. And this is Conrad. We’re happy to have you here, why don’t you boys leave those bags and come sit with us? I’ll make some tea”

“Missed you”, you murmured into the collar of Armins’ sweater, and he lightly chuckled while gently rubbing your back.

“Missed you too. Let me see”, he pulled away from the hug and creases of fake concentration formed between his eyebrows, “definitely taller. And have you cut your hair?”

You rolled your eyes, fond and relieved smile stretching your chapped lips. He still noticed everything, the time spent apart since he had started going to college hadn’t changed that.

“Yeah, Jean preferred it longer, so...”

“I like the purple tips”, his voice was so morbid you couldn’t properly focus on your brother’s laugh.

The stranger was smiling, he seemed a little embarrassed still, as if he felt out of place in such a warm family reunion. It was weird of him, you thought, cause he looked perfectly in place while fondly scratching behind Tequila’s ears, eyes dangerously limpid and oddly familiar, though they definitely looked better in person than in the pictures you saw on Armin’s instagram account.

“Thanks”, you replied, painfully aware of how pathetically thin your voice had come out.

“I’m Eren”, the stranger offered a hand, warm as it enveloped yours while some stubborn snowflakes had finally began to melt in his brown locks.

“It’s so nice to finally meet Armin’s little sister. He never shuts up about you”

Your nose scrunched up in slight annoyance, cause you hated whenever his friends addressed you as his little sister. They were sophomores and you were basically done with high school, you weren’t that much younger anymore.

“He never shuts up about you either”, you retorted, letting go of his hand first and shooting your brother an amused look as he jokingly bumped his shoulder into yours.

What was soon to become a devastating crush had begun during that first holiday season, with Eren being around almost all day and insisting to help in the kitchen, participating in your traditional board game nights, Eren who had been thoughtful enough to bring both your parents a gift to unwrap on Christmas morning—a cashmere sweater for your mom, a Fleetwood Mac vinyl for your dad—Eren who had the warmest, brightest smile whenever you two engaged in heated discussions concerning music, movies or classes. He seemed to like talking to you, was always interested enough to ask questions, had Armin rolling his eyes when his cheeks would get dusted with pink each time you disagreed over something “essential” and he felt the responsibility to change your mind or, as he would usually put it, help you acquire the correct opinion.

You saw him again the following summer, shortly after you had graduated and were almost accustomed to the idea of soon moving across the country to begin your college adventure. His family situation was a bit messed up, with his parents getting a divorce and everything, so Armin had invited him to stay over for a few weeks. He was there when you would leave the house in short skirts and heels to attend alcohol fueled parties, almost always still awake and watching tv whenever you snuck back in the middle of the night, not once sober and shoes in your hand, shaking his head with an amused smile when you would bring your finger to your mouth and whisper a way too loud shhhh.

He was there when your stupidly loud friends would come over to pick you up for beach days, Tequila resting in his lap as he played video games with Armin, apparently deaf to Sasha asking you who the dream boat parked on your couch was.

He was also there to help you move into your dorm, him and Armin carrying boxes, comforter, blankets, a fan, sheets, books and even a printer up and down the stairs. Trost: same town, different college. Your parents were happy about you not having to be completely on your own as soon as you had moved out, and your brother wasn’t one to get annoyed by his younger sister living so close to him. Armin was genuinely happy he could be there for you and was determined to provide help, support, coffees dates and exploration routes to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

The only time you were alone with Eren for a consistent amount of time was when him and your brother were supposed to meet you at the movies, but Armin’s girlfriend ended up going through some sudden food poisoning and he didn’t want to leave her alone. You liked Annie, she was incredibly different from your brother but their characters balanced each other surprisingly well. She reminded you of Eren so much you often wondered if the two were friends. Stubborn, witty, stupidly good looking, popular as hell.

You thought something special was finally going to happen, as you sat so close to him you could smell the leather of his jacket and the amberwood of his cologne. Your heart was beating so fast it was impossible to focus throughout the entirety of the movie and when he offered to grab dinner in a taco place he often enjoyed going to with his friends, you couldn’t control the sweat covering your palms. That was until the most gorgeous girl you had ever laid eyes on suddenly came out of a shop and smiled, excitedly calling him and waving.

It was excruciating, really, watching him wrap his arms around her.

“This is y/n, she’s Armin’s sister. We were just about to go grab something to eat, why don’t you come along?”, he had never sounded sweeter.

You cleared your throat.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna go. My first class tomorrow starts quite early”

Eren tilted his head, confusion coating his emerald gaze.

“But you didn’t eat anything”

“Yeah, not really hungry. I’ll see you around”

You didn’t want to learn her name or acknowledge the amused look on her face. In about 30 seconds she was able to grasp something Eren hadn’t been able to get in almost three years.

His mom was out of town when he threw himself a birthday party during spring break the following year. Annie and Armin were still going strong and were a joy to be around, you and Floch not so much. Your brother disliked him and didn’t exactly make a secret of it. Still, you were determined to bring him with you, just in case the glorious Mikasa would be there as well.

She wasn’t. And Eren was so different from his usual self, that night. Some of your friends from college knew him, one of them even claiming to have actually slept with him, and the general opinion was unanimous: self absorbed asshole. A definition that was so far from the person you had come to know.

That night, however, proved your friends right. Eren was drunk, and rude, and mocking. Especially towards you. When you first arrived, kissed him on the cheek and gave him his gift (two tickets to a Blink-182 concert) he didn’t know what to say. He let out an incredulous snort and gave you a hug, your heart still stubbornly skipping several beats at the sudden, unexpected proximity. Then, he let go and Floch’s hand was on your waist as he wished him a happy birthday, man. Eren smiled thanking him, gave you one last glance before busying himself with taking care of his incredibly numerous guests.

He got wasted so quickly and you got so worried, cause he could barely stand and still hadn’t had the chance to cut the cake, you asked Armin to check on him.

“He was making out with Christa less than a minute ago, he’ll be fine”, he had muttered in his cup, a little tipsy himself.

“He emptied three cups of champagne in one go”

And he’s being an ass.

“Nothing unusual there”

“Where even is he?”

“Why don’t you go look for him?”, Annie proposed with a wink that, thank fuck, Armin absolutely missed. You shot her a glare and she defensively raised her palms.

“I’m just sayin’, he didn’t look great. Think I saw him go upstairs”

You took one final sip from the red cup in your hand and got up, scanning the room to locate Floch. He was chatting with another one of Armin’s friends, Connie, too busy in conversation to pay attention to you.

Making your way across the room, through the bodies of several equally drunk guests and up the stairs, you found yourself roaming through rooms you had never seen, timidly knocking on doors and waiting for a reply that didn’t come. The bathroom was your last resort and sure enough there he was, barely able to stand against the sink, a few strands of hair having escaped his bun, hands uncovering his face as soon as you peered through the door.

“Can I come in?”, you asked softly, too worried to be your usual nervous self at that point.

A nod was all you got and you quietly closed the door behind you, taking a hesitant step forward.

“You okay? I think you should drink some water”

“I think you should mind your business”, the words came out slurred but they didn’t sting any less.

“Fair enough”, you tried to crack a smile, “what’s all this about? Bad breakup?”

But Eren wasn’t Eren, so he wasn’t up for jokes. He was annoyed, and unpleasant, and clearly unhappy that you were around.

“What’s all that about?”, he asked, gaze flickering from your face to your shorter-than-usual dress.

“What do you mean?”, your voice came out as thin as it did the first day you had met him.

He uncrossed his arms and moved forward, his tall figure towering yours despite the heels. You could smell the alcohol in his breath from miles.

“Whose attention do you need? You’re here with your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“Eren, you’re wasted”

So drink the goddamn water.

“I’m used to wasting”, he irrationally mumbled, gaze suddenly turning pensive as his fingers reached to grab tips of your hair, head slightly tilted to the side.

“You cut it again”, the observation shouldn’t have made your ears ring, blood pressure probably skyrocketing through the roof. It was unfair, the power he still held over you.

“I like it”, he almost whispered, gaze suddenly reflecting yours. A weird and not entirely uncomfortable silence settled between you two, your hair still in his hand, your heart basically trying to free itself from your ribcage.

I like you, you wanted to retort. It’s desperate how much I like you, really. But Eren’s features finally relaxed and he flashed you a gentle, familiar smile, the warmth radiating from his hand leaving your cheek suddenly cold as he patted your head.

“Thanks for checking on me. Let’s head back”

It’s your last year in college, the last opportunity to act and live as if you’re not supposed to soon become a functional adult, something you have a real hard time identifying with. You hold on tight to the familiarity of what you’re feeling traveling home for the holidays: excitement, nostalgia, sadness. Each time you come back you can’t help but notice tiny changes, small details that are suddenly out of place and remind you of the fact that you’re growing apart from what you have always known: your town, your parents, your house, even your room. Tequila is so much older now, your mom hardly dyes her hair anymore, your dad isn’t able to care for the garden as much, your favorite mug is nowhere to be found, there’s a new couch in the living room.

For once, Armin is home before you. He’s still in college, as an assistant professor, Annie has moved in with him and will arrive in a couple days, after your parents had insisted for months that she spent at least one Christmas with them.

The house smells like ginger and the freshly ignited logs in the fireplace give the environment that familiar warmth whose absence you can’t seem to get used to. It feels good, having a place to come back to. Having your brother instantly envelop you in his affectionate hug, witnessing the fondness in your dad’s gaze as he jokingly ruffles your hair and then kisses your forehead, a barely audible missed you, kid, mumbled with Armin’s arms still around you.

“It’s good to be home”, you smile, cheeks still cold from the ungodly weather you had to walk in after getting off the bus, cause you're still not interested in getting a driver’s license.

“Welcome back”, you haven’t heard his voice in so long and yet, it still sounds familiar. Perfectly in place, too. Like it belongs there, in your living room, right before Christmas. Warmth blossoms in your chest when you see him, arms crossed, gracefully resting against the door frame. He’s wearing a white, chunky sweater and his usual black jeans, he’s smiling and you have to resist the urge to go hug him as well.

“Hey, ‘Ren”, you resort to a simple greeting while you take off your boots, absentmindedly asking “spending the holidays with us this year?”

“Eren was nice enough to come say goodbye”, your mom sighs, putting her hands on his shoulders with an expression of both affection and gloom taking over her features.

And just like that, you stop. One boot removed, the other just unzipped.

“What?”, maybe you should be more attentive, camouflage the panic distorting your voice, but there’s no time left for such nonsense apparently. Goodbye.

“I’m moving to my dad’s”, his eyes haven’t left yours ever since he entered the room.

Blinking in confusion, lips parted, you just stare back. Armin clears his throat.

“He lives overseas”, your brother explains in a soft voice, sympathy evident in his eyes as he looks at you.

The ringing in your eyes becomes louder and louder, time freezing as the fire continues to crackle and Tequila’s paws on your thighs demand your attention.

You’d like to say something, ask questions. Something along the lines of are you fucking insane? or this is fucking ridiculous.

“I leave tomorrow. Wanted to thank you all for the kindness and hospitality you’ve let me abuse throughout the years”, he attempts another smile, one less convincing than the previous, eyes leaving yours to shortly focus on your parents.

“Nonsense. You’re like a second son to us”, your dad puts an arm around his shoulders and your mom gently removes a strand of his hair from his face, securing it behind his ear.

“And we expect you to visit, from time to time”

“Thank you, Conrad, Anne”, he gently squeezes your dad’s shoulder, in the same way Armin is squeezing yours.

You break your trance and abruptly bend over to put the removed boot on again, zipping the other one up and turning around in a swift motion to grab Tequila’s leash.

“That’s great”, you mumble, busy securing the leash on your very much now excited Barbado da Terceira.

“Honey, we just walked her—”

“It’s okay, mom, I felt like taking a stroll before dinner anyway”, you smile, intentionally avoiding the one gaze you don’t want to capture. Why would you need to, anyway? It’s already carved in your mind, skin, bones and all. You know every nuance of those eyes.

“It’s snowing”, Eren observes, but you barely acknowledge it by pulling the hood of your coat up.

“Can I come?”, Armin whispers in your ear while pretending to fix the hood for you. A nod is all you have the energy to give as a response.

He’s quiet as he walks with you, patient and considerate as always, never pushing your boundaries. But you don’t know what to say, even if you know he knows by now, cause how could he not? He has always been able to read you so well, ever since you were kids. And, frankly, you practically never found it in yourself to lie to Armin. First, it would’ve been pointless. Second, you would’ve felt like a dumb idiot, cause he’s the one person in your life who has always been there, no matter what. Which doesn’t mean that he’s always been indulgent.

You’ve had your fights, his integrity sometimes exasperating you: whenever he would tell you he was disappointed by some shit you had pulled, you would tell him you were, by contrast, absolutely delighted by the 40 inches long stick residing up his ass.

Very mature, he would mutter. But then he wouldn’t even give you enough time to feel guilty and reach out to make up, cause he was always, always the first one to plop next to you on the couch, or at the end of your bed, a soft wanna talk about it? rolling off his tongue.

“I’m sorry”, you mutter, eyes on your boots as they march through the soft snow, Tequila’s tail wagging happily in front of you.

“For what?”, your brother asks, not looking at you either. He knows it makes it easier.

“I’m overreacting”

“You’re taking a walk”

“You know what I mean”

Armin stays silent for a few seconds, then shoves his hands in the pockets of his olive green parka.

“Do you love him?”

You almost choke on your own spit and are forced to an abrupt stop, finally turning to look at him.

“No. Of course not. It’s a stupid crush and it’s gonna go away”

Your brother sighs at how defensive you get. You still did that, whenever he happened to be right. Whether you were aware of it or not.

“Since when?”, he asks, one eyebrow quirked skeptically.

You nervously shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“Doesn’t matter”

“Matters to me”

“Why?”

“You’re in pain”, his voice is gentle, coated with concern, which is almost, almost enough to make you burst into tears on the spot.

“Don’t use such big words. I’m just a little sad, s’all”, your pathetic attempts at dissimulating are not working one bit, but you’ve always been the stubborn one. He sighs again.

“I’m sorry I brought him. He just really wanted to say goodbye, thank mom and dad”

You faintly kick a bit of snow with the tip of your shoe.

“This is a me problem, not anyone else’s. You can bring him whenever you want, he’s your best friend”

“And you’re my little sister”

You roll your eyes but he doesn’t give you the chance to convey a sarcastic remark as he pulls you in for another hug, one hand resting on the nape of your neck. Defeated, you nuzzle against his shoulder and let out a shaky breath.

God, how did he manage to always make you cry on him? Endless breakups, failed classes, finished friendships, the unquantifiable amount of sorrow wetting his hoodies, coats and shirts throughout the years weighing on you. And for once, you truly feel little. Young, immature, so inexperienced you don’t have the means to explain the sorrow your heart is getting wrecked by.

I am your little sister, you internally scream as his grip around you tightens. I am so glad I still get to be your little sister.

According to your phone screen, it’s 3am. According to your body, it may as well be the middle of the damn afternoon cause you had failed to get a single ounce of sleep ever since you had excused yourself from what you were dramatic enough to mentally address as the last supper, went to bed and blasted your best punk rock playlist through your headphones.

Turning and tossing and turning some more ended up unnerving you to the point you snorted, kicked your covers away and got up. Which is exactly how you ended up tiptoeing downstairs, letting out a sigh of relief as you finally reached the living room without waking up the two lightest sleepers of the family: Armin and Tequila.

Both the tv and the Christmas tree lights are on, which is both odd and unacceptable, given your phobia of house fires.

“I always tell you not to leave this thing on”, you mumble under your breath, cursing your brother while trying to reach the socket behind the tree without making too much noise.

“You always tell me what?”

With some luck, the ungodly yelp you let out hasn’t reached the three people and the one dog snoring upstairs. Of course you panic, lose your balance and end up on your ass while simultaneously knocking over three to four decorations, a silver angel rolling all the way over to a pair of dark blue socks.

Shocked and panting, you bring a hand to your chest.

“Fuckin’— christ! You scared the shit out of me!”

Eren is trying so hard not to laugh he only manages to infuriate you more as he moves the glass of water to his left hand to offer you the other one.

You get up on your own—not without some difficulty—and shoot him a glare.

“What are you even doing up? It’s the middle of the night! And don’t you know that the cause of one in every four home Christmas tree fires stems from electrical problems? It has been reported by the NFPA!”

He watches as you bend down to pick up each fallen decoration and hang it once again, creases of indignation comically settling on your forehead.

“I’ll turn it off when I go to sleep, I promise. Let me have it just for a little while longer”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard and you suspiciously eye him as he sits on the couch, glass held with both hands, elbows resting on his knees. You hate the way he looks at you, the way he’s been looking at you ever since you had arrived. Like he knows, and finds it so pathetic he’s waiting for your fragile little self to just shatter right in front of him.

“Okay. I just wanted to get some water”, you lie, clearing your throat, “have a good night”, you hope it’s casual, the way you walk away. Or at least, attempt to do so.

“That’s it then?”, he calls after you, voice way too loud that causes you to instantly turn around.

“Keep it down!”, you hiss.

“Make me”

You stare, in utter disbelief. He’s teasing you? No, worse, he’s making fun of you? By what right, exactly?

“What do you want, Eren? I don’t have time for whatever this is”, still, you angrily march back and stand (figuratively) tall in front of his sitting figure. A figure that leaves his glass on the coffee table and gets up, eyes glistening with something you can’t quite pinpoint.

“What do you think this is?”, his voice is low this time, barely audible even, a tone in sharp contrast with his hardening features.

“I don’t know, you sleepwalking, almost starting a fire and then wanting to pick a fight?”, it sounds every bit as ridiculous and childish as you thought it would sound but you’re honestly done giving a shit.

Eren almost, almost bursts out laughing. He thinks you’re exasperating. He thinks you’re so goddamn similar to your brother. He thinks you’re a menace. He thinks he wants to kiss you.

“My God,” he whispers, nonchalantly brushing a strand of hair from your face, cracking a smile as he hears the distinct hitch of breath. “You’re so fucking dense”

“I’m not... I’m not dense”, you breathe out, far too appalled to collect your thoughts.

“You’re as dense as a brick, y/n”

He bends enough for his lips to graze yours, it’s not even a kiss, it’s more of a touch. A brush against. When he pulls back, the hand he was resting on the side of your neck rises up to your cheek, thumb stroking your parted lips.

“Dry as always”, he mutters. And it’s enough for you to take a sudden step back, eyes filling with tears of rage and outrage and humiliation.

“What the fuck? What was that? What do you think you’re doing?”, you snap, hands covering your mouth, eyes wide and shock vibrating throughout your body.

Eren isn’t one to panic, but this time he does. He doesn’t know what to say, equally stunned, scared even.

“I’m not gonna do it”, you frantically shake your head, bitter smile stretching your lips, “I’m not gonna be your little impulsive gesture right before you move across the fucking ocean. I never believed anyone who told me how much of an asshole you are, turns out I was very fucking wrong”

He blinks one time, two times, three times. Then it dawns on him and, once again, he has to suppress an incredulous laugh.

“Impulsive. You think that was impulsive”, words roll off his tongue almost mockingly, which only infuriates you more.

“Do you feel sorry for your best friend’s pathetic little sister? No, you’re looking for a final excitement, one last rush. Of course. Why the fuck else would you do it? God, don’t you feel even the slightest hint of sha—”, venom infused words are abruptly cut off from his thumb, once again on your lips, pressing just a little harder. How did he close the distance between you two so quickly?

“Can you shut up for three whole seconds and let me talk?”, as opposed to the words, his tone is actually gentle. Maybe it’s because, despite the darkness, he has noticed the tears glistening in your eyes.

You comply, too focused on stopping them from rolling down your cheeks in what would result in becoming one of the most humiliating moments in all of recorded history. Well, your history anyway.

Eren sighs while holding your face. He looks upset, perhaps mad, certainly conflicted.

“If you think”, he begins, voice dangerously hoarse, “I would play some sort of fucked up game with you of all people, you’re a goddamn idiot”

You quietly search for any signs of deception in his stare, only to find nothing but genuine concern and overwhelming honesty.

“You’re Armin’s sister. I wouldn’t dream of touching you. I couldn’t even think of—”, he takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a moment, “but you just were always fucking there. Always the brightest, funniest, kindest person in every room. With a crush on me, to make matters very fucking worse”

Maybe this was going to become one of the most humiliating moments in all of your recorded history, after all. You try to take a step back again but his grip grows tighter,

“And I enjoyed it, alright? The idea of someone like you, being into someone not nearly as smart nor selfless. If it would’ve been anyone else, I wouldn’t have wasted a second. But having been lucky enough to score both Armin and you in my life and risking to fuck it all up? Not even I am that stupid”

You gently remove his thumb from your lips.

“Why do it now, then? You’re leaving. You’re telling me all this and you’re leaving”, you fail to keep your voice steady and he sighs.

“I can’t do it if you don’t ask me”

“Do what?”

“Stay”

You smile a stunned smile.

“You want me to ask you to stay? Are you fucking kidding me?”

But he isn’t. It’s shocking, how much he isn’t.

“Don’t you understand? I need you to tell me. Put me out of my misery, please, just tell me”

You want to call him a coward so bad. You want to think he’s this pathetic, whiny person who can’t stand up for his feelings, someone that has been hiding behind some unnecessary, ridiculous hesitation. But you know him. You know he’s been looking after you for years, in his own, stupid way. He knew, probably from day one he knew, and has never made you feel lame about it, has never taken advantage of that juvenile adoration. Could you describe someone like that as pathetic? Could you even believe he wanted to kiss you just as much as you’ve been dying to kiss him for what felt like geological eras?

“Eren”, you mumble his name carefully, hands shaky and certainly way too cold to be pleasant rising up to rest on both sides of his neck. You hold him level in your gaze and take a moment to notice how pretty he looks, with green, red and yellow lights brightening his face at regular intervals. “I know you’re technically older than me but I swear if you get on that plane, I’ll kick your ass”, you ignore the flush creeping up your throat and give neither of you the time to even crack a smile as you slot your mouth to his. And if it isn’t the best, most satisfying feeling in the world to have his palms flatten against your back, pressing you firmly against him but still not hard enough, you decide, as your arms wrap around his neck.

If you had enough air left in your lungs, you would probably throw your head back in laughter for the joy of his hesitation disappearing into thin air as the tip of his tongue teases against your own. He drags you with him as he clumsily walks backwards towards the couch, a chuckle escaping your lips at last as you ungracefully straddle him and bump your head against his in the process.

“Should this feel wrong?”, he pants, your hands anticipating his to brush some hair back from his face. The pressure from his fingers on your hips feels blissful.

“Does it?”, you ask, leaning forward to start tracing his neck with soft, explorative kisses that earn a soft groan.

“Not one bit”, he rasps, one of his hands leaving your hip to sneak up under the fabric of the old sweatshirt you usually sleep in, causing goosebumps to blossom on your feverish skin. You smile against the flesh of his neck, gently sucking right where his fluttering pulse resides. Another low groan vibrates against your lips and you feel one hand on your cheek, gently pulling you away just enough for a half-lidded gaze to find yours.

“Behave”, he warns quietly and you have to suppress a chuckle.

“Kiss me?”, the request comes out sheepishly, because that look in his eyes makes you feel vulnerable, wide open in front of him, with nowhere to hide anymore. And as much as you know you’re an adult who’s doing nothing wrong, nothing to be ashamed of because the person underneath you seems to want you just as much as you want him, Eren is still Eren. And you still feel like a kid, a younger, awkward sibling.

But then he turns his head to the side, just enough to take one of your fingers in his mouth and gently suck on it. The simple gesture sends shock waves through your entire body.

“Ask again. Without overthinking”, he mutters before slowly nibbling at your fingertip, the hand under your sweatshirt lightly stroking your skin.

“Kiss me”, you breathe out and his hand rises all the way up to your ribs, the other skillfully closing around your throat to bring you close as his lips press softly to yours. His kiss is sweet and yet deep, needy. He kisses you until his lungs start burning from the lack of oxygen, but even as he takes a second to catch his breath he refuses to let you go, your laboured exhales burning on his lips, glossy with spit.

“You’re not gonna leave, are you?”, the question comes out in a whisper and Eren lets out an airy chuckle, forehead suddenly resting on your collarbone as he tries his best to be quiet. Cause there he was, struggling to keep himself from devouring you on the same couch where he had watched a Christmas movie with your family just hours prior, and there you were, still asking dumb questions. He wants to wonder how oblivious a person can truly be but would it make sense, honestly? With Armin being his best friend? He’s had plenty of experience already with unawareness and guillibility, it’s just his luck that he now has to double it.

So Eren sighs, pushing back some hair from your face, marveling at how much he misses your lips on his already.

“I wouldn’t want to get my ass kicked”