#and for the first time in my dark skinned life I got three shades darker

[dontwantthenextcommanderiwantyou]

Yes, Black folks too. Our melanin protects us from the sun but you don't wanna be out in it too long without the added protection of sunscreen.

Just remember if you suffer from melancholy and must run away to the sea for your health that you should also wear sunscreen

[so-bitya]

Whitewashing in Anime - Agni ft. Cithis

Browns of the Same Shade

Hello again! I decided to revisit this topic again now that we have Agni's official appearance in the anime. I also wanted to go over some aspects that I did not get to include in my first post.

In the end, Agni also got lightened! His skin tone was always somewhat darker than Soma's in both the anime and manga appearances. Yana does describe his appearance as a "dark-skinned woman" in her genderbend sketches. So, for the anime to lighten him this much to such an degree is disappointing.

The skin diversity in the anime has been pretty lacking so far. Once again, A1 studios was not perfect, but they did manage to give all three Indian characters different dark skin tones, while this anime has every Indian generally the same lightened shade.

(every indian character in the anime are the same skin tone... cloverworks stand up, you can't let a-1 studios beat you like this)

Personal opinion of mine, I feel like animation studios aren't willing to play with skin color values as much anymore. I remember even seeing white characters being various shades of brown, especially under certain lighting and environments. Unlike now, when every character looks bleached the second they hit the sun.

I also wanted to review what I think of Soma's appearance. Soma's skin tone isn't any darker than it was in the teaser shot sadly, so we can't blame the lighting. I already was expecting it, but it's still a shame.

One positive feature I'll give to the anime is that Soma's nose isn't pronounced all the time. In certain scenes, his nose isn't as sharp as it would be for other characters. I believe that's just the style for the anime and its dependent on the shot.

Anyway, I felt this image was pretty on topic with Soma and Agni's situation and just anime remakes/reboots in general lately:

Brown ≠ Grey

Something I'm embarrassed I forgot in my last post is saturation! I mentioned often how darker skin tones tend to be neglected, but not only that, but the color! The vibrancy in the skin, the life!

A common feature I noticed, especially in East Asian media, is how they avoid the "brown" in dark-skinned characters, by constantly making their skin tone duller, ending up with more grey-toned skin.

I often see art advice for digital artists that they should pick desaturated colors or colors in the "grey zone" as to not overwhelm the art piece. Which is fine most of the time! But when you apply that advice for brown skin, what you get are mostly grey tones, and end up having your character look like a zombie.

Here are some colors I randomly picked. The colors on the left are those sandy, dull grey tones I was talking about. If you want to get those richer, deeper-toned browns, you need to pick colors with more saturation like the ones on the right.

Now of course, color is relative and you can't just color pick your way around without considering how it fits in with the rest of the piece. You can even end up washing out your brown character despite choosing a strong brown color. You have to consider the background, lighting, undertones, the environment, and how they'll affect your character. There may even be times desaturated colors work better, but you have to at least consider why it works "better".

Let's take a look at everyone's favorite manga artist right now, Ryoko Rui! Ryoko Rui is praised often for her diverse character roster and creature design, however I always found her darker skin tones rather... lacking, as such for the elf Cithis.

(I color picked her skin tone and it matched my light grey shades above lol)

Her skin tone is very washed out and grey. She not nearly as dark as she appears in the manga. Once again, there's that dissonance between skin tones. Now take a look at the manga's grey tones.

When you see this, what skin tone do you imagine for her? Do you imagine the greyish, washed out tones from above or do you imagine something more akin to these black fae models I found?

(credit: @jaharajayde on twitter and @glassmarigolds on pinterest)

I'll give Rui credit that her color illustrations of Cithis improved and she's gotten better giving Cithis stronger undertones. I really like how the fandom has been illustrating her too, there's been some amazing fanart of Cithis such as these (the lighting in the last one is lovely).

Just adding saturation helps so much with skin tone. I even found an fan edit of Soma that added more color back into his skin, and he looks so much better for it.

One might say, "Oh what's wrong with having grey skin tones in a fantasy story!" Well... nothing really! You can have green or purple or blue characters if you like. But when there's already a startlingly lack of brown characters in a fantasy story, it can get awfully uncomfortable seeing the story portray different fantasy "races" with obviously non white racial features... but don't want to include any black/brown skin tones.

(fantasy artists would sooner give an orc dreads than a human, forget a "noble" creature like an elf... such decisions only reveals the artists' viewpoints)

It all just comes back down to avoiding that dreaded "brown". When it comes to these "reasons", we have to question whether they aren't just more excuses to not include black and brown people in stories, which makes me come to my next point:

Essence of Brown

There's some severe misinformation I want to address about Soma. I saw a fan a while ago say that Soma has a white mother which explains why he has light skin.

Firstly, that information is false. It was a concept Yana had for Soma, but quickly decided to drop it. Soma is not half white.

In the early drafts of the series, Soma had a white mother and, thus, white skin. However, this was later omitted in final revisions.

(quoted from the official kuroshitsuji wiki as an excerpt from the character guide)

Yes, you can have mixed parents and any kind of skin tone really! But it feels... dishonest to create "reasons" why the manga's first major Indian character, joining a cast of white people in a European country, should have white skin as well. Especially considering Yana's artstyle, without Soma's skin tone and Indian wardrobe, is his physical characteristics like his face even distinguishable enough for him not to be mistaken as white?

Imagine I wrote a story set in France, and teased an appearance of an African character in story that only had white characters until now, only for him to be completely white in appearance, and identical to every other white man, except for the occasionally exotic dress and other drab stereotypes.

What would you think? That his race is only a dressing to fulfill an exotic need at times? That he's a supposed homage to another culture, but it's wrong to have him actually look like the majority of people who made said culture? Why is he even this way?

Did he have a white parent? A white upbringing? Lived in a white culture, lived a white life? Maybe he was separated from birth! From his hometown, his country, his people, anything to justify why my "brown" character is so divorced from that part of his identity, from that side of the family whose skin tone runs a little too dark.

And I think that's why Yana decided to drop the concept of giving him a white mother. Why go through all those loopholes and explanations? Why all that justification for him to have white skin?

It's just another way to avoid the "browness" again for a character, what makes them brown in the first place and related to black/brown cultures. It's what we should consider in the future when we find ourselves coming up with "reasons" why black/brown characters should be anything but themselves.

Whitewashing in Anime - Soma ft. Usopp

[aboutcustardcreams]

Help me Hold onto you

I got carried away and I wrote a pretty long chapter. I hope it's smooth enough because for the life of me I couldn't bring myself to reread it. Maybe I will another time and fix some eventual mistakes 👻 Hope you enjoy it! To sum it up: hurt/comfort & fluff. The Doctor (the real Doctor) finds you and she is determined to save you.

word count: 4200 ish words

part three

part four

The Doctor walked carefully through the corridors of the TARDIS, fingertips brushing against its walls, actually surprised by how realistic it looked like. She knew it was only a projection of your mind, not the reality of it, but it was interesting to see her home, yours too, through your eyes. At the same time there was this nagging feeling gripping at her stomach at the thought that this place, you loved so much, was part of the nightmare you were trapped in. She needed to find you and quickly.  

When she arrived at the panel room, she almost didn’t recognize it. The once bright orangish lights were darker there, almost crimson red. It didn’t feel like home one bit, it was distorted into something that made the Doctor feel unsafe, weird in the stomach. It was cold, humid, so much it stuck to her skin, biting through her bones. The Doctor hated humidity, because her hair curled up around her face. 

Her eyes shifted towards the TARDIS’ door and a frown found its way on her forehead. She recognized the grayish mist coming from underneath, the same one that was hovering the planet. Instinct told her you were on the other side of that door. And she had to get to you before the mist did, because if it did– no, the Doctor couldn’t even finish that thought. It wasn’t an option. It could never be an option. So she ran to the door, her palms lifted in mid air, almost afraid to touch the surface, “please, be okay, be okay,” she whispered, almost in a plea. 

Before she could touch the door and push it open, a voice came to her ears. 

“Doctor, I was looking forward to meeting you.” 

The Time Lady’s features hardened. She clenched her eyes shut for a second before spinning around, ready to face the enemy of the day. There he was, standing at the panel control, a creature she only read about in books, and never met before. She honestly would have preferred it that way. The Veilstryx was tall, taller than she thought he would be, slender, with edgy features. His skin was purple colored, a dark shade of it, almost black in fact. The first thing she noticed, though, were those large, majestic wings, folded behind his back, of the same color. 

“Can’t say the same thing about you, Veilstryx,” she retorted, with a tight smile, “Is that, correct? Hope I pronounced it right,” she continued, a hint of sarcasm in her tone, hands tucked in her sweeping coat, “Actually no, I hope I misspelled it,” she added, scrunching up her nose. 

He nodded amusedly. “Funny. You’re funny.” He tilted his head to the side and his four pitch black eyes blinked one by one, almost making him look like some sort of reptile. The Doctor made a disgusted face at that. “I must admit, I was expecting to see a man.” 

The Doctor shrugged, giving him a cheeky little smile. She swayed a bit, shifting her weight from one foot to another, “Ah you know– I had an upgrade,” she responded hastily, having other things in mind to care about. You. “I normally enjoy small talk, but I’m quite in a hurry. Always in a hurry lately, me,” she stirred her lips in a thin line, and lolled her head right and left impatiently.  “You see, you’ve got my friend and I’d like to have her back.”

The Veilstryx hummed, tapping his pointed claws over the dashboard, “your friend, your friend…”, he repeated, pretending to have no idea what the Doctor was talking about. “Ah, you mean that delicious girl you willingly brought here for me,” his forked tongue peeked out of his mouth, sweeping over his purple lips, “such a nice gift, I must admit.” 

The Doctor’s jaw tightened, she felt her stomach drop only to jump back up in her throat. “She doesn’t belong to you,” she spoke quietly, however it was evident the concern and the urgency in her tone. “Let her go.” 

For a moment he gave her his back and unfolded his wings as if he was in need of a stretch. “I’m afraid, I can’t do that.” The Doctor blinked slowly, her mind racing with theories and plans to stop him. He was in your head, and the only way to expel him was through you. You were the key. She took a more meticulous look at his wings, only to realize they were made of some weird substance, transparent like an hologram, but not exactly an hologram themselves. She could see through, almost as if they were made of air. But you can’t see air, now can you? So it was something similar, thicker, visible to the eye like… mist. The souls he collected ended up there. 

“You see, I got a taste of her grief. She suffers so deliciously, I must keep her with me. I haven’t had one so exquisite in a while.”

She closed her hands into fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her frown deepened and her eyes glimmered with fear for you. “If you want to taste grief, I’ve plenty of it,” she took a step towards him, her voice almost desperate at this point, but there was firm determination in her hazel eyes. The Veilstryx tilted his head to the side, and stared at the Doctor, giving her the illusion he was actually considering her proposal. “I’ve lived longer, I’ve seen more than you can possibly imagine. Take me instead and let her go.” 

“Oh but Doctor, you’ll be next,” the grin that tugged at his lips was unsettling, stretching a bit too wide, giving it a predatory air. “I can sense how much this mortal means to you. You meant a lot to her too,” he added, letting out a quiet dark chuckle. His mind traced back to all the things he told you, while using the Doctor’s appearance.

The Time Lady froze when the Veilstryx used the past tense to mention what you felt about her. 

“Where is she?” She hissed, ignoring the sudden dizziness of her head. She could sense you and your thoughts, pushing through, mingling with hers, but she tried to keep them under control. “Tell me now.” 

He pointed at the door with an amused glimmer in his eyes. The Doctor had been right all along to think you were there. “Go ahead, see it for yourself. I’ve heard you’re not fond of goodbyes, but I reckon this time you should make an exception for her.”

The Doctor’s frown deepened, the more he spoke, the more she felt confused. She shook her head, “I’ll not say goodbye. Ever.” Her eyes darkened, “If you hurt her, I–”, her stuttering was interrupted by his sudden breathless laugh. 

“Doctor, I didn’t do anything. You did.” 

Her mouth parted slightly agape, “No. I didn’t– ”

She didn’t even get to finish, the Veilstryx slithered closer, so close to being now only a couple of inches from her. His wings spread wide and closed up around his form, like a cocoon. The Doctor held her breath and didn’t move. When he unfolded his wings again, they started to fade, and his body too wasn’t there anymore. He shapeshifted into someone, the Doctor immediately recognized. Her mouth parted and her breath hitched. She was staring at herself now, her face, her blond bob, even her outfit was particularly true to the original. The sly grin, though, was something she didn’t possess. 

“Tell me you’re impressed,” he cackled, with her voice. 

The Doctor’s eyes flashed, “you pretended to be me…” she muttered under her breath. 

“I did!” He squealed, in a way that made her feel sick to her stomach. “And she fell for it. Oh– it was so easy to break her,” he mused, sweeping his tongue over his new lips, “you’re in her mind, why don’t you see it for yourself?”

The Doctor inhaled sharply, her eyes were welling up with tears. Her original idea was to respect your boundaries, find you and bring you back without snooping around your mind. But now, she needed to know, a part of her needed to see what the Veilstryx did to you using her face. 

She closed her eyes and focused on your mind. It appeared like a room full of doors, one cracked open, others firmly kept shut, probably belonging to the past. She focused on the most recent memory, the door that was left still ajar and she hesitantly gave a peek, pushing it open enough for her to sneak through. 

She felt everything. All your emotions, all your fears and confusion basking in your head, and breaking your heart at the things the Veilstryx was telling you. She had to bring a hand to her mouth to suppress a pained sob. You were shaking, your face had never appeared paler before. The Doctor was a stranger to your tears, she had seen you cry before, but never remotely like that. 

Next, she saw herself grinning mischievously at you, towered over you, like you had been nothing but a ragged doll to push down and down. It was wrong, so wrong. She wanted to throw up. When you begged her to stop, she didn’t listen and instead her fingers curled around your neck. 

She wanted to intervene, but there was nothing she could do to change a memory that already happened. She could only be a spectator of your pain and it killed her. 

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. She pulled away, finding her way back to the crimson red panel room, out of breath. 

She stared at her own image with a hate she never thought she could possess, “What have you done?” Despite her sharp tone, tears were streaming down her cheeks with no control. She didn’t even bother to wipe them. 

The Veilstryx shrugged, “I s’pose you should be asking that yourself, Doctor.” 

“You’ll not have her, you hear me? You think you’re so clever, but you know nothing about what I’m capable of. What she is capable of.” 

He snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up, Doctor. Loving someone so fiercely is the dumbest thing you could do.”

“It’s not,” she was quick to argue. “But what would you know about love?”, she let out a bitter chuckle.

He does his best to keep his face unbothered by her teasing, but the Doctor knows her face too well, to recognize the faint tremor of her eyebrows, proof of her faltering confidence. “Now I’m going to save my friend, and you better not come my way or you’ll be sorry–” 

The Veilstryx dismissed her with a flick of her hand, “take a shot, then. It’s only going to taste sweeter for me,” he grinned, but the Doctor didn’t bother to look at him. She spun around and moved towards the TARDIS’ door, throwing it open with no hesitation nor fear whatsoever. 

*

The Doctor’s hearts clenched painfully in her chest at the sight of you crouched down across the room of your apartment, shaking like a dry leaf, with your head buried in your hands. She had seen you in pain before, however, never like this. Perhaps it was because she was in your head, and could feel everything you were feeling: despair, fear, confusion and sadness. It was almost unbearable to stand and watch. With what the Veilstryx showed you, the Doctor was terrified of how you might react to seeing her again. But she pushed through, she would always do that for you. 

Her knees gave in then and she found herself crouched down across you. “Hi, stardust–” when she placed a hand upon your shoulder, your cries subsided softly. The Doctor’s lips quivered in a watery smile, desperately waiting to meet your eyes, “It’s alright,” she added gently, “I know you’re scared, but I’m here now– I’m with you…”

Slowly lifting your head, you’re beyond confused to see her in your apartment. You blinked slowly, as if in trance. How could you not be? After all the things she told you. “Doctor?” your voice sounded barely above a whisper, “what are you doing in my house?” Your orbs would normally sparkle with joy at the sight of the Doctor, but not this time. This time your eyes were glassy and dull, your dark thick lashes were wet with tears, that seemed to never end. 

The Doctor did her best to ignore the sensation of being unwelcome. “This is not your house. And that person you think you saw earlier in the TARDIS, that by the way was not the TARDIS, wasn’t me,” she began, her voice calming, despite the unnatural turmoil going on inside her. She couldn’t ignore how unsettling it was to look into your eyes and see a mixture of disappointment and sadness, veiling them. You never once doubted the Doctor, however at that specific moment it was crystal clear, you were uncertain whether to believe her or not. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I know what I saw, who I saw…”, you clarified, in a firm voice. 

The Doctor shook her head slowly, her hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek, or at least that was her intention. But you flinched, “Please, don’t–” you croaked out, making the Time Lady sick in her stomach. You never once pulled away from her, and that hurt the Doctor more than she’d like to admit. When she murmured your name in a soft plea, you clenched your eyes shut, hating the velvety sound of it. 

You bit back a choked sob, sick and tired of crying. “Don’t play with me anymore,” you wanted to be mad at her, to show a different demeanor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

“No. No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t,” she whispered with a certain urgency. She tilted her head to the side to meet your eyes. You were the absolute best thing that ever happened to her, and the fact that you didn’t know was entirely her fault. No matter how hard she tried to keep those she loved safe, the Doctor always ended up making the same mistakes, over and over. Because she loved you and you thought the opposite. 

You gave her a breathless, short chuckle, “If believing that makes you sleep easier at night, go ahead–”, you muttered sarcastically.

The Doctor slightly shook her head again. Normally she would respond with a playful remark, telling you Time Lords don’t really sleep, but there was nothing funny in the conversation you two were having. It had nothing to do with the usual domesticity between you. “Listen to me,” she tried again, and with a shaky hand, she tried to touch you again, “you’re trapped in your own mind now, the Veilstryx did this to you. Long story short, he took my form to hurt you, because that’s what he does– he feeds on people’s grief and biggest fears. He manipulates minds to his own advantage…” she could almost count all the freckles from your face, for how close she got. Both her hands were cupping your cheeks, her thumbs tracing soothing circles on your wet skin. “But I’m here now, the real me, the one that would never hurt you, hear me? Never.”

There was so much honesty and sincerity in her eyes, you found yourself vacillating. She sounded so much like your Doctor, the person you fell in love with, so different from the one you saw earlier in the TARDIS. 

“I want to trust you, and I feel like a part of me will always do, but what happened earlier– I can’t get it out of my head–”, you exhaled, making the Doctor’s breath hitch painfully. “I never thought you could hurt me like that-” you whispered, your voice was a mixture of sobs and gasps. It was harder to breathe, the more time passed. 

The Doctor wanted to shout now, but her voice died in her throat. She kept hold of you, hushing you gently and pulling you against her chest. You let her. Despite everything that happened, you’d always fall for her display of affections, fake or not. That’s what love did to people. It made them stupid, dependent, and weak. 

The Doctor had faced all kinds of enemies and dangers throughout her life, but nothing prepared her for such a twist. The possibility of you turning your back to her. “Please, don’t say that. I swear to you, that wasn’t me–” she croaked out, voice heavy with tears. “You have to believe me. I know it’s hard, but if you don’t– “ she clenched her eyes and let out a shaky breath. She couldn’t even spill those words. She couldn't even tell herself that you could die, even less to you. “I don’t want to lose you. Please, I’m beggin’ you. Please, don’t make me lose you.” 

There was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes now. Not to what she said, but to what you witnessed earlier in the TARDIS. You had your suspicions too, to be frank, because that person telling you all those horrible things had sounded so artificial, impossibly cruel, and the Doctor you knew was many things, but cruel. 

You lightly pulled away from her, eager to lock eyes with her, “you’re telling the truth?” You asked timidly, your voice so small and filled with vulnerability. When the Doctor nodded her head, without the minimum hesitation, you believed her right away. Perhaps it was irresponsible, and rather stupid, but you’d rather believe this version of her, the one you’ve always known, rather than the cruel one. 

“I want to believe you,” you continued, a sad smile tracing your features. “This truth is better than the one I saw earlier. Anything would be better than that.”

The Doctor’s eyes shone with hope then, “always been brilliant, you.” 

She caught you blushing softly and fidgeting at the compliment received. With extreme gentleness, as if it was the rawest thing in the world, she interlocked your fingers with hers. Another sign to show you she was there for you, and you had nothing to worry about. When she brought your knuckles to her lips, you stared deeply into her hazel eyes, and a wave of guilt flashed through you for all those horrible things you let yourself believe about the Doctor.  And if she was in your head now, there was the slight possibility that she knew–You needed to apologize, you needed to tell her you didn’t really believe all those things that crossed your mind the moment the Doctor– the Veilstryx curled his fingers around your neck with the purpose of hurting you. Because meeting her was and will always be the greatest gift of your life. 

“Doctor, I need to apologize for– when the Veilstryx took your form and said those things, I–”, you bit your tongue, feeling a crescendo of new tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Don’t go there, don’t you dare–” she argued quickly, yet fondly. “I’m the only one that owes you an apology, a big one. And I promise, I’ll make up to you for the rest of my life, but now we should focus on going back. You need to wake up, pull away from the Veilstryx and quickly.”

You nodded, however hesitantly. “How do I do that?” 

“By facing your fears and acknowledging them as such. Irrational scenarios of your mind.” That was indeed your Doctor, your brilliant, rambler Doctor. “They aren’t real and they will never be real. Break the contact with the Veilstryx, make sure he has nothing to hold on to. He has no power in the real world, and you should focus on what’s real, on the things you know are real–” 

You nodded again, and reluctantly let go of her hand to press your fingers firmly against your temples, as if that gesture would push away the lies he fed you with. Your heart rate picked up and cold sweat started pooling from your forehead. He was resisting you. 

“Help me,” you croaked out. “Help me see our life together.” 

You didn’t need to ask twice, when she spoke again, her voice was quieter, yet more serious, “Yaz is waiting for you in the TARDIS, the real one,” her eyes widened slightly when she averted her gaze from your eyes to the fingers on your temples. Your digits were turning the same color of the Veilstryx’s wings, as if they were— fading. He was starting to suck you away. 

She took your hands in her and took a sigh of relief, realizing she could still feel them. “She is worried sick about you but she’s also mad– nothing serious, you know her. She had a bad feeling about Nectoxia and she was right. Always right, that girl. We should listen to her more often,” there’s a hint of weak playfulness in her tone, that elicits a quiet chuckle in you. 

“I should’ve taken her money.”

“You should have. But don’t tell her I said that,” she mused tenderly. 

She started talking about all the adventures you lived together, the silly, quite ordinary moments in the TARDIS like the time you slipped on her sonic, while carrying a tray with freshly baked cookies. You were so determined to hold a grudge, but failed every time the Doctor would make eye contact with you. Her and her silly faces always made you cackle.

You merely rolled your eyes at the memory, “You ate all those that fell on the floor.” 

“Of course, I did. They were delicious,” she remarked, with a grin. 

As she kept talking, you listened attentively, your heart felt lighter and your body warmed up, as if it was coming back to life again. Your hands were tingling, they looked like a hologram, appearing and disappearing intermittently. You were fighting him. When her lips moved to the crown of your head, you smiled and closed your eyes for a brief second, basking in her affection and wishing it could go on forever. 

You let out a sigh while clinging to the Doctor’s tee. “The Veilstryx thought he could weaken me by showing me my biggest fear. Little did he know he only made me stronger,” you began, voice quiet but resolute. 

Her lip quivered slightly, but she was determined to not make a single noise. 

“I think it’s a common fear, especially for those that had the luck to travel with you, the idea that someday all of this will end. For the first moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were  my best chance in life to be the best version of myself. And I was right. I tried to be like you, to be brave, kind and extraordinary like you. I wanted you to notice me, the way I noticed you.” 

The Doctor wanted to say that she noticed you from the very beginning too. That she saw all the things you could be the exact moment you took her hand and joined her in her blue box. 

“I’ll hold onto you no matter how much it will hurt later. Because this–” you pulled away and pointed at you and her with a fond smile, “this is worth everything.”

The Doctor ran a hand across your cheek, her fingers trembled as she wiped all your new tears. She later pushed some of your hair from your face, combing it gently, so gently, you closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh. 

She leaned in, wishing to be part of your beautiful little bubble. “I’ve never been too good with words, but if there’s one thing I’m sure about is you. You’re an essential pillar in my life and you will always be. I don’t know what the future has in store for us, but I can see how beautiful our present is and I want to live it, the longest possible. And having a time machine at my disposal could help with that, don’t you think?” 

“Definitely,” you chuckled. 

Your hands were no longer fading, but you felt a tad weird, as if you were being pulled away. There was another voice you heard in the distance. You frowned and lolled your head to the side as to hear it better. 

Come on, come on, come back you two… what’s taking you so long?

“I think I’m hearing Yaz…” you muttered confusedly. 

“It’s okay,” she encouraged you with a warm smile. “It means you’re waking up. Let it happen. Yaz and I are gonna be there.”

“Promise?”

She nodded her head, eyes softening as she took in your adorable expression. She grasped your chin and lifted your face towards hers, her eyes basked in yours before shifting down towards your lips. Her face was so close you couldn’t help but wish to shorten that gap even more. 

I want to kiss you so bad right now, you thought to yourself.  

The Doctor chuckled against your mouth, her breath tickling your lips as she spoke. “Same here, stardust, but I think you’d appreciate it more if our first kiss didn’t happen in a dream.” 

In that exact moment you realized she heard your thoughts. And instead of feeling uneasy and embarrassed by it, you were happier than ever. You nodded your head, and your heart fluttered at her words. “You better be on the other side then.”

A small, sheepish grin played out on her face, along with a faint blush rose on her cheeks. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything in the Universe.”

[adndmonsteraday]

Lizardfolk, also known as lizard men, and known among their own kind as the Kecualas, were a race of reptilian humanoids native to Toril.

“In all my dealings with the lizardfolk. I was never able to tell what they were thinking. Their reptilian eyes belied no hint of their intentions. I gave them supplies. They gave me the willies.” — A merchant's account of the lizardfolk.

Lizardfolk were semi-aquatic reptilian humanoids. Their skin was covered in scales and varied in color from dark green through to shades of brown and gray. Taller than humans and powerfully built, lizardfolk were often between 6 and 7 feet (1.8–2.1 m) tall and weighed between 200 and 250 pounds (90.7–113 kg). Lizardfolk had non-prehensile muscular tails that grew to three or four feet in length, and these were used for balance. They also had sharp claws and teeth.

Although non-reptilians struggled to tell the difference between males and females, lizardfolk could easily distinguish themselves.

Lizardfolk had to keep their skin relatively moist and needed to wet their bodies regularly if they were in dry climates. For this reason they were particularly fearful of desert landscapes.

Lizardfolk were strong and hardy beings, and their thick scaly hides protected against attack. They could hold their breaths far longer than humans could, up to twice as long as an equivalent human. This ability enabled them to operate underwater in their marshy homes.

The lizardfolk's tails aided them in keeping their balance and in leaping, and made them particularly gifted swimmers.

Lizardfolk were also noted to have darkvision.

Lizardfolk had no interest in money or jewels. They also did not much value accumulating knowledge if it was not practically useful. They largely valued things based on whether or not it was good to eat. If it was, it quickly got their attention; if not, it was ignored. Lizardfolk could often become distracted at the appearance of food, even if they were in combat. They were easier to parley with after a meal, and a hungry lizardfolk was completely obstreperous.

Lizardfolk could be highly dangerous when provoked. However, they were not inherently evil; they were simply savage and had a hard time fitting in with the civilized world. Those that ventured into towns or cities were often alarmed, frightened, or offended by the environment. Few tried to adapt, let alone assimilate into Faerûnian societies. Instead, they felt their part was to learn about "softskin" ways and in turn show them how "real people" lived.

Lizardfolk females laid clutches of eggs, from which their young hatched. The eggs were kept well protected in the tribe's lair. The life of a hatchling was especially hard. Lizardfolk reached maturity within five years of hatching.

As lizardfolk aged, their bodies slowed down. Most lizardfolk over the age of 60 spent their days laying on warm rocks in the sun. Although lizardfolk aged much the same and had a similar lifespan to humans—the oldest reached 80 years of age—it was rare for lizardfolk males to grow old as they usually died in combat long before.

“Beware the lizardfolk, my friends, they too walk with a dark purpose these days, darker even than their usual love for human flesh to eat.” — Beriand

Lizardfolk were omnivorous, but strongly favored meat when they could get it. According to stories, to the lizardfolk, the most delicious meat was humanoid flesh, especially human, but this claim was more-or-less unfounded. However, some tribes did consume captives and enemies slain in battle. but more civilized tribes often resisted this craving. Meanwhile, ritual cannibalism of deceased tribe-members was customary.

Lizardfolk were quick to consume anything that was edible. For this reason, lizardfolk never kept pets.

When hunters brought back prey, adult lizardfolk ate first, taking what they wished. The young were usually left with the scraps, and more often than not subsisted on edible plants foraged from around the tribe's lair.

Most lizardfolk had little interest in battle tactics or strategy, and they fought as a disorganized mass of individuals. Despite their impressive hunting skills, lizardfolk often relied on strength and weight of numbers in battle, and simply charged their foes head-on. At the most, they would try to push foes into water, where lizardfolk often enjoyed an advantage.

However, if lizardfolk were being attacked or pursued, or their camps were in danger or their territory invaded, their hunting skills came to the fore and they laid traps, snares, and pitfalls. They organized ambushes and raided enemy supplies. The more advanced tribes attempted cleverer strategies and traps. A great many lizardfolk lairs were defended by traps.

Lizardfolk gathered into tribes. A typical tribe might have 150 lizardfolk, with around 50 male, 50 female, and 50 hatchlings, Another might have only 30–60 adults, with half as many hatchlings and one tenth that number in unhatched eggs.

Lizardfolk society was patriarchal and leaders held their positions for their strength and power alone. Although challenges for leadership were rarely made, anyone in the tribe could try and seize power from the leader. This would leave the tribe unorganized and vulnerable until a new leader took charge or the old leader had reasserted their position. Lizardfolk leaders were most often barbarians or even druids. In a tribe, they would be assisted by two lieutenants. Many skilled warriors were fighters and barbarians.

Tribal shamans, meanwhile, were usually clerics who worshiped Semuanya. Shamans rarely served as leaders, and by-and-large only offered advice.

Females in the tribes were responsible for hatching eggs, raising young, and maintaining the camp. All the females in the tribe would work together to raise the young. They monitored their hatchlings closely, as the young were difficult to handle and tended to wander off, away from camp and into the wilderness.

Lizardfolk fashioned primitive weaponry and tools from wood, stones, and plants they found in the wetlands. Lizardfolk preferred weapons they could fashion themselves from what was available, and so they tended to be simple and limited in variety. More advanced tribes made use of a wider range of weaponry and shields. Moreover, they would sometimes utilize weapons they found or stole; tribal leaders typically got to use items that had been stolen or bartered from other races. The barbed dart was a weapon unique to the lizardfolk. However, their claws and teeth were often sufficient.

Camps varied in style from tribe to tribe. The simplest were just damp leaves used for bedding, but more developed lizardfolk tribes built crude dwellings.

They did not keep animals as pets or mounts, but rarely a lizardfolk druid might employ their magic to charm a dinosaur and ride it into battle to awesome effect.

A species of giant gourds was staple of the Lizard Marsh. These enormous edible fruits were hollowed and dried out by the lizardfolk of the Marsh, making them into oversized containers, often bigger than an adult human in size. These gourds were painted, decorated, and used to store various liquids, such as fresh water, fermented alcohol, and small swimming snacks.

The lizardfolk had no traditions of farming, cultivation, or animal raising, so food was acquired through fishing, hunting, scavenging, or stealing. Those that dwelled near other humanoids raided their neighbors for food, supplies, and even slaves. The tribe's survival was its primary, or indeed, only concern. When they felt threatened, or when food shortages would lead to starvation, a tribe would do absolutely anything to guarantee its survival, even committing acts others would see as despicable.

Most lizardfolk were content to live their lives out in the swamps and marshes where they were born but, on occasion, some would venture outside their swampy homes to hunt bigger and more dangerous prey. Sometimes a lizardfolk even desired to know more about the outside world, but mostly to bring knowledge back to their leader. When they did so, lizardfolk rarely traveled alone. If they left the swamp, they would do so in pairs or groups of three. Lizardfolk feared that, without others of their own kind with them to remind them of who and what they were, they would lose their identity and be seduced by the ways of civilization and never come home again.

When a member of the tribe passed away, they were eaten by the others in a ceremonial wake. In this way, they became part of the tribe again, not just figuratively but literally.

In addition to possessing their own language, Lizardfolk commonly spoke Draconic and smarter individuals sometimes learned bits of Common. Depending on where they lived, lizardfolk might learn other languages like Dwarven, Elven, Gnoll, Goblin, Orc, or other languages used in their area, even Aquan. Most ordinary lizardfolk were illiterate.

Most lizardfolk worshiped Semuanya, who focused solely on the survival and propagation of the lizardfolk species. This religion was maintained by clerics who served as tribal shamans; they bestowed Semuanya's blessings on the lizardfolk people whenever required. Although they had no shrines or temples, nor even regular ceremonies, lizardfolk were very proud of their religious traditions and their deity. However, Semuanya was an uncaring and unfeeling god who dismissed even the suffering of his followers, expecting them to take care of themselves.

Thanks to Semuanya's close links to nature, and because lizardfolk were naturally close to the land, ready to take what it gave them, many lizardfolk had no problem shifting to worshiping nature itself. This led to a high number of lizardfolk druids.

However, the lizardfolk had other gods. Their original god was Essylliss, who focused on the lizardfolk themselves. But as Semuanya's influence grew, Essylliss's worship declined until he was almost forgotten. He was followed by a bare few lizardfolk.

There was also the cult of Sess'innek, a demon lord who represented dominion and his version of civilization. He sought to corrupt the lizardfolk, and created the demonic lizard kings to this end; they operated as tribal leaders or shamans. Sess'innek's followers were hostile, territorial, and greedy. They tried to convert all other lizardfolk to their cult, or else kill them off, and they attacked Semuanya's shamans on sight.

Lizardfolk generally inhabited marshes and swamps in the temperate and warm regions of Faerûn. The majority dwelled in swamps in well-hidden lairs, but around a third of the lizardfolk population actually laired in underwater caves that were filled with air.

There were populations of lizardfolk in Chessenta and the Chondalwood, around the Lake of Steam and the Vilhon Reach, on the Nelanther Isles, and in the Western Heartlands. In particular, communities lived in the Deepwash, the Flooded Forest, the Marsh of Chelimber, the Marsh of Tun, and the Great Swamp of Rethild. Lizardfolk could also be found in the cooler swamps of the Sword Coast like the Lizard Marsh and the swamps at the mouth of the Winding Water.

In Chult, lizardfolk could be seen on the shores of the River Olung. Beyond Faerûn, lizardfolk could be found in the continent of Zakhara. There they tended to be more civilized than their western brethren, with many living in cities alongside other races.

Lizardfolk were also one of the major races on the inner planet Coliar, populating the earth islands of the gas giant. They showed great interest in spelljammer technology.

Neighboring lizardfolk tribes would often ally against formidable enemies, even against other hostile lizardfolk tribes.

The relationship of lizardfolk to other races was considered to be mostly that of hunter to prey. Lizardfolk of somewhat more civilized nature understood that other races might know something worth learning, and were ready to parley. Lizardfolk were most likely to negotiate with halflings. Nevertheless, lizardfolk considered themselves stronger and thus better than most other races and therefore thought of themselves as "real people". Lizardfolk referred to most of the civilized races as "softskins".

Lizardfolk rarely interacted with other races as their swampy homelands were home to few other sentient creatures. Their main competitors in the swamps were bullywugs, whom lizardfolk tended to despise. They sometimes allied with locathahs, or choose to serve highly dominant creatures like dragons or nagas.

In places where lizardfolk raiding parties threatened civilization, interracial relations could be particularly bad, In the coastal village of Lathtarl's Lantern the hunting of lizard folk became a sport.

In rare events when lizardfolk were aided by members of other humanoid races and became respected among a tribe, robed lizardfolk shamans created large enchanted amulets of bronze. These items were universally recognized by all lizardfolk and proclaimed that the wearer was a trusted friend. The amulet protected the wearer from any and all lizardmen attacks unless forced to defend themselves. The magics weaved by the lizardfolk were complex dweomers that made it instantly apparent if the medallion was copied. Additionally, these amulets were attuned to a specific wearer, making them useless when sold, gifted, or stolen.

The eggs and skin of lizardfolk were bitter and inedible.

The skin of lizardfolk could be fashioned into armor.

“I heard about lizard men in stories my parents told. They were the stuff of fireside tales.” — Sage of Shadowdale

The lizardfolk themselves had no written history. Lizardfolk themselves believed they were one of the first humanoid races on Toril. In their story, lizardfolk had dwelled in the swamps since the beginning and that all the civilized races outside had evolved from weak lizardfolk who could not endure their harsh life and left the swamps. Thus, the lizardfolk could look down upon the civilized races as weaklings.[8] Outsiders thought it more likely that lizardfolk were an offshoot of the ancient Creator Race known as the sarrukh, appearing long before any of the interloper races came to Toril

Regardless, it was clear that lizardfolk had an unimaginably ancient culture, virtually unchanged over the eons

In −1732 DR, the Lapal tribes imported large numbers of lizardfolk as slaves from the Great Swamp of Rethild. Many of the lizardfolk escaped into the land that would become Halruaa.

In −189 DR, the armies of Serpentes conquered the Tashalar. The army was made up of lizardfolk and yuan-ti.

In the Year of the Waking Dreams, 289 DR, lizardfolk claimed the flooded city of Marsember in Cormyr after King Torst and his brother Gordroun were slain in the flooding.

In 993 DR, several lizardfolk tribes migrated eastward from Serpent Hills into the newly formed Marsh of Chelimber.

In 1330 DR, the community of Reeshov saw an influx in lizardfolk after the creatures were freed from mind flayer control.

Source: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Lizardfolk

[kd-holloman]

Find the Word Tag Game!

I was tagged by @enchanted-lightning-aes! Thanks for the tag! I love participating in games!

My words are: vacation, further, crumble, and mountain.

Vacation

Trip

“You’re a long way from Chicago, aren’t you, Mr. O’Brien?” 

“Two and a half hours, give or take.”

“Trust me, I know,” Shanhoff said. “I was dumbfounded that you found yourself all the way out here. Tell me, what gives Jefferson the honor of having you here?”

Slater debated on whether or not he wanted a lawyer. He hadn’t been detained, yet, but didn’t want to say anything incriminating. The problem was that he didn’t have a lawyer and all of his resources for obtaining one worth their salt were gone because he’d severed ties with Rick. “I’m on my way to visit a friend in St. Louis.”

“And you chose to stop and rent a hotel room only two and a half hours into your trip?” 

“My car is a piece of junk. I bought it off of a guy in the city for less than a grand. It’s got nearly three hundred thousand miles on it and burns oil. It was overheating so I decided to stop for the night.” 

Shanhoff gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. She reached over and flipped the cover on the folder she’d dropped in front of him. 

Slater glanced down. Paperclipped to the first page was a photo of him. He couldn’t tell how recent it was, but he recognized the location. He was walking down the street near one of his favorite ramen shops. Whoever had taken the picture had used a good enough camera and lens to capture some of his freckles and his mismatched eyes. 

He was pissed that he had missed someone following him. 

Shanhoff snatched the folder away and turned it toward her. “Slater Michael O’Brien, born on November thirteenth, and are five-ten.” She flipped a sheet and scanned the pages and then held it up to summarize, “You’re flagged for your relationship with Rick O’Shea.”

Further

Slater rested his hand over Louis’s. It was warm. He could feel every knobby joint in his fine-boned fingers. It would be easy to get lost in tracing their shape. He wanted to memorize the ridges in his knuckles or feel the smoothness of his fingernails beneath his fingertips. 

He realized Louis was watching him, waiting for further instruction. 

Slater cleared his throat. “First,” he murmured, moving the shifter into position. 

Louis didn’t look at the gearshift. He was too busy watching Slater. 

Slater ignored the way that the dark made his eyes look darker. They were the same rich shade of  green as oak leaves in the summer.  It made the beer sit warmly in his stomach. “Second. Third.” 

“Fourth,” Louis said, voice soft as he let Slater’s hand guide him into place. 

Slater looked up from their hands. 

Louis wasn’t looking at him anymore. He guided the shifter into place and stated, “Fifth.” He looked up and met Slater’s gaze. 

Slater took advantage of the time to stare right back. 

Louis swallowed and cleared his throat. He put the car back in neutral. “What now?” 

“Hold in the clutch and the brake. Turn the key.” 

The beater hummed to life.

Crumble

Slater exhaled a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. It had been a long time since he’d felt so angry, hopeless, and trapped. He was starting to crumble. 

He couldn’t let himself fall apart. There was too much at stake. 

Tears prickled beneath his eyelids, threatening to spill from beneath his lashes. 

No, he wouldn’t allow himself to get swept away in a flood of tears. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. 

His fury was back, sweltering and consuming.  He smashed his fist against the grimy tiles on the bathroom wall. 

Pain shot up his hand, but that did stop him. He punched the tile again and again until the skin on his knuckles split open and pain throbbed through his wrist.

Blood dripped from his hand, landing in splattered droplets on the dingy bathroom floor. He ignored it and the pain that pulsed up his arm with every racing beat of his heart. The pain in his hand was better than allowing himself to be suffocated by the weight of the darkness sitting like a black hole in his chest.

Mountain

His apathy was a rock, his emotions a mountain creek. The side-effects of his abilities started strong and it stayed that way until the force of his feelings started to wear it down, smoothing away its rough edges. They ground away at his apathy until it got smaller and smaller. In the end, his emotionlessness was washed downstream.

I'm going to tag: @pertinax--loculos, @pe-ersona, @blueinkblot and @magic-is-something-we-create!

As usual, if you aren't tagged and want to play, feel free!

Your words are: New, warmth, sliver, and scowl/(ed/ing)

[ackerfics]

levi who's fascinated with the way you apply makeup on yourself and watches you every time you do it, surprisingly does well when you tell him to do your makeup just for fun

i am one of those people who have no idea about applying makeup but i'm levi when somebody's doing it tho, especially if that someone is a close friend of mine snjdnwjnw i just stare at them while they continue doing their thing, it's so fricking satisfying <3

but this is levi we're talking about so here we go:

(pls don't attack me for what i write in this bc i absolutely have no idea abt doing makeup. my knowledge in this is very limited and revolves around watching youtube videos and watching my friends do it bdwjwbj)

if you're planning on going out, even if it's a natural makeup look since you're only hanging out with some old friends or preparing for your class (online or not), levi is ready to stop what he's doing to appreciate the colors you paint over your eyelids or how you blend them so well until they become this aesthetic levi associates you with. for him, you're already so pretty without makeup but when you dedicate your time in perfecting your craft, creating so many looks, levi thinks that it enhances your beauty because you look so adorable while working so hard.

he admires that about you.

you are rummaging in your pouch in your shared apartment's dining table, the morning sunlight filtering through the windows and the pink skies blanketing the waking-up city. the smell of french toast and tea covers the entire space, levi cooking breakfast for the day. you have an online class scheduled in about thirty minutes and after going out of the bathroom, you instantly start making yourself look presentable. you have your laptop opened to your camera app as your mirror, deciding that a change of scenery is perfect for your productivity. you pick up your vitamin c dropper and moisturizer and let the low music from levi's phone fill in the background, your hums mingling with the singer's voice. since all of your classes were announced to be set online for the whole year, you opt for a lighter look which still covers the blemishes that your camera can't hide.

you hear a plate click on the spot beside your laptop, a mug of your favorite brew of coffee on your cat coaster appearing soon after.

"what time is your first class?" levi asks you as he's settling in his chair adjacent to yours. he always chooses that seat wherever you two eat since as he claims it, i want you close to me.

you look up from rubbing the moisturizer on your skin. "oh, 7 a.m., i chose the worst time to take that class."

levi sips on his tea. "you have economics, right?"

you begrudgingly nodded. "i know it sucks but i can't do anything about it." you run your fingers over your eyes. "damn, i have dark eye circles." after putting on your primer, you start by putting on concealer on your under-eyes, dabbing on your skin gently. the whole day, you'll be lounging and doing work inside the comforts of your shared apartment with your boyfriend so going overboard with the makeup won't help and will be a lot of work to erase later after your classes. "what time is your class, levi?"

by now, levi's breakfast is forgotten as he leans on his chair, gray eyes following each of your movements. he always find himself captivated with how effortlessly you make yourself even prettier. even though he prefers your bare skin more (placing random kisses on your cheeks or the corners of your lips are more doable without the feeling of cream stuck on his lips), he still likes how makeup turns you into an artist that uses your face as a blank canvas. he watches with awed eyes how you daintily dab your cream blush over your cheeks and over you the bridge of your nose, blending it that levi thought it's a natural glow on your skin.

with a dazed tone, he answers, "nine."

you glance at him with the prettiest eyes he ever find on a person. you sigh when you realize that he woke up early to make breakfast. "i can cook breakfast, you know. you should've slept in today, levi."

levi shakes his head, sipping on his tea. "no, i'd rather wake up early and make breakfast every day than snuggle alone with our pillows." he then shrugs. "besides, watching you do your morning routine is a great way to start the day."

you only smile at him before cutting a piece of french toast and putting it in your mouth. a hum of satisfaction lights up your face. levi's way of cooking traditional breakfast dishes never fails to amaze you. he has these secrets that even you don't know of since he wants to cook for you with surprises sometimes. with half of your french toast consumed, you continue with your eyebrows and eye makeup, which only consists of applying one shade of eyeshadow and putting on mascara.

if levi has a favorite part of your routine, it's you curling your eyelashes and applying mascara on them to make your eyes more noticeable. and as he watches you create the illusion that your eyelashes longer than they are, he can't prevent the blissful sigh coming out of his lips. it catches your attention and the moment your eyes meet with his, levi's cheeks start to warm. that pretty smile that always take his breath away greets his vision, making him shy under your gaze.

"like what you see, babe?" you jokingly ask.

after staring on his untouched french toast like they're worth displaying in a museum, levi looks back to you with half-lidded eyes. "very much, baby."

now, you're the one with flaming cheeks. the little moment turns into something that induces a laugh from levi, with you huffing that your heart sometimes can't take his words. you go back to finishing your french toast before applying your flavored chapstick, levi's loving stare never faltering, lasting even when you have your first class of the day.

every once in a while, you hand levi your makeup pouch with an expectant stare. the first time you did this to him, he couldn't comprehend what your intention is at first until you tell him that you want him to be the one doing your makeup this time. he nearly backs out. he's scared of poking your eyes out but you reassure him that he will never do that.

for a person who never imagined himself in this position, the ending result becomes your favorite look. not because it's levi but because he did it so minimally that it appeals to you.

"this is for your face, right?" levi softly asks, lifting your moisturizer. he's sitting close to you, inches separating your faces. he's saying that it makes him see clearer but you know that he's being clingy without saying anything. "i just want to make sure i'm using the right products."

"levi, sweetheart," you laugh under your breath, "i already laid out everything on our bed. and in order. you got this."

he sighs. "you have another minute to think this through. we're meeting with the others in the club and i can't have you looking like my coloring book when i was three."

you place your hands over his cheeks. "relax, levi, you'll do fine!"

"fine."

opening the moisturizer, he keeps glancing at you to check if he's putting the right amount on your skin. once the small dots of cream are on your face, levi takes a deep breath and gently rubs it to cover your skin. despite having blemishes, levi thinks that your skin feels so soft underneath his calloused fingers. he'll caress your cheeks the whole day if not for your supposed call time which is in forty minutes. a sigh brushes on your face, levi cursing erwin for making them come on time. once he finishes rubbing your moisturizer on your face, he nods in approval, and kisses your lips quickly before moving on to the next step which is the primer.

you are admiring levi the whole time his face scrunches up in concentration. you're holding your laugh back when you see his lips curling in distaste, having applied more than your instructed amount. you're looking at him with a soft stare, your small smile fondly lifts up your lips. his eyes are a beautiful shade of silver, blue tones peeking through, and it makes your heart warm. his skin glows under the overhead lights of your shared bedroom, smooth to the touch. there are no words left to speak --- levi is simply the most beautiful person gracing your life, the definition of pretty and handsome combined together.

"okay, i'm starting your eyes now."

you didn't register that he's finished with applying concealer and blush on your cheeks.

levi turns to the opened palette sitting on the towel-covered duvet. "which shade are you feeling right now?"

with a cheeky grin, you answer, "how about you surprise me."

"... if i hear one complain from you later, you can always catch a ride with four-eyes on the way back."

levi eyes a specific palette with oranges and browns and starts winging it. if someone looks from the sidelines, levi looks like he's ready to murder someone. his eyes are narrowed, bottom lip in between in teeth, and face scrunched in peak concentration. he starts with that shimmery dark peach eyeshadow he finds pretty on you, then continuing with something darker on the outside corners of your eyes. one eye lasts for ten minutes but you understand since this is levi's first time applying makeup on a person. you can feel his breath tickling your face since he has scooted closer to you to perfect this.

"okay, i'm done, what's next?"

"liquid eyeliner."

that alone makes levi stop.

"then it's the mascara. your favorite part."

"... you do the eyeliner. i don't want you going blind because of me."

in short, levi is phenomenal with makeup and he doesn't even know it.

[aizawaorkuroo]

A Burnt Offering

Ship: Dabi x f!reader

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Your long lost childhood friend sends you letters. And then everything falls apart. Or perhaps together? Otherwise known as “Dabi wants you. And Dabi gets what he wants.”

Warnings: dubcon, non-consensual voyeurism, stalking, manipulation, spitting, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, creampie, cock warming, unprotected sex

A/N: Spoilers for ch. 290 kinda!!! Don’t think too hard about how they’re childhood friends. Not going to be canon compliant cause i make the rules uwu,, also this is a little darker than what I’ve written in the past, (but still pretty soft all things considered) so please read the warnings!!!

_________________________________

“Dreamed of peach trees. Dreamed, again, of drowning. Dreamed of highways becoming rivers. Dreamed of me, my long hair in flames, my body no longer a body, but a burnt offering, strange smoke rising up to meet him” - Nicola Maye Goldberg

.

.

.

The first letter you received was a little out of the ordinary, but nothing special. It had been left under your doormat, sticking out ever so slightly. You had brushed it off, assuming they had gotten the address wrong, or meant to send it to the person who lived in your apartment before you.

The right thing would’ve been to leave it there, or throw it away. But curiosity is a fickle beast, choosing to rear its head at strange times.

You furrow your brows, eyes scanning the words hastily scratched onto the paper. It felt familiar, but nothing truly stuck with you. You couldn’t think too hard about it, now when you had so much to get done.

It was a random occurrence, one that slipped your mind as you went about your day, the letter sitting on your kitchen counter.

hey,

we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you i guess. i swear to god i sometimes still feel your hand in mine and sometimes i think of your smile. maybe I’ll see you soon.

It’s left unsigned, and you can’t help but to feel bad that it got sent to you. But there’s no return address, nothing to hint at where it’s supposed to go. So it sits on your counter, slipping out of your mind in the following weeks.  

The second letter sends a small shiver down your spine.

“you will be alone always and then you will die.” i can’t remember who told me that, but it rings around my head. there are days where it feels like it’s true, like time will catch up with me and I’ll be gone. but it’s not true. because I used to have you. but I’ll have you again.

Your eyes gloss over the words, a small frown slipping onto your face. Something melancholic sinks into you, making a home in your chest.

“You will be alone always and then you will die,” you whisper to yourself, fingers grazing over the sloppy letters. You feel guilty that the writer’s thoughts are stuck with you instead of this person they so desperately miss.

Yet there’s something unyielding about the last line, something so definite. Curiosity fills you, and you can’t help but to want to get the letter to where it’s supposed to be. But like the first letter, there’s no return address, no signature, nothing outside of the longing in the letter.

So it sits on the counter with the first, the weight of the words lingering in your chest until it too is forgotten.

_________________________________

You’re sitting on a hill, watching as the stars plummet down. Someone’s sitting next to you, but when you turn to face him, he stays blurry as if he exists on the edges of reality, unable to be fully perceived.

You watch as a rainbow of flames overtake him and recede, further obscuring him. But the flames continue to cycle in and out, a constant ebb and flow. You know who he is.

He flickers, you cannot touch him. You place your hand on the flames. Nothing burns. When you look up again, the hill is gone. You're sitting in inky darkness, watching as the stars continue to fall all around you. And the boy is gone too. In his place is something of shadow and smoke, two gleaming blue eyes tearing into you. You freeze, unable to do anything but stare.

It stalks towards you slowly, grinning to show rows of sharp teeth. You know what it wants, you can feel the need across the space in between you too. And so close your eyes and tilt your neck, offering yourself up. And you don’t scream when it takes the first bite.

“I’m always on your side.”

You wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. You’re awake now, but you feel like the stars are still falling around you and him - right.

Touya.

His name blossoms in your head, memories of laughter and secrets told underneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree. Your head's pounding, and you run to the bathroom, splashing water on your face. That night, the last night you had seen him, when you watched the stars streak across the sky.

“I’m always on your side.”

A promise that withered into something shallow after he disappeared.

You blink at your reflection, fists curled into themselves so tightly it hurts. You wish Touya could hold your hand now.

You don’t go back to sleep.

_________________________________

The third letter makes you frown a little. Three makes a pattern.

Really wish you would say something back. Has it been that long? Guess that’s to be expected.

You scan the page, melancholic thoughts lingering until you read the last line. Your eyes widen, heart leaping in your throat, as you read it over and over again. Your hands are shaking, mind cloudy, breath short.

Really, say something back y/n.

Your name, clear as day. They know your name. You’re the recipient. You blink blankly as a line from the previous letter pops into your brain. I’ll have you again.

The letter sits untouched on the counter for days before you finally build up the courage to tentatively write back. Who is this?

As you shakily write, it dawns on you how stupid this is. You should be going to the police, or getting a security system. But you can’t help but wonder who it is, and the fickle beast inside of you rears its head.

You tentatively place the response under the doormat, and scurry back inside, as if the action would burn you. The next morning the note is gone.

_________________________________

It takes a few days for you to get a response. When you get home from work, you’re tempted to walk right past it, pretending to not see it. You could just let it slip from your mind, go on with your life as if nothing has changed. But nothing can ever be simple, and with shaking hands, you steal the letter before locking yourself inside.

I can imagine how scared you must be. I bet you’d look so cute. Part of me wants to make you guess. But I’d rather speed this up. It’s me. Y’know. Touya.

“Touya,” you whisper. It’s heavy on your lips. “Touya.” Your throat is raw. “Touya, Touya, Touya.” Your chest burns. Tufts of red hair, memories of childhood and shooting stars.

Brain pulsing in overdrive, you try to reconcile what you know to be true and what is being told to you.

1. Touya was your best friend.

This one is a fact. You remembered holding his hand, running around the estate. He would be battered, bruises and burns littering his skin. Right. His father. You shiver thinking about the man.

2. Touya disappeared as a child.

Another fact. You remember his mom’s tear-stained face as she turned you away, and when you were back home, safe in bed, you cried so hard you thought you’d never stop shaking.

3. Touya is still alive.

The first in your list that is debatable. No one’s seen him for years. It’s fully possible something horrible could have happened to him. But there’s no evidence he’s dead. If you can reason that Touya is still alive, then it’s possible…

4. Touya is sending you letters. 

The most difficult conclusion of all. If Touya is alive, it could be possible he’s sending you letters. But there’s no way to guarantee it is him. It could be some stranger, some pervert pretending to be your sweet redhead from childhood. You would have to test him.

Your response is careful, calculated as you try to navigate your emotions. Your hands shake as you write the final line, a question.

What was the last thing we did?

A small frown slips onto your face. It’s kind of a lame question, and yet it’s the best you can do. But it’s a baseline, a place to start.

His response comes almost immediately.

We watched a meteor shower. Go ahead. Dig deeper.

You chew on your lip while thinking. “Touya” is off to a good start, but there’s still no guarantee. So you push farther

Where did we hide the bowl I accidentally broke?

C’mon, it was a vase, not a bowl. We buried it along the fenceline. Good try.

You smile at the memory, the way you had cried over the broken porcelain, embarrassment coursing through you. Touya had helped you hide the evidence, telling you no one would find out.

What did you promise me?

I’m always on your side.

You inhale sharply, eyes glued to his messy scrawl. That’s it. It has to be him. You’ve never told that to anyone before. You squeeze your eyes shut, but you can see stars falling all around you. You feel a little light headed.

How did you find me?

Pure chance. I missed you, y/n. Does your face scrunch up when you get mad still? It was so fucking cute.

Shut the fuck up, Touya.

You don’t know how he’s done it, but Touya has inserted himself back into your life, whisking you off your feet with his stupid jokes and laid back attitude. And everyone in a while he’ll say something, that has you burying your face into your pillow, face warm and stomach in knots.

I’m going to hold you, and never let you go.

Would you let me kiss you? Would you let me sink my teeth into you? I bet you would.

I’d kiss you until you melt.

That one in particular made your chest burn, full of something warm and sappy. You read it over and over again, until the words are branded in your brain.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table at 2 am when you realize, you would. You would let him kiss you, let him sweep you off your feet. It occurs to you that you don’t know what he looks like anymore, but his words reach into you, stirring everything around to the point that you’re completely enamored anyways.

A sharp knock draws you from your thoughts. You narrow your eyes, glancing at the clock. Hesitantly, you approach your front door. You hover right in front of it, debating on whether or not to open it again. There’s a chance that no one’s even there anymore.

A second forceful knock makes your stomach flip. Taking a deep breath, you crack the door open.

Your eyes widen, and you're deafened by the blood pumping through you. Patchwork skin, pitch-black hair; you feel yourself begin to panic. 

Dabi. You recognized him from the Fukuoka fight that was on TV. You slam the door shut before he has a chance to say anything.

“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me y/n.” His voice is muffled by the door, but the separation doesn’t hide the way his voice barely cracks. You feel sick, brain cloudy as the room spins around you.

“How do you know my name?” you choke out, stomach growing nauseous.

“I thought we already did this… but you can’t recognize me either.” You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, wracking your brain for what he could be talking about.

“After all those letters.” 

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach drops, and your heart does with it. Dabi is Touya. Touya is Dabi. You tremble against the door, flashes of red hair and childhood innocence ghosting through your mind. You should’ve paid more attention to how he found you.

“Open the door.” Touya’s voice- no Dabi’s voice? You shake your head at the confusion, finding it difficult to reconcile the two versions of him you know. Regardless, his voice is even now, something sharp lingering beneath the soft surface.

You shut your eyes, letting your head rest against the door; it’s all too much for you. You can practically feel the tears stinging the back of your eyes. Maybe he’ll go away, maybe you don’t have to have a breakdown in the middle of the night.

“Open up for me, Y/N.”

You blink your eyes open, something cold slipping down your spine. He’s not going away. He could burn the door down if he wanted to. You know what he does now, and you feel so fucking stupid. The fact that he’s asking is an unexpected kindness. Summoning all the willpower you have, you open the door, hand grasping the handle to avoid shaking.

Dabi’s head tilts to the side as his eyes meet yours, and a sharp grin pulls at his lips.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” Your eyes dip to the floor, and you stumble to the side, closing the door as he brushes past you.

You awkwardly stand in front of him, fingers messing with the hem of your shirt as you try to control your breathing. Your stomachs in your throat as Dabi circles you. He is not the boy you knew. There’s an edge to him, a coldness radiating off of him that rolls into you.

“Now you can’t even look at me,” he sneers. Your gaze tilts up to meet him, trembling his words. Your heart lurches as you take in his appearance again. The puckered flesh, the staples, the jet black hair. It’s all too much.

But his eyes.

His eyes are the same, the same vivid blue that haunts your dreams. It hurts looking at him now, but it also hurts remembering what he was.

Hesitantly, you reach out to cup his face. He tenses under your touch, eyes flashing in warning. You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing out a small ��hi.” Your voice cracks under the weight of emotions, but his eyes soften, and he ever so gently tilts his head into your hand. And that’s enough.

A steady stream of tears leak from your eyes; you’re not completely sure why you’re crying, the emotions too jumbled, too complex to pinpoint a specific reason. Your thumb brushes over the marred skin under his eyes, and you feel sick. Like everything that’s wrong with the world has reared its ugly head in your apartment. But it hasn’t. It’s Touya. 

“Awww. Baby girl’s crying for me, huh?” he teases, making you narrow your eyes. He moves quickly, pulling you against him before you can step away. “Still the same crybaby from before.” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the way your head’s spinning.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you bite back, letting your head rest against him. “I missed you.” He scoffs at that, hands sliding down to grip your waist.

Your breath stutters, and you squirm in his hold, unsure what to think. His grip tightens, making you wince. You pull your head back to look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. Touya leans in close, eyes glued to you.

“Glad you missed me,” he mutters, and the borderline painful grip switches to something softer as he massages your flesh. “I missed you too, Y/N.” His voice rumbles through you softly, making your stomach flip. His tongue darts out of his mouth to flash across your cheek, licking the salty trail your tears left behind.

“Touya, what the fuck?”

You jerk away from him, sputtering as he throws his head back in laughter. Your skin feels too hot, and you struggle to put together a thought. You wiggle out of his grasp, wiping your face, and glaring at him.

“C’mon. Don’t be like that,” he laughs, obviously not taking this seriously. But you just shake your head, trying to squash all of your feelings.

“What do you want?” Your voice bends under the stress, and you face screws up, trying to stop the pathetic flow of tears.

“To see you,” he murmurs, eyes softer than before. The feelings behind the phrase are normally enough to make you giggle and your eyes turn into hearts. 

But this is Touya, or Dabi, or some bizarre amalgamation of the two. And you know what he’s done now. You know the price he’s paid. He is not the same.

“That’s not an answer. You shouldn’t be here,” you bite at him. All traces of warmth leave Dabi’s face, and your stomach drops. Something cold and sharp glints in his eyes, threatening to cut you if you get too close. You take a tiny step back, but he simply follows.

“Don’t be like this, Y/N.” His voice is tense, a warning of who he is now, what he’s done, what he could do to you. He cocks his head to the side, eyes trailing over you, gauging your reaction. He’s not the same. You know he’s not the same. His patchwork skin is proof of that enough.

It’s not fair. Echoes of childish giggles and burning blue eyes dance across your thoughts. But what he had done to all those people…You shut your eyes, crossing your arms as if you could hold yourself together.

“Well, what am I supposed to think? You were gone, for so long. And then you sent those fucking letters, and all I could think of was seeing you again. But you’re…” you trail off, but the unsaid hangs heavy in the air.

“Broken,” he hisses out, cold eyes narrowed at you as he gestures to his body. You glare right back at him, tears still flowing.

“It has nothing to do with that,” you manage to force out. “I just- I just don't know who you are.” Dabi’s face twists up into something bitter and forceful, a hurricane that’ll sweep you into something dangerous, you just know it. He is not the same.

“I wrote you those letters, Y/N. I’m still me.” But you don’t know who that is. Not anymore. He abruptly steps forward, forcing you against the wall, eyes wide in panic. He’s too close to your face, too warm, too overwhelming. 

You missed him so much, and it hurts. It hurts to see what happened, how he had to put himself back together, a dull mosaic that’s missing pieces. He reaches out to brush his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I’m always on your side.”

If it had been anyone else but Touya, you would’ve scoffed and kicked them out. But he knows you. He knows how you think, he knows what’ll make you respond. 

After all, he’s been watching you, making sure he knows how to say that’ll make you bend to his will. Touya wants you, his sweet best friend, to be his forever. So he knows what to say.

And something in you finally gives in, and you wrap arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He slips his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him.

Your knees wobble, legs failing you as you melt to the ground. Touya follows you down, arms circling around you tighter as he smiles into your hair.

Fuck the league. Fuck his family. Fuck a normal life. Fuck, the whole world can burn down. He doesn’t give a fuck. But maybe, just maybe if there’s anyone out there listening, just let him have this. Just this once.

“That’s my baby girl,” he murmurs against you, pulling you into his lap. He kicks out his legs behind you, bending his knees to force snug against him. If he were a better man, he’d be content with this, having you on his side.

But Touya is not a good man. He’s greedy for more, and all he can think about is the heat radiating from your cunt.

His hands splay out against your back, gently rubbing you as you sniffle against him. But he can’t help it when his hands start to travel further down. You sound so cute and desperate, it ignites something within him. He squeezes the flesh of your ass, making you freeze against him. You lean away, lips trembling as your eyebrows draw together.

“Touya, what are you doing?” You sound pathetic to your own ears, and you hate it. But you’re not given any time to dwell on it when he leans forward, lips a few mere centimeters from yours. He rocks you gently against him, watching the conflict in your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning to peck the corner of your lips. “I’m always on your side. Let me make you feel good.”

You stay stiff against him, hands slowly tangling into his hair as he litters the side of your neck with sloppy kisses. One of his hands pushing its way down your little shorts making you gasp. You can feel his erection growing beneath you, and you bite your lip, trying to make a decision to stop him or not.

“Touya,” you ask, “are you sure?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” You’re not 100% sure if this is the right decision, but he feels so good against you. And he’s handsome, scars and all. The intense warmth from earlier slipping into something more comforting, enveloping you as you rock against his hand ever so slightly.

So you don’t stop him. He would never hurt you, right? And it's been a while since you’ve gotten laid. Touya’s made sure of that. So you let him continue his exploration, melting against him as he gently rubs at your clit.

Touya watches your face, memorizing the expressions you make as he slips a finger into your hot cunt. To be clear, he’s seen your face when you’ve creamed around your little fingers on your own, unaware that he was stroking his cock outside your window. But you look so much better, happier even, when it’s his fingers you’re grinding into.

He nips at your neck, before pulling his fingers out of your shorts. He pushes you off of his lap, rolling his eyes at the way you pout.

“Calm down, baby girl. Wanna taste you.”

“Wait!” you warn. Touya freezes, eyes flicking up to yours, taking you in curiously. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” you stutter out, nervous at the look in his eyes. You can’t help but to feel embarrassed, laying on the floor of your apartment sputtering with your childhood best friend turned villain nestled against the apex of your thighs. Anything that can restore an ember of normalcy to the situation would make you feel better at this point.

Touya rests his head against your thigh, warmth returned to his eyes. He smiles at you a little too widely, too sharply. He resembles a predator, something stalking alone at night. Something you shouldn’t have let inside. He’s going to eat you alive. And maybe you’re okay with it.

“Alright, little girl. Lead the way.”

An awkward, hot tension surrounds you as you scrabble off the floor, grabbing his hand as you pull him towards the bedroom. Your thumb brushes over the staples, heart twisting at the feeling.

But the melancholic sting is forgotten once he’s leaving sharp little bites on your thighs, your clothes and his jacket tossed to a forgotten corner of your bedroom. His breath is hot against your exposed skin, goosebumps following his path to your hot cunt.

You’re nervous, still unsure of your current predicament. But Touya pinches your thigh, bringing your attention back to him as he watches as your thighs tense around him. His eyes meet yours, confident and sure of his place between your legs, and all of your uncertainty vanishes, consumed by the want and desire that fills you.

His eyes meet yours, clear and sharp, and he brings his hands to your pussy, thumbs pulling your folds open. His gaze drops, focused on your cunt, watching the way you clench around nothing. You squirm, embarrassed at the intensity of his stare.

“So wet already,” he mumbles, before his tongue swipes along your slit. You let out a small gasp, slamming your hand to your mouth in a lame attempt to gag yourself. Touya narrows his eyes, as he laps away, tongue flicking up to tease your clit, circling it but never touching the sensitive bud. You whine into your hand, trying to keep your hips still as he takes his time.

“Drop that hand.” The rumble of his voice travels through you, making you shiver. “Drop it, and I’ll touch this cute little clit.” Looking at him nervously, your hand falls tentatively, hovering above his hair, unsure if it’s okay to ground yourself there. Touya rolls his eyes, before pushing your hand down.

His tongue swipes at your clit making your hips jolt. He lets out a snort before repeating the action. Your grip in his hair is light, not wanting to hurt him; but your self-control goes out the door the second his lips make a seal around your clit.

He sucks at the throbbing bud, eyes lighting up at the way you buck against him, moaning loudly. Your fingers tangle into his hair, keeping him snug against your cunt. He slips a finger into your sopping hole, practically melting at how warm and wet it is. He needs to be inside you. Soon.

“Touya,” you moan, rocking in an attempt to increase the friction. He curls his finger inside of you, mouth still focused on your engorged bud. Your grip in his hair tightens, the pleasure that’s been simmering building rapidly.

“Gonna cum!” you squeal in warning. He doesn’t slow down, eyes trained on your face as your jaw drops, a choked noise clawing out of your throat. You tense around him, muscles quivering at the intensity of your orgasm. You whine and buck against him, and he lets you ride at your orgasm.

When his ministrations borderline into pain, you weakly push his head away, trying to catch your breath. He lets you pull away, eyes glimmering cruelly.

“That was fast.”

You whine in response, moving your hands to cover your face. Touya hisses, surging forward to yank your hands above your head. You wince as he squeezes, eyes narrowing on your face.

“Don’t hide what’s mine.” His lips pull back into a lazy grin as his eyes trail over your body, landing on your glistening cunt. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he mutters, mostly to himself. You blink stupidly at him when he lets you go, processing the fact that he’s kicked off his pants and taking his cock out.

Your eyes widen when you see the shiny piercings that gleam on his cock. It excites you, making your cunt clench around nothing. And yet your stomach drops when you finally realize that he’s bigger than you thought he would be. You bite your lip, trying to tame the swarm of nerves that take over the excitement.

“Touya, I think I need-” he cuts you off with a sloppy kiss. Your hips cant when you feel the head of his cock sliding along the lips of your pussy, his piercings tapping at your clit nicely. You’re not sure if you’re ready for him, and it simultaneously excites and terrifies you. But he leans on you, keeping you still with his body weight.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Open up for me,” he murmurs. And then next thing you know his lips are on yours, but you can’t help but to let out a cry against him when he thrusts his cock into you, bottoming out. He’s red hot inside of you, and tears prickle the corners of your eyes, leaking out as your nails dig into his back.

“So warm,” he murmurs, before pulling his hips back and thrusting into you. You cry out at the harsh stretch, tears falling down your cheeks as his piercings pull at your walls. He seems to like that though, and he brings a hand up to your cheek, thumb stroking the salty liquid. “You’re pretty when you cry.” He punctuates the sentence with a particularly harsh thrust, sending more tears down your face. “Attagirl,” he coos, looking absolutely enamored with your blubbering face.

“Touya, please,” you whine, not exactly sure what you’re asking for. But Touya seems to know, a sharp grin spreading wide on his face.

“Awww, does my baby girl wanna feel good too?” You nod, face twisted as you babble away.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” He kisses you again messily, before slipping a hand in between your bodies to play with your exhausted clit. He massages the swollen bud, sighing as you start to gush around him. “Is that better?” You nod and whine, hands twisting in his hair to hold him against you.

Touya can’t help but chuckle, and he presses another kiss into your neck before sucking on the skin there. His thrusts are gentler now, appreciating the snug warmth that surrounds his cock. If he could stay buried in the heat of your cunt forever, he would.

He’s drawn from his thoughts when you tug at his shirt, wanting it gone. He stills against you, tensing. You look up at him with a pout, eyes begging him to take it off.

“Please,” you whine. “I wanna feel you.” His mouth opens, and you can already hear the annoying quip that lies on the tip of his tongue, so you push forward, hands tangled into his shirt. “I wanna feel all of you.” He pauses, head tilting to the side as you watch the gears turn behind his eyes.

“Please.” Your voice is soft, as you try to avoid squirming around his dick. Something seems to click in his mind because he draws back, pulling his shirt off. Your eyes wander across the expanse of stapled skin, the puckered burns, making your heart squeeze. But there’s nothing you can say, nothing you can change. So you reach out to him, beckoning him into your arms.

He falls forward, barely supporting himself, letting his body cover yours. You wrap your arms and legs around him holding him close as he begins to lightly thrust again.

“You feel so good,” you cry out panting against his face. Touya angles his head to face you, eyes boring into yours as his breaths mix with yours. It’s too hot, too much, but you can’t move away, overwhelmed by the sensations and entranced by his eyes.

Touya’s hips increase in pace, rutting violently against yours, the sharp sting of his skin against yours making you whine. Each thrust into you, steals your breath away, your hands digging into his back.

“Ever since I found you again, I needed to have you, needed you back. I wasn’t going to let myself lose you again,” he growls. You whimper as you gush around him, finding that you want him to stay buried in your pussy forever.

“Stick out your tongue,” he barks out. His eyes flash, and you do as he says, all while letting out little gasps as he thrusts into you. He hovers above you, a cruel grin spread out on his face. You watch as he spits onto your tongue, a shudder going down your spine. He reaches out to grip your open jaw harshly.

“Swallow.” When he lets go you do exactly that, cunt squeezing tightly. “Oh you like that?” he laughs as you nod. He hums before kissing you sloppily.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re gonna do what I say from now on. I’ll make you feel so fucking good.”

You should be alarmed by the promise of obedience, but you feel too good to care right now.

“Mine, mine, mine.”

It crosses your mind to tell him that you don’t belong to him, but all you can do is nod and hold him closer.

“Wanted to be inside this pussy the moment I saw you. You’re never gonna want another cock than mine.” At this point, all you can do is whine and nod, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you again, baby girl. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll take care of you.” Your nails scratch down his back, making him hiss, as your hips rut against him.

“Touya,” you cry out, tears leaking from your eyes so sweetly. “Gonna cum again.” He nods, lips brushing against yours.

“Wanna feel you cream around me, baby girl.” You nod blankly, drunk on the feeling of his cock pounding into you, piercings pulling so nicely at your gummy walls.

Propping himself up with one arm, he slips his hand in between your bodies, fingers playing with your clit again. It’s enough to send you over the edge, and you cry out, writing against him as your pussy gushes around his cock, squeezing him tightly.

He chokes against you, and your pulsating cunt launches him into his own orgasm. Touya’s hips jerk against you as his cum paints the inside of your cunt. He collapses against you as you twitch in a post-orgasmic haze. He nips at your neck, alternating the sharp stings with sweet kisses.

“You did so good, baby. So good to me. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver. You’re still panting, sweeping your hands over his back, before they land in his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He shuts his eyes, enjoying the sensations and the warmth, letting himself get lost in you, if only for a little bit.

But when he pushes himself off of you, pulling his hips away, you whine. Your legs lock around him, keeping him lodged inside you. He barks out a laugh before flopping down on his side, pulling you against him.

“I’ll stay right here. Don’t worry.”

“Touya…” you murmur, gently. He sends you a questioning gaze, waiting. You lean forward, pressing your lips against his, trying to convey the complexity of what you’re feeling. He responds aggressively, as if you might disappear. But it makes you melt. Maybe he was right about that.

 When you draw back, his thumb strokes at leftover tears on your cheek.

“It’s okay, You’re mine now.” It’s not exactly what you wanted to hear, but it’s all you get from him because he pulls you tight against him, eyes shutting in exhaustion.

You curl up against him, feeling his breathing even out. His cock feels heavy inside of you, and something cold sits in your stomach.

You shouldn’t have done that. He’s not okay. You really shouldn’t have done that. But you would deal with that in the morning.

For now, Touya is yours, and you’ll enjoy the warmth of his skin and the way the stars fall when you shut your eyes.✨

[holylulusworld]

Desperate Souls (4)

Summary: Six years later you and Sam are still a thing.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, former Soulless!Sam x Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester 

Warnings: angst, talking about prostitution, dom/sub undertones, angry Sam, hurt & comfort, vulnerable reader, soft Sam, fluff, cuddling & snuggling, jealous reader, implied smut

A/N: A short epilogue to see what happened to Sam and his girl.

<< Part 3

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

“But Dean said it’s a good idea,” you argue, fighting Sam’s hold on your wrist. “He said that I should distract the Deputy, no flirt with him to distract him. This way your brother could sneak into the office and get the needed information.”

“Oh, is my brother suddenly your boyfriend?” Sam growls eyes narrowed a little. You swallow thickly, feeling your heartbeat quicken when Sam looks at you like he’s ready to devour you.

“N-no Sam but I wanted to help out,” whimpering you feel his large hands grip your upper arms to push you against the nearby wall. “Sam…please.”

“You’re my girlfriend, mine,” possessively claiming your lips Sam growls against you. “Maybe you forgot your place. Or do you want to go back to being a prostitute? Selling you so easily to someone else to get the result my brother wants sounds like prostitution to me,” hurt you look away, sniffle silently as Sam steps away from you. “I told you that your job is to do research, nothing else.”

“I didn’t let him touch me,” running out of the library you sniffle, wiping your eyes angrily. “I wanted to help out.”

For the first time since you joined the brothers on hunts, you had the feeling you did something useful to help them and now Sam is mad.

“Sam, it was my fault. I saw the way that douche eyed your girl, and thought-“ Sam raises his hand, angrily clenching his jaw. “I get it, she’s your girl and I messed up. But don’t blame her for my mistake. Y/N only wanted to help me out.”

“Y/N could’ve gotten hurt,” Sam whispers, feeling his chest tightening at the thought he could lose you. “She’s my girlfriend and you risked her life. What if the Deputy was the guy killing all the girls? Did you think about the consequences of your doing?”

“I was with her all the time-“ Dean talks back, cursing as Sam turns his back on him, shaking his head. “Sam, I would never let anything happen to Y/N. You know that.”

“I know but we also lost people we tried to keep safe! Charlie, Bobby, Kevin and so on, Dean. Sarah Blake died right in front of us while we tried to save her,” furious Sam turns around to glare at his brother. “And don’t tell me we tried anything, I know we did but things went wrong, and she died. A mother died and we were helpless. I don’t want to lose Y/N.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” nervously rubbing the back of his neck Dean sighs. “Just don’t ignore the poor girl. She longs to have your attention and love. Don’t take this away from her.”

“I know how to handle my girlfriend,” Sam growls. “I’m with her for six years and know she needs my attention and care. But,” he smirks now, something dark in his eyes, “she needs a strong hand and punishment tonight. I could see it in her eyes. Y/N needs to hear me praise and me to punish her.”

“I could’ve happily lived without knowing about your girl’s preferences in the bedroom,” Dean mutters. “Stop talking about your sex life with me.”

“It’s our dynamic, Dean. Y/N needs me to be her dominant tonight, not her caring boyfriend. I’ll make her feel good right now,” Sam walks away, leaves a shuddering Dean behind.

“Too much information, Sammy!”

While you look around the room, unsure if Sam still wants you around you gnaw at your index finger. You’ve got no clue where you can go if Sam kicks you out of your shared home.

Dean is a friend, and you consider him family but he’s Sam’s brother and would never choose your side, even though it was his fault you got into a fight with his brother.

“Kitten, I want you on the edge of our bed, naked, hands behind your back and eyes on me in ten,” Sam walks into the room, exhaling dominance. “Kneel and show me what a good girl you can be.”

“Yes, Sir,” you immediately get off the bed to strip your clothes off. Slow to give Sam a good show. You can feel his gaze on and shiver as he hums in appreciation. All you want is for Sam to not be mad at you.

“You’re so pretty for me,” he husks, fingers sliding over your back, causing you to whimper. “Always so beautiful and warm,” his lips meet your skin, force tiny gasps out of your throat. “I changed my mind. I want you on hands and knees, face in the cushions for me.”

“Yes, Sam…Sir,” you moan feeling his slender fingers slide over your chest to pinch your nipples roughly. “All for you.”

“Good girl,” another whimper leaves your lips, and you feel warm, drifting toward the headspace you are seeking since you and Sam fought. “Now do as I said.”

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you, Sir,” you bite your lip, looking up at Sam with teary eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Baby girl,” Sam’s postures changes in a split-second. He drops the silky scarf he wanted to use to fixate your hands, to bring you in his arms. “Y/N, I’m not mad at you.” he kisses your hair softly at the same time as his large hand runs over your exposed back. “Please don’t think I’m mad at you.”

“But-and-then-and,” you sniffle, face hidden in Sam’s chest to inhale his scent. “I don’t want to lose you, Sam. You’re all I’ve got.”

“Shhh, baby,” he carefully picks you up to hold you in his arms, smiling when you wrap your body around him. “We won’t do this tonight. I only want to hold you in my arms. I was so worried something could have happened to you.”

“Dean, he protected me, but I understand you worry about me. I’m not a hunter and can barely fight you or Dean.”

“Aw, my cute girl believes she can fight me,” Sam laughs when you whip your head to meet his gaze, holding it, a pout on your lips. “What I wanted to say is, that you don’t have to defend yourself, I’ll always protect you. Promise me you’ll never risk your life again.”

“Promised,” pecking Sam’s cheek you giggle when one hand starts to wander toward your ass. “Sam, I love your hands on me.” you moan.

“Guys! Are you naked or can I come in? Uh-erm,” Dean stammers, “Jody called. She and Donna could need our help with a case. Only if you are up to it, Sammy.”

“Another case,” you gasp feeling Sam’s lips on yours to greedily kiss you. “Aw, no sex then.”

“We will have so much sex after that case you’ll walk funny for a week,” he grins, eyes drifting toward the anti-possession tattoo on your chest. His name stands next to it and he smiles, remembering the way you clawed at his hand when you got it. “Make it a month.”

“A month,” giggling you look at Sam, giving him a firm nod. “Noted, Sir.” you husk against his lips. “Now get dressed and save the day, my hero…”

“I hate this,” you whine, looking at Dean who gives you an apologetic smile. “Why must it be Sam? Why didn’t you flirt with that woman to get information? Now he’s running late. What if he finds her more attractive, smarter, or simply desirable?”

“Sweetheart, you are more to my brother than a pretty face. You know that Y/N,” Dean tries to calm you but does the opposite. “Stop pacing around the room.”

You clasp and your hands together, groaning as you can’t get the image of Sam and the doctor out of your head. She dared to touch his bicep and now, well now you are too nervous to sit still.

“I know he loves me but-“ you bite your lower lip, suckling at it, “Sam is an extremely attractive man, a smart one. Every woman we met is whether all over you or my Sam.”

“Your Sam – huh?” Sam smirks when you look at him with wide eyes the moment he steps into the motel room. “When did you make me yours? And why didn’t I know about it?”

“It’s just you know,” trailing off you watch Sam loosen his tie. “Something people in a relationship say.”

“Good, you’re back. Sammy, never leave with another woman or Y/N will lose her mind. She was chewing my ear off,” Dean snickers when you shoot him a disapproving look. “It’s true, sweetheart. You almost murdered me for not hitting on the doctor.”

“Now you know how I felt when you flirted with that douche to get information for us. I don’t want to see you with other men either, baby girl,” Sam holds out his arms, smiling when you immediately let him wrap you in a hug. “Nothing happened, Y/N. And nothing will ever happen with another woman.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine, snuggling into Sam’s warm chest. “You’re always so warm and I got cold feet and hands.”

“My little frostbite,” Sam pecks your hair, while one large hand caresses your back, tickling your skin. “I guess you must always stay close to me. Not just at the bunker so I can keep your warm and safe.”

“I was jealous when you went out with that doctor. She was so pretty and smart, I feared you could fall for her, Sam,” you admit, sighing when Sam pinches your ass.

“Why?” he smirks when you lift your head to meet his hazel eyes. “I got a perfect girl by my side. She’s cute, a little crazy and I can bend her to my will with my hands.” he purrs the last words, eyes three shades darker when you start to squirm on top of him.

“Sam,” you move one hand over his bare chest, and he shivers at your touch. “Do you want to scare your big brother for a lifetime? Pay him back for telling me to flirt with the Deputy, Sir?”

“Hell…yeah…”

SPN Forever Tags

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

Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13​​

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[tamagochiie]

a line without a hook | part three.

part three. “merely tolerable, really.”

chapter synopsis. Had you known freedom tasted like this, you wouldn’t have bothered to form an attachment with Mr. Ackerman. Was there really a point in what you were doing? 

word count. 7.5k

tags. swearing, angst, tones of misogyny

notes. This is a very late post, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for the upcoming chapter for this week, there may been another delay. I’ve been swamped with a lot of assignments and its my finals week, so I hope you all understand :/ 

back to master list

<< part two. | part four. >>

Your mother always told you gossip to women is like honey to a swarm of flies: you can catch more of them depending how sweet the scandal is. But she never thought to tell you what it'd be like if you were the honey, that the women would stick to you, drinking the life out of every little thing you do and unpack it together with their girl friends over afternoon tea and biscuits.

Your name, along with Mr. Ackerman's, had travelled from one tongue to the other in the last four days.

Each story are more intricately fabricated than the last. You heard all sorts of things, too many thing to keep track of — something about Mr. Ackerman's family background and more so yours, but you didn't want to pay heed over something that didn't come directly from the man himself.

And just the other day, while you commuted to town to deliver Reiner's forgotten lunch, you overhead a group of women whispering that you were already singing with the church bells.

You had shuddered at the thought and assumed it was something your mother must've cooked up given how she easily melted at Mr. Ackerman's feet when he came to visit a few days ago.

You and Mr. Ackerman were both aware that his visit, and all the kind and loving words he had said before you and your family, were merely for show. And that it was for purpose of sweeping your house clean of all trespassers and violators of your freedom.

But nonetheless, even with a letter that came to heed you of his visit, you were still left utterly speechless.

Mr. Ackerman had strolled into your cozy home, he hadn't been swathed in his usual drab choice of clothing, but settled with more pleasing fashion that didn't say,"I'm pessimistic and moody, and I've got a reputation for killing for sport".

He had been bathed in shades of blue, but still leaned on the darker side of the color spectrum. It had been a good change save for his signature cravat, and it led you to wonder just how many he owned.

You came to the conclusion he owned quite enough to be stitched together and make a thick and long blanket to last through the winter.

However, what had left you gobsmacked and rapidly blinking in succession was not Mr. Ackerman's slight change of style, but the little smirk across his lips while he spoke to your mother. His tone hadn't been clipped and did not drip in annoyance, but was a twinge softer — completely out of pocket for a man with a reputation for being dark and brooding.

Sasha, on the other hand, had been easily tickled in pure curiosity by Mr. Ackerman, poking and prodding him with peculiar and rather personal questions. You had expected he'd yell at her, seeing he'd be the kind of person to do that.

But he didn't snap. It was obvious his patience had been wearing thing, so he kept his replies quick and short just like his temper.

Pieck never spoke a word, but had instead observed the exchange as she sat on the couch, sandwiched between Connie and Jean while your mother had done her best to entertain Mr. Ackerman in small talk even though the man reeks of disdain for it.

Though Mr. Ackerman had successfully wooed your mother, and probably the rest of your sisters and Connie, Reiner was anything but.

Your brother protectively glued himself to your side, glaring down at Mr. Ackerman with a vexed look plastered across his scruffy face. Unfortunately, Reiner's attempt to be intimidating had fallen short and made you not only you, but Mr. Ackerman, suppress a stifling laugh.

Regardless of your brother's wishes, Mr. Ackerman's visit had been deemed fruitful. Your mother's eyes as well as her heart completely set on Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Ackerman alone.

To which both requests you firmly nodded and smiled at.

But your smile had been quick to fade.

You agreed to this little sham because you admired your freedom, but ever since Mr. Ackerman's visit, despite no men coming to bother you from the early hours of the morning till the late afternoon, you find yourself anything but free.

Your mother, the seventh circle of your personal hell, has taken it upon herself to berate you—tells you to make more of an effort on your appearance. She'll comment on how you sit, how you speak or how you eat, and every other thing you do.

You may have been liberated by the lusting grips of men, your mother's iron clad hold on even the thought of you being a few steps away from marriage is much tighter, and much more stubborn than you ever imagined.

So you spend your days hidden in your room, away from your mother and the rest of the world.

Sometimes you'll read or stare out the window, and when you do decide to step out of your little bubble, you'll be sure to check if the coast is clear from any possibly ambushes from your mother.

Though the only time you really do go out is to check the mail to see if Mr. Ackerman has written to you — he has not — or spend some time with your great love, your horse, Maria.

But for the most part, you plant yourself on the couch right up against window sill with your back slumped on the wall and legs sprawled out. You stare outside, not really looking at anything in particular.

Maybe the chickens.

You heavily sigh, fogging up the class as you gaze idly, twirling the ends of your hair. You grow jealous of the chickens and the roosters because at least they have their freedom. Their simple minds and their simple lives; the lay eggs and crow at dawn.

Damn chickens, you seethe in thought.

There's a faint knocking on your bedroom door that cease your internal tanget. You turn your head as the door creaks open, revealing your sister, Sasha, poking her head out between the gap. A friendly smile adorns her pink lips as she holds a plate of food in her hands.

"Can I come in?" She asks, already stepping inside. "I brought you food. You've been cooped up in here for too long, I thought you might be hungry."

You chuckle and motion her to come in.

Sasha moves briskly and steps inside before shutting the door behind her. She tiptoes across the room and over to you. She lightly taps your foot to make room and you swing it off the couch.

She places the tray between the two of you. A few loaves of bread, some grapes, and other fresh fruit that you assume she's stolen from the batch Reiner's supposed to sell.

She swipes the loaf of bread, breaking it in half and hands you the bigger piece before chewing her's down.

"You alright?" She asks, her words muffled by the bread. "Mamma's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

You bob your head, humming in response as you eat the bread bit by bit, taking your time.

Sasha follows your line of sight, checking to see what you've been so keenly staring at. Only to find that it's just a bunch of chickens running around.

"I'm overwhelmed," You confess breathily. You pull your legs up to your chest and rest your chin onto your knees. "I don't like the feeling one bit."

"Is it because of Mr. Ackerman?" Sasha looks at you with concern outlining the softness of her face. You don't really reply, just lulling your head in thought. "You surprise me, you know."

"I do?"

Sasha hums delightfully as she takes her last bite of her bread before moving onto the grapes.

"For someone who admires her freedom and never spared an interest in even the thought of forming an attachment, you latched onto Mr. Ackerman rather quickly." Sasha had always been mistaken for an idiot at a surface level, but she's a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for — than you give her credit for. And for once, you hated it. "One could even say that it's a bit...odd. But you've always been off, so maybe it isn't so out of the blue."

"Oh, how you read me so well," You say, sarcasm oozing from your words. You take a quick bite of bread.

"What's he like?"

You shrug your shoulders, pouting in thought. "I've only ever met him thrice," You point out, laughing at the curiosity avidly pooling from her eyes. "There's not much I can judge. If anything, I think you'd know more than me since you've pummeled the poor man with one too many questions."

Sasha takes the tray of food and scooches closer to you before putting it on her lap.

"But that's different! You've gotten first hand experience. Is he really like all the rumors?" She asks, a little too keenly. "Is he really as mean as they say? Because when he visited the house, he seemed too stiff for comfort."

You snort and are quick to cover your mouth to keep the bread from spilling from your lips.

"Mm, well, Mr. Ackerman is man of few words and very few expression, but he seems...genuine?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but the more you speak, the more you're hit with the realization you know absolutely no idea who the man is.

All you're really left with is his hatred for attention, and your mutual need for peace. Everything else you try to think of comes up short.

Mr. Ackerman hasn't written a letter to you since his visit. It's not like he said he was going to, but a very small and naive part of you thought he would.

Sasha continues to rain down on you with more questions, but it isn't as persistent as you'd expect her to be. Its either her line of concentration snaps too quickly for you to formulate a response, or she's just too excited to hear more.

You answer what you can until you can no longer think. Eventually you're too tired to talk about you and the subject of the conversation shifts to Sasha.

"Hey, Sasha," You carefully speak between chews, minding the grape in your mouth. Sasha's eyes, still colored in hunger as she takes another loaf of bread, darts to look at you. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You and..." You shift in your seat and lean in. "You and Nicolo - are you two really - Oh! My God, are you alright?"

Sasha nearly chokes on her bread. Clenching her fist, she beats her chest to help soothe the burn in her throat, coughing for air.

"Sasha!"

"I-I'm fine!" She finally says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

"Do you need water?" Sasha shakes her head as she rests her hand on your shoulder to keep you still in case you choose to leave. You move even closer to rub her back to ease her, but once she does, a smirk plays across your lips and chuckle stumbles from your lips. "So, I guess it's true. You and Nicolo really are —"

"Shut up!" Sasha interjects, her head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please! I've had enough of mamma pestering me about this— ever since Pieck decided to tattle on me! If you're going to being just as annoying as her than—"

"I won't be!" You argue, your tone playful and lilting. "I'm only asking, and you're taking forever to say anything!"

"Well, fine! Alright." Sasha sharply huffs in defeat as she tosses her bread onto the tray and sets it back onto the couch. "Yes, okay, I suppose I might have feelings for Nicolo, but I don't know. I can't tell."

"You can't tell...?"

Sasha lets out another breath as she slumps against the wall. Her head tilts up to look at the cracked ceiling before looking back down to you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks the right words to convey how she feels. She nervously twiddles her thumbs while doing so.

"How do you even know when you like someone?"

You blink at Sasha, taken aback by her question while she looks at you eagerly.

You realize, after a few breaths, you don't have a definite answer because unlike Pieck, you've never really experienced the feeling yourself. You always lived vicariously through fictional characters you read in novels, and Mrs. Bloom's sweet story of how she met her husband.

But other than that, you come up short—you can't tell at all.

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask." You confess, causing Sasha to look at you quizzically as confusion stirs in her mind. "I haven't really found the answer myself, I'm sorry."

Sasha sighs dejectedly.

"It's best to ask Pieck, isn't it?"

"As me what?" Pieck's voice, delicate and laced in curiosity, has your heads turn to the bedroom door.

It seems you were both too deep into your conversation to hear her knocking.

Pieck stands by the door, her olive green dress flows in the gentle window coming from the opened window, her hair into the usual messy, low ponytail that falls down her shoulders; her eyes heavy-laden with sleepiness.

Your eyes trail down to her hand, finding a pile of letters tightly held in it.

"Pieck, what's that?" You ask, dismissing her question with a question.

"Now hold on," Pieck hides the letters behind her back, pressing herself against the door to create even more distance—as if the wide expanse of the room wasn't enough. "What's the question?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "It's silly."

"Well, if it's from you, I'm sure it is."

Sasha grumbles at Pieck's sarcastic retort, and you watch as your two sisters begin to bicker.

"If you're going to be an ass, I won't tell you." Sasha crosses her arms and twists her body away from Pieck and towards the window, her eyes falling to the clucking hens.

Peick nimbly trots across the floor and over to Sasha's side, crashing into her and quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nosing through Sasha's hair bunched up in a high pony as she rests her chin onto her shoulder.

"Go away!" Sasha growls, her face contorts a sour expression as her attempts to shove Pieck off fails.

"Oh, c'moooon," Pieck coos, peppering kisses over her little sister's cheek, "won't you tell me? I hate being left out, especially when it's the two of you."

Sasha grunts as she tries to pry away from Pieck, but only to be caught in sloppy kisses on the cheek and the temple of her forehead. Though Sasha visibly shows disgust, even you can see that she loves being showered in affection from Pieck.

Pieck, being the eldest and holding the most responsibility, had always held you both with great love and adoration.

"Alright!" Sasha yells in surrender, tangled in the arms of her sister and somehow in a headlock as Pieck sits behind her. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Let me go and give me room, please."

Sasha elbows Pieck away from her, giving her enough space to breathe, and you snatch the tray off the couch and onto your lap to keep it from falling.

And as Sasha begins to explain her little dilemma, Pieck comfortably sits herself behind her, propping her chin back onto her shoulder and winding her arm around her waist as she listens intently. Pieck's gentleness doesn't go unnoticed by Sasha, and you watch as she sinks in the hug.

Pieck clicks her tongue, her eyes look at you as she falls into a thought, not deep enough to overthink and get carried away as she finds the answer.

"Hmmm, love and likeness can be complicated, but only if you let it be." You tilt your head at Pieck as she continues on her train of thought. "But you can tell if you like someone if you enjoy being with them and find their company pleasant. Do you find Nicolo's company pleasant?"

Sasha mindlessly hums in thought as her head lulls back on Pieck's shoulder.

"I do, actually." Sasha admits without hesitation. "I think..." She takes a beat to suck her teeth as she continues to think about it a little more, "I like the food he makes and that he, well, never seems to be bothered by me..."

"He's always so kind—like his eyes. His smile's nice, too, I suppose. Whenever he speaks, whether it's about food or well, other things, I can't help but listen."

There it is, the shimmer of affection in her light brown eyes and the oh-so-subtle smile across her lips. You almost miss it, but the world stills around you as you're caught in her bubble.

Pieck gives you a knowing look, smiling playfully.

Without saying a word or even slipping a sound, you and Pieck come to the agreement that Sasha'll have to come to her own realization that he loves him. The question is when she'll arrive at it.

Sasha brushes it off, not wanting to muddle herself any longer. She plucks the letters from Pieck's grasp and eagerly swifts through the pile while humming thoughtfully, completely ignoring Pieck's groan of disdain.

It's the usual; a couple of people from your father's family, inquiring when you're to sell the estate, one from your distant aunt from your mother's side that never bothers to actually visit, but diligently sends letters whether it be rain or shine, and one for —

"You've got a letter!" Sasha chirps, snapping her head up to look at you before shoving it into your hands. "It's from Mr. Ackerman! He's finally written to you!"

You throw your legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright and fixing your hair as if Mr. Ackerman's just right there, watching you as you open his letter with shaky breaths and nimble fingers.

You quickly but carefully open his letter, scanning through his words and your eyes bulge out of it's sockets.

"What's it say?" Pieck inquires, excitement dripping from her lips as she scooches closer to try and peak at the letter. "Will he be visiting again?"

You shake your head.

"Well, don't be shy!" Sasha whines, "What is it?"

You open and close your mouth, blinking frantically as your shock still rides through your body. "Mr. Ackerman would like me to visit him at his estate next Tuesday."

When your mother heard news of your presence being requested by Mr. Ackerman, she took it upon herself to teach everything you needed to know about being "prim and proper". She stole your remaining days of peace and prepped you as best as she could.

When it came time for you to leave, she was adamant that you opt to take horseback instead of taking the carriage. All, especially your brother Reiner, were completely against it when they noticed the storm clouds reeling in. But your mother was deeply rooted in her stance, firm like a tree that not even the wind of your brother's disdain could change her mind.

So there you stand, having been caught in the rain, dripping from head to toe as the Smith estate towers over you, as if it's ready to swallow you whole in one go. You have to crane your neck back in a particularly painful angle to get a good look of the entire building, and you’re sure you’re only seeing the very tip of the iceberg.

Your mother warned you it would be much larger than you were used to - you just never imagined it to look like something out of a book.

Shivering and tightly wrapping your coat over you to trap any warmth you might have left with one hand, you swiftly knock on the door with the other. A shuddering breath escapes you when the door creaks open, revealing a servant to greet you in.

“Ah, Miss,” The servant’s eyes widen in fright, flinching back.  His gulp is audible even with the thundering behind you. He scans you from head to toe, and he doesn’t bother to mask his sneering at your drenched frame and all the mud collected at the hem of your skirt. “You must be Miss Blouse, yes?” You greeted him with a sneeze, and briefly apologized. “Come quickly before you catch a cold.”

But your second and most aggressive sneeze yet tells him you might already have one.

“He’s been expecting you,” Is all the servant says before guiding you down that hall.

You rub your eyes, wiping your hairs sticking to your face as you take in the sight before you. The air in the estate is chilly and deadly quiet - enough to hear the sound of your clothes dripping with water and to catch the servant clicking his tongue at you.

You hold your breath; you didn’t think the estate could get any bigger, but it does. The hallway is vast and seemingly endless; portraits of many different men and women - all who you assume were probably family members of Mr. Smith because of the signature blonde hair and blue eyes - canvas over the great walls.

Giddiness tickles down from your chest and into your stomach as you trail behind the servant, your arms swaying to the side with a little skip in your step. You try your best to catch a peak at every room and hall you pass by, but everything moves in blur.

You can’t tell if you’re tired from your travels or if it's the pace you’re walking in. You take deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together as the servant ushers you into the drawing room.

“Mr. Ackerman will be here shortly,” is all he leaves you with, not bothering to spare another breath.

You’re surrounded by more paintings and books, but a particular painting catches your eye. It’s a portrait of a woman relaxed on a chair; she looks nothing like the ones outside.  She has soft features and kind eyes, her lips supple and plump with an endearing smile. Her dark hair flows down to her shoulders, framing her face.

You squint your eyes, inching towards it with your hands clasped behind your back to avoid reaching out to touch it. The longer you stare, you find a weird sense of familiarity in her. But you just can’t -

“You’re wet.” You snap your head towards the gravelly voice to find Levi standing by the door with his brows pulled down in horror. “You’ve tracked in so much rain water, I thought a dog had stalked in.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine - achoo! Thank you for asking - achoo!” Your feeble attempt to shoot down his sarcastic remark is embarrassingly interrupted by your persistent sneezing. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove, earning a look of disgust from Mr. Ackerman. “Excuse me, I got caught in the rain.”

“I couldn’t tell,” He clips with a tight lip. “You could catch a cold -”

“Achoo!”

“It seems you already have…” Mr. Ackerman groans, and you find yourself picking at your fingers in embarrassment, your head lowered to the floor. “Follow me, I’ll give you something to change out of.”

Mr. Ackerman wastes a single breath, nor does he allow you to. But instead, with the utmost jaded expression on his face, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, expecting you to follow. You have to admit, with a fuzzy feeling buzzing in your head and the sudden sensitivity to the ache in your bones, it takes you a moment to pick up what he says and follow suit.

Has it always been this chilly?

A tremble in your damp coat, exhaling tremulously as you trot down the hall behind Mr. Ackerman. Your struggle for warmth doesn’t fall on dear ears, but it does motivate him to pick up the pace, up the winding steps and into another hallway.

Your shoes continue to click against the marble, passing by paintings and statues; for a moment you mistaken yourself to be wandering around a museum and not someone else’s home. But your head is spinning and you can’t appreciate the art even if you wanted you - you can’t even glance at a painting without wanting to vomit.

Mr. Ackerman comes to a jagged halt, causing you to nearly stumble against him. He glares at you over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” You mutter before stumbling a few steps back to give him space.

“Wait in there,” He instructs dryly, “and I’ll get someone to help you in a bit.”

“Oh, I - I don’t understand -”

“You have a cold,” He points out, “and I don’t think you’ll appreciate it if it were me helping you change out of your clothes.”

Your cheeks flush and your heart paces quickly in your chest; embarrassment overwhelms you and you wish the ground would swallow you up. He’s too direct and it makes your knees a little wobbly along with the rest of your body - you’ve turned into jello.

“Just wait in there and there’ll be a maid to bring you clothes. I’ll meet you again once you’re done.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You whisper, your eyes finally snap from the floor and meet Mr. Ackerman’s same old arid visage, but there’s a tenuous, unfamiliar gleam in his eyes you can’t seem to read.

He sternly nods, but just before trodding off you call after him, “Mr. Ackerman?” Your voice hushed and trembly.

“Yes, Miss Blouse?” He watches you expectantly, his head faintly tilting to the side. “Is there something else?”

Ironically, despite Mr. Ackerman coldness and indifference, you can feel that he cares - his warmth. And you can’t help but feel dangerously eager, a little selfish even, for wanting more. You can’t help but want to push further, but you’re reminded of the rumors and prefer not to push your luck.

“Thank you,” You say with a smile, a genuine one that catches him off guard, but not that you can tell with your glossy eyes.  “Thank you fo - achoo! I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Ackerman.”

There’s a very, very subtle blush that spreads across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears, and maybe if it wasn’t for the odd lightly in the hallway, you would’ve caught it. But once again, Mr. Ackerman thanks his lucky stars and gulps, “Don’t mind it too much,” and spins on his heels before striding down the hallway.

You watch till his footsteps fade and his slender frame disappears as he turns the corner before finally looking at the door beside you. You stare at the door knob, your hand fidgeting over it before finally taking it in your hand and opening the door.

You gasp in awe, your eyes going round - the room can eat your house in a single bite. Even the bed that sits at the center, headboard pushed up against the wall, is bigger than the one your share with Pieck. Maybe bigger than the bed your mother and father shared.

You step inside, pushing the door shut behind you before twirling and taking in all the green and gold in the room. You’ve never seen so much gold - you’ve never seen gold in general, but here you are completely surrounded by it.

The strident knocking on the door causes you to still, staggering over your feet to find a familiar face greeting you with a cheerful smile, balancing a folded pile of clothes in their hand.

“Hange!” You squeak in shock, nearly losing your balance.

“Miss Blouse,” They playfully salute to you before entering in completely. “I saw you come in earlier and Levi said you’d be in here, so I thought to help. Though he did oppose, I'm not one to follow orders anyway.”

They cleverly wink at you, stretching their arm out to hand you the clothes and you meekly take it.

“How are you feeling?” They ask, taking a seat on the bed, “You can change over there, behind the partition,” They point to the other side of the room where it stands beside the window, and you quickly shuffling behind it.

You finally peel off your clothes, finally being freed by way your damp clothes and the way it clung to your body. You sigh heavily, tremulously.

“So, how are you feeling?” Hange’s voice echoes in the room from where they sit. They lean back on the heel of their palms, lulling their head bad carelessly as they wait for your response. “Levi said you might have a cold, and luckily for you, I’m a doctor.”

You hum in response, your focus directed on changing your clothes as quickly as possible.

“I’m, uh, I think I’m okay,” There’s a tingling in your skin and an unbearable ache in your bones. Your whole body feels sensitive; you’re not sure if you feel chilly or too warm. But you don’t want to be a burden, especially since you’re already borrowing someone else's clothes.

Whose are these anyway? You can’t imagine these are Hange’s, it’s way too small.

“He said you were sneezing!” They say, their voice slightly raising. “That you were sneezing a lot.”

“Probably just allergies!” You try and laugh it off, hoping Hange doesn’t press any further. But much to your displeasure, Hange isn’t one to simply let things go.

But the moment you step out from the partition, tying your hair up to keep from staining the dress, Hange strides over to you, placing her wrist onto your forehead and hums.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” You press.

“You’re a liar.”

“I'm not!” The whine that escapes your dried lips, takes enough energy from you to have your vision grow spotty and have your knees give in. Hange loops their arm around your waist and you slump onto their chest for support. “Right, maybe I am a liar,” You admit breathily, your eyes fluttering shut. “I’m really sorry, this is extremely impolite and my mother would kill me if she found me like this.”

“Never mind what your mother says,” They sigh before helping you over to the bed, “nothing good will come of thinking about what your mother says,”

You laugh softly, finding irony in their words.

The cushions are warm and comforting, pulling you into ease as you’re swayed by your need for rest. You try to combat it by blinking away, but drowsiness overtakes you like an unrelenting storm and you fall perilous to it the second your head sinks into the pillows.

You're greeted by a sharp, persistent ache in your head and a stubborn throb in your bones. You moan in discomfort and writhe beneath the cotton bed sheets.

You feel something cold dripping down your head, but before you can reach to check, you feel a wet cloth being placed on your forehead. You crack your eyes open and draw a bitter breath to find Mr. Ackerman towering over you. His brows pulled into a deep line of focus and his eyes colored in determination as if its taking all his verve to adjust the way the towel sits on your head.

He looks down at you and his expression softens.

It softens?

"You're awake," Mr. Ackerman notes. Maybe its the sickness, and that you're probably imagining it, but does Mr. Ackerman's tone sound a lot gentler? Its almost as if he's concerned for your well-being — almost as if he's worried and relieved you're finally awake. But his face remains unreadable, devoid of emotion. "You've been asleep for quite some time, but your temperature seemed persistent. Hange said as long as the rag is frequently changed then you should be better. How are you feeling?"

Does that mean he's been changing the rag? He said it should 'changed frequently' —

You arch your back when the ache in your bones come back stronger than ever. You whine in pain and drown back into the mattress.

"I don't feel too well," You croak, swallowing dryly.

"Do you need water?"

You can only nod.

Mr. Ackerman swiftly reaches for the glass of water that sits on the bedside table. You try and sit up , your bones feel like chalk as it grates against each other. You try to take it from him, but he raises his free hand to stop you. “Let me,” is all he says to you before bringing it up to your lips.

Baffled, you still drink it.

Your thoughts are still too foggy to draft a single thought. But all you is know your heart’s drumming in your chest and your breath is hitched in your throat for an entirely different reason that’s far from your cold.

You sigh in relief after a few gulps, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“Mr. Ackerman, you said that I’ve been asleep for quite some time,” You recount, looking at him puzzled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He replies flatly, as if he's not bothered by it at all.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Ackerman hums as he falls back into his chair grabbing the book beside him before opening it up to the page he left off.

“You needn’t worry,” He eases without looking up to meet your eyes, as unbothered by the worry screaming in your eyes. “I’ve already written a letter to your mother the moment you fell asleep and informed her of your current state.”

“And what did she say of it?”

“She deeply apologizes for overstaying your welcome, but is pleased to know you’re in good hands.” Mr. Ackerman turns to the next page before he crosses his legs. His eyes flicker up to look at you to find irritation seeping out of your through eyes narrowed at an empty space on the floor, chewing on the inside of your cheek “I assured her that **you are in good hands, Miss Blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologize again for the umpteenth time as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair. “My mother must’ve planned this in hopes that I may grow closer to you.”

Mr. Ackerman cocks his brow at you, “Are you blaming your mother for your cold? Shouldn’t you be blaming the weather, or that you rode on horseback on a rainy day?”

"I cannot blame my mother for my cold or the weather, but I can blame her for scheming along with it." You sigh, leaning your head back onto the pillow, "My mother is an opportunist, so she must've seen the rain clouds as her 'moment to grasp'. She was adamant that I take horseback and not that carriage. My mother is many things, but most importantly, she's a scheming woman."

Much to your surprise, Mr. Ackerman smirks at your words. He smirks.

He licks his thumb before turning the page of his book, his eyes ghosting over the words without much intention to actually read.

"What are you doing?" You ask, twisting to face him, your hand tucking beneath the side of your face.

"I'm reading." He isn't.

"Here?"

"Would you rather I not keep you company?" His grey eyes blink away from the page and up at you. "Isn't this the whole point of your visit, to get o know each other?"

"W—Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd take our proposition quite literally." You voice falls soft at the end of your sentence and you feel yourself shrink in embarrassment.

"How else are we to make them believe we've formed an attachment?"

"Oh, well—"

"Is my company a bother?"

You shake your head. "Is mine?"

Mr. Ackerman chuckles and if it weren't for the whirling of your brain, you would've caught it. "Merely tolerable, really. You best get some rest, Miss. Blouse."

When you awaken again, it’s a little later in the afternoon and the sun is harshly bleeding through the glass window and casting over your face.

The first thing you notice is not the freshly changed rag resting over your forehead, but the empty chair that Mr. Ackerman sat himself earlier. You pout and you feel a little disappointed.

Disappointed?

What?

You prop yourself up on your elbows, drawing a sigh of relief. The smell of fresh sheets permeate your lungs and your tilt your head back before tilting it back up again.

Through your hooded gaze, your eyes scan through the room. You finally appreciate just how beautifully decorated it is. Shades of complimentary greens canvas the room and soft golds accent the room here and there. It’s ingrained in the walls and on the doors, and coloring the the bed posts, too.

With nimble fingers, you peel the covers off and a wave of cool air washes over your body.The floor is just as cold when your feet meet the carpet. You shuffle around the room, nosing through things but never really touching anything. You're too scared you might accidentally break something.

But the thirst of your curiosity has yet to be quenched, so you find yourself straying out the room, trotting down the hall and twirling around the space gleefully.

The estate is something written in the books. If it wasn't for the dreary, unsettling air hanging over you as thick as fog, the feeling would be magical.

Too busy to play make believe in your head, you find yourself too far off the path. Everything looks the same, and you eyes widen in panic.

Think, think, think, you chant inwardly, twisting your head around for something familiar.

Panic rises from your chest and lodges into your throat, and the last thing you need is to fall onto Mr. Ackerman's bad side.

But before your knees can shake in such unnerving trepidation, faint whispers echoing down the hall and towards you pull you from your thoughts. The voice are so faint and low, you nearly mistaken it to be elves.

You listen intently and follow the source, passing through a few more paintings and doors to lead you to a fragment of light bouncing off the wall and onto a door left ajar. You come to an immediate standstill when you recognize the voice — it's Mr. Ackerman.

Every inch of you tells you to turn around and walk away, but you aren't your mother's daughter for nothing. So the greater part of you belonging to her tugs you close, stealing a peak through the little gap as you hold your breath.

"When did you hear of this?" Mr. Ackerman's voice is gravelly, laced in annoyance. You hear him sharply huff followed by the sound of a hand slamming against the table, causing you to jolt in place. "How long have you known?"

"Not long," The unfamiliar, gruff voice says, and Levi grumbles. "Be thankful I'm telling you now and not waiting any longer. How could I with all your dallying? Since when have you taken any interest in marriage?"

"I haven't." He clips, tone dry. "The point is —"

"The point is, he's back and the last thing you need to do is wasting your time in courting a woman. Honestly, Levi, since when have you been so reckless?"

"Erwin," Mr. Ackerman grits, "my personal affairs have nothing to do with you. Who I choose to spend my time with has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mr. Smith seethes, yelling in a whispers. "If you cannot do your job, then how can I trust you? Do you not remember the reason why we're here?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"It seems that you are," Your eyes widen at Mr. Smith's counter, "she's slept here for two days, and you for two days, you've watched over her instead of doing what I've instructed you to do."

"She was sick." Mr. Ackerman argues flatly.

"Hange is a doctor for a reason."

"And I don't trust them for a reason."

You can only assume it's Mr. Smith who sighs dejectedly and clicking his tongue agitation. It only further piques your interest, and you wish it doesn't. But you can't help it, hearing that Mr. Ackerman stayed by your side while you rested made your cheeks burn and you can't help but grin to yourself, completely overjoyed.

You mentally kick yourself for being so much like your mother.

"You cannot hold that burden with you forever." Mr. Smith sighs.

"Whatever," Is the weak counter Mr. Ackerman spits back. "I'll take care of it tonight — the one of Governor Pixy's."

"Be sure to make yourself like an artificial night when you do." Mr. Smith commands, his voice smooth and stern. "You mustn't be caught."

"When have I ever been?"

You quickly leave, sprinting down the hall the moment you hear a chair grating against the floor.

Your heart drums in your chest and you breath tremulously. You heard something you shouldn't have even if it was only in incoherent pieces. Truly, it could be anything, but with the rumors circulating around him, it shouldn't be so surprising.

So why is it?

You find yourself in a more familiar part of the estate and you breathe out in relief.

You’re about to head back into your room when you stumble past a room, catching a glance of a grand piano standing tall from the corner of your eye. You retract your steps and turn your head to get a better look, your lips falling into an 'o' when you do.

She's beautiful, you think.

It’s an alluring, glossy ebony piano — one Sasha finds herself drooling over to play on whenever she sees one. She'll hate you so much when you tell her about it.

Against your better judgement, with all the bells warily ringing for you not to, you walk over to the piano, your hand shadowing over the wood. You take a seat before the keyboard just to take a good look at her. You have no intention to play her, really. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't for the life of you.

Your eyes flicker to the fall board of the piano and find a name engraved in gold.

"Petra," you whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You're very beautiful, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shoot up from the chair and snap your head up to find Mr. Ackerman fuming at you. His eyes dark with rage and his jaw screwed shut, gritting at you. "I asked you a question."

"I— I didn't touch anything." You peep. You feel incredibly small underneath his scrutinizing gaze. You wish the ground would swallow you up right then and there. "I, I really didn't—"

"Get the fuck away from her." Mr. Ackerman speaks lowly, his voice quietly trembling, but you can't hear it. 

Even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve been caught red handed. Fear buzzes in your head and fogs up any line of thought. 

"I'm sorry?"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE PIANO!" He bellows, his eyes as fiery as his anger, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip up on your feet. "Who the fuck do you think you are, wandering into places you have no business? Is this what you shitty farm people are like? You get a chance to walk into a place thrice the size of your home and they think they could just parade around?!"

"I—I didn't mean to —"

"You and your family are fucking disgusting."

There are many things you're willing to put up with. You don't mind if someone were to come after you and call you out, but coming after your family is completely different. So your kindness and the very last bit of your patience snaps like a twig.

"I would imagine you're the disgusting one." Your voice is still small, but you’re building up to your confidence, peeling your eyes away from the patterned carpet to stare daggers right back at Mr. Ackerman who stills completely.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll admit I've overstepped and I deeply apologize for that," You begin, your voice no longer wavering in fear, "but how dare you? My family’s been nothing but kind to you."

"I think you've mistaken that I fucking care."

"I've heard many things about you, too many, for that matter. Yet I never labelled as anything as derogatory as what you've called me." You draw out a sharp breath, closing your eyes for a moment to steady you heart before continuing, "I think its disgusting, I think,  that such a man as yourself, who've I've heard has been through hell and back, would think so lowly of people that's no different than him."

You never dared to listen to the rumors or any of the gossip. Even when your mother would try to entertain any of it, you’d stop listening or leave the room if you could. But if Mr. Ackerman was willing to aim for such a low blow, you couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't do the same.

"I think you’re 'fucking disgusting' for forgetting where you came from."

Mr. Ackerman clenches his jaw and balls his fits tight til his knuckles paint white. He's ready to fire bullets into your self-esteem, but before Mr. Ackerman can even utter a syllable, a servant appears behind him, clearing his throat to cut of the momentum.

"Apologies for the intrusion," The servant says, his tone monotonous and dry, "but it Miss Blouse's brother is here to collect her."

You widen your eyes at the servant, and your expression softens. 

“Reiner’s here?” You voice is small again. 

“Yes, Miss.”

"Perfect." Mr. Ackerman huffs, his whole body still tense. "Get the fuck out."

You snap your gaze back to Mr. Ackerman, sneering, "Gladly."

tag list. @castellandiangelo @astronomyturtle @regalillegal @oshuncheyenne @drapetomaniaac @whalerus @hinaamaya @ggsmashgg @kyosugi92 @daikushiji @acker-baby @lundabean @moonxochu @melodiamore @unlikelyfestivalshepherdhuman @osmosly @halparkebitch @leashaoki @bonkybabe @myeg1993 @chikenbitches @subtlepjiminie @mangobee

[dongofthewolf]

Everything in Between- Chapter 1

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

The reader stumbles across Abby one sleepless night and can’t help but become an absolute stuttering mess.

Warnings: swearing, mild violence, fluff, bad grammar lol

I’m extremely new to this so please be gentle T-T

Read chapter 2 here !

The first thing that you always noticed about a person was their eyes (it’s cliché you knew that, but you really couldn’t help it), and anyways… that was the first thing you noticed about her. The first time you saw her it was pouring outside; the kind of pouring where it got dark at 5pm and the reflections in the puddles on the pavement—partly distorted by the heavy raindrops—looked like fun house mirrors. It was brief and she only passed you for a second, but the clouds that were concealing the sun left a shadow of darkness in the air and in her eyes. Making her regularly blue eyes a much darker shade from the lack of sunlight, a blue that looked like the part of the ocean you can see from the shore but avoid from fear you may drown in it. 

You had forgotten your umbrella that day leaving your hair drenched, you were shivering from the cold and desperately made your way to your room as quickly as you could. But as you hastily walked with your head down in an effort to conceal your eyes from the raindrops, you bumped into her. She was a lot taller than you and was incredibly built, she had her long blonde hair in a neat braid and was wearing some simple cargo pants with a grey sweater. She was also carrying some bags but you were walking too fast to really get a good look at them. Although this was the first time you had seen her and it was only for a moment you’ll never forget those eyes, those dark blue eyes that made it seem as if she was hiding from something. That was the first time you saw her but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

It was stormy again but at least today you were inside, the howling of the wind against the windows woke you up and when you glanced at the digital clock it read 2:30. You always had trouble falling asleep again once you were woken from your slumber, and found that you required at least an hour before you could actually sleep again. Since it was so late though you figured that the cafeteria would be empty and you could grab a cup of tea before going back to bed, you also often sat in the commons room to read because it’s pretty isolated from the rest of the place and very seldom did anyone else sit there too. 

You pulled a black crewneck over your messy hair and put on some slides before making your way down to the cafeteria, the hallways leading up to it were lit with fluorescent lights that burned your eyes when you stepped out of the darkness of your room. It was surprisingly silent (with the exception of your footsteps of course) and after living in a place constantly occupied by so many people for so many years, it was a rare occasion to find some peace and quiet; an anomaly that still surprised you to this day. 

The cafeteria was nothing special, there were 30-40 folding tables lined up near the big tear stained windows and next to the kitchen there was a communal fridge with a basket of fruits no one dared to touch. Cabinets lined the whole half of the room and you reached into the second last one to grab some chamomile tea before setting the kettle on the stove. 

You sat by the windows while you waited for the water to boil when you saw a strike of lightning, it was purple and quickly followed by a large cracking noise which weirdly enough didn’t quite startle you. You supposed that after all these years of living in a place that is universally known to rain more than anything, you become accustomed to the crashing sound of thunder and the sudden flashes of lightning. Plus, it’s a lot better than the sound of guns going off or those dreaded clickers that haunted your nightmares. So consumed by your thoughts you hadn’t even noticed the whistling noise coming from the tea kettle. It wasn’t until you heard an unfamiliar voice that nearly made you leap out of your skin, you turned around and standing there was the very girl you had briefly seen that rainy afternoon just three days ago.

“You gonna get that or should I?” She was wearing some grey sweats and a khaki tank top that showcased her huge biceps, you admired her toned forearms, unable to form any combination of words that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete and utter idiot. She must have noticed you staring though because she repeated the question with a raised eyebrow and a small smirk. “Hello?” She asked.

“Right… sorry” you immediately responded. You laughed nervously and hurriedly ran to the tea kettle, a small blush forming on your cheeks as you removed it from the stovetop. While pouring the hot water into a small cup you quickly threw the tea bag in so she wouldn’t notice your shaking hands, as you threw the bag in you quietly ignored the quickening beat of your heart. At this point you couldn’t tell if the shaking was because you were startled by her sudden presence or if you were nervous because of the literal goddess staring down at you.

“Sorry again about that I was just distracted.” You looked up and she was studying you with those same blue eyes, the intensity from her gaze made you ramble on.

“Did you want some tea? I accidentally boiled too much water, I guess eyeballing measurements just isn’t my forte.” You chuckled again, clearly flustered by this gorgeous woman looking at you in your damn pajamas. Somehow even at two in the morning she managed to look effortlessly beautiful and you couldn’t help but be fiercely jealous of her overwhelming confidence. Up until now, no one had ever had this effect on you, then all of a sudden this stranger looks at you once and BOOM you’re a stuttering mess.

“Sure, does this place have any chamomile tea?” She said nonchalantly while grabbing a chair from the stack in the corner. She sat in it backwards with her arms resting on top of the chair and you flashed a glance at her toned forearms “holy shit is she strong” you thought.

“Yeah, I’m having some too actually.” You poured out the tea and sat down across from her, this was the first time you had actually been able to really see her and you were in awe of how gorgeous she was; Her hair was in a simple braid which had a few strands astray (most likely from sleeping in it) and she had these adorable freckles that spread from her face all the way down to her arms. She was staring at her cup with those same intense blue eyes—this time the fluorescents adding a tint of green to them—she looked like a statue that was literally sculpted by the Gods and you couldn’t take your eyes off of her. As you looked down at her calloused hands that were cupping the warm ceramic cup, you noticed that they were a lot larger than your own, but they also had a delicacy to them; the kind of delicacy that deserved to be in a museum. Every aspect of her was absolutely perfect and never in your life had you seen someone like her, you were struck with this sudden need to know everything about her (even though she didn’t really seem like the chatty kind). Consumed by the essence of her beauty and strength you almost hadn’t realized that she was talking to you, and “oh God” You thought “I was staring again”.

“So uh… what’s your name?” It was obvious she was trying to fill the silence but there was a softness and kindness to her words, almost as if she was trying to appear harmless. 

“Y/n and yours?” You replied in the calmest way that you could even though your hands were shaking like crazy, you gripped on to your cup for dear life hoping she wouldn’t notice. You were always so terrible around new people and now with the combination of not just a complete stranger, but an incredibly charming and attractive stranger? You were surely doomed.

“It’s Abigail but you can call me Abby, most everybody does.” She was clearly not oblivious to your nervous manner (and your staring) but she pretended not to notice, probably to spare you the embarrassment. Having people stare at her was nothing new to Abby and honestly, she liked it. She felt powerful and strong when men were intimidated by her, but the way y/n was staring at her was different. It certainly wasn’t fear because despite the shaking of y/n’s hands that she tried so desperately to conceal, she didn’t look at Abby with fear “Perhaps it was admiration?” Abby thought. But she soon nudged any ideas of romanticism from her mind figuring that y/n was probably into those douchebags who act cocky and disrespectful but are too chicken to ask a girl out; Abby despised disrespectful people. However, if there was anything that Abby hated more than disrespectful assholes, it was embarrassment. Abby’s confidence was one of her greatest strengths, it was like a shield she put forward that helped her endure the incredibly misogynistic environment she lived in. She figured that the staring was just intimidation. Abby was quite confident in her ability to judge a person’s character and brushed any thoughts of attraction to the back of her mind, not wanting to risk the possibility of rejection or being wrong. 

“So what brings you to the cafeteria at this fine hour? Besides the tea of course.” She smirked, her smile was so infectious that you couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, figured I’d drink some tea and read for a bit in the commons room. Better than laying in my bed and staring at the ceiling for an hour I guess.” You stopped yourself before you could say something stupid or embarrassing. “What about you?”

“I just got here a couple days ago and I’m a pretty light sleeper which normally would be fine, but that damn thunder won’t shut the hell up!” She pointed her fist to the sky dramatically and you couldn’t help but giggle, she looked at you with a smile. “They stationed me here to do some work and I haven’t had much time to myself, they gave me some time off tomorrow and now thanks to this storm I’m gonna spend it passed out in my bed.” She paused, contemplating her words before continuing. “I’m glad I met you though, late nights are much better with company.” You could feel a heat trickle to your cheeks. “So what are you reading?” 

“Pride and Prejudice” You answered excitedly. “It’s my favourite book, I’ve read it like a hundred times. I guess I’m just a sucker for cheesy love stories” She grinned.

“It was good but Elizabeth? She was way out of Darcy’s league, I mean yeah she had pride but Darcy was prideful and snobby.” You giggled at her response and the thought of this tough and brawny girl reading Jane Austen. “I mean, if you’re gonna have a terrible character trait just choose one. Not both!” 

“Okay… But you gotta admit they were perfect for each other” You added. “Their weaknesses complimented each other and then their strengths the same. It’s like they were meant to find each other, and I mean just the thought of something like that gives me hope you know?” She looked at you with a raised eyebrow, urging you to elaborate. “Soulmates, I mean… just the thought of there being one single person on this entire Earth who was put here alongside you, the perfect match who’s strengths compliment your weaknesses and vice versa makes me feel some sort of hope.” You felt yourself getting carried away and decided to let her speak. “What can I say, I guess I’m nothing if not an optimist.”

“I get what you mean but I feel like that’ll just set you up for disappointment. There's so much more to life than just love and finding your ‘soulmate’. There’s thunderstorms, books, good food, there’s family and friends, and strangers that make you tea.” she glanced at you and your heart skipped a beat “this is insane!” You thought “Not only is she totally gorgeous, but she’s smart and funny? God she’s so perfect I think I might melt where I stand”

“Fine, fine, you got me there.” You smiled and was struck with this sudden feeling of security that you’d never felt before Abby, and though you’d never really admit it, you realized that all this time living in a facility had made you really lonely. Speaking to Abby was seriously the first time in this place that you weren’t thinking about the end of the world or crying over lost family and friends. At this small fold-out table in this dull and dreary cafeteria, you felt the first modicum of safety that you hadn’t felt for a really long time, and it was all because of her. You noticed that your mind had wandered off again of course but Abby’s mind seemed to be elsewhere as well, she had an almost nervous or unsure look on her face.

“Hey, so I know you said you were gonna go read in the commons room but do you think you could ditch Elizabeth and Darcy for a bit? I haven’t really gotten a chance to see this place and I was hoping you could maybe give me a tour.” Abby asked in a casual tone, hoping y/n wouldn’t notice the slight nervousness in her voice. 

“Of course! I’d love to show you around, though there isn’t much to see other than empty halls and abandoned rooms” You replied enthusiastically. You were ecstatic, she was the first person you had really connected with in a while and you jumped at the opportunity to spend more time with her.

“I don’t mind, as long as I have you to keep me company.” She winked at you and smiled warmly. You felt your heart skip a beat again “Is Abby flirting with me?” You thought. “Nah, probably not” She was the coolest and most beautiful girl you’d ever seen. What would she see in you? Plus Abby probably isn’t even into girls, she’s just being friendly.

You walked her through each of the empty halls and corridors while you guys chatted about books, friends, family, life before the outbreak, and everything in between. You even traded embarrassing dating stories in which you both had to stifle loud outbursts of laughter so you wouldn’t wake up the rest of the facility. While you were speaking about your various dating escapades you decided to sprinkle in a story about a girl to see Abby’s reaction.

“Okay okay I got a good one, so once I was dating this girl and we actually moved in with each other like a month into the relationship but that’s not important. Anyways, so I had this cat right and when we broke up a few months later and she moved out, she took the cat!” You both bursted out laughing. “She literally stole my cat and I was so pissed that I keyed ‘thief’ into her car.” 

“Remind me not to piss you off y/n, you’re a vengeful one.” Abby chuckled and responded casually. You were slightly unsatisfied, she hadn’t reacted to that statement (or any of the subtly gay references you made) at all and you couldn’t tell if it was because she liked girls or because she didn’t care. It didn’t really bother you that much though because this was the most fun you had had in a long time. When you were laughing and talking with Abby all the thoughts about your family and impending doom—thoughts that were once constant—had begun to fade away. All that mattered now was Abby, she was the best thing that had happened to you in a really long time and you were so grateful to have met her.

By the time you guys had decided to depart it was six in the morning, Abby walked you back to your room and you couldn’t help but feel like every atom in your entire body was vibrating. 

You had spent an entire night with this amazing girl who was now the first friend that you’ve had in a while, your cheeks were bright red and your heart felt like it was shaking. When you laid your head on your pillow to sleep you couldn’t shake the thought of those brilliant blue eyes, and that clever, knowing grin that made you melt. God, and you couldn’t forget those gigantic biceps, you just wanted her to crush your skull with those beautiful, freckled arms. You adored her, and as you drifted off into a deep and peaceful slumber you dreamt of the most incredibly gorgeous, funny, charming, and intelligent girl you had ever met: Abigail Anderson.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Three (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: exquisitely-obsessed

Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks

Word Count: 5000+

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: nothing

A/N: This is and this isn’t the final part of the story. I’ve already got a draft for a part four but it’s also going to be able to work as a one shot in itself. Here’s a hint - it’s got something to do with the plot of New Moon. Kinda obvious but I LOVE angst. My requests are open <3 But if you’re interested you should check out my masterlist here!!

previous part

Y/n felt crazy. It was the middle of the afternoon also the middle of a storm and she was standing on Bella’s doorstep, half-crying.

Her day trip to the Cullen’s house was only a few days ago and yet so much had changed since then. Bella was basically no where to be seen, now constantly spending time with Edward to the point where she even ditched school with him after Biology leaving y/n to drive herself home.

Moreover, the Carlisle incident had also wedged a gap between her and Bella. After the silent drive home back, y/n waited until Bella was busy with Charlie before heading to the nearest store and treating herself to an assortment of bathing items. New shampoo and conditioner, body wash, body scrub, shaving cream, razors, body lotion, leave in conditioner, facial oils; the list went on. Y/n knew she could never speak to Bella about it, too mortified over what Carlisle had said never mind the fact she was crushing on the 20-something year old doctor and (adoptive) father of Bella’s boyfriend.

All this combined with Jess talking her ear off about the dance, her parents pressuring her about college and her grades slipping; it had all become a bit too much. Her last straw was an argument with her mum about the dishes which left her storming out of the house, hopping the fence and knocking on Bella’s door. She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed her friend.

“Hey Charlie, is Bella in?” Y/n watched as Charlie took in her groggy appearance, wrapped in one of her dad’s old jumpers which had holes spotted along the sleeves.

“I’m sorry she’s not,” Charlie answered, his eyes tentative. Y/n tried not to act surprised, after all what did she expect. “She’s at the Cullen’s house, playing baseball or something.” Y/n could feel the angry tears prickling behind her eyes, she had never felt so alone and abandoned and she hated herself for it. She wanted with every inch of her heart to brush it off and just be happy for Bella’s newfound romance, but this seemed to come at the price of her own happiness. “Hey y/n are you okay-”

“Yeah.” Y/n answered a little too quickly, wrapping her arms around herself and nodding furiously. “It can wait. I think I’m going to go for a drive or something.” A somewhat forced smile slipped onto her cheeks as she tried to shake off her disappointment. “Could you tell Bella that I was asking after her?”

“Course.” Charlie said calmly, his gaze still soft and worried.

“Thanks, uh, bye Charlie. Have a nice evening.” Y/n splurted turning away from the door and hopping the fence. Without looking back y/n unlocked her car and quickly got inside, aware of Charlie’s lingering fatherly gaze. After sitting still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with herself she decided to drive down to La Push. The rocks, the ferocious waves, the abandoned feeling of the place. It was exactly what she needed. Trying not to let the tears brim over she turned on the radio and spluttered the engine to life.

Turning out of her driveway she felt better already. Some distance would be nice, plus she never knew who she might bump into along the way, it would be nice to see Jacob again. However, as she was driving down her street she noticed Bella’s red truck speeding toward her. From what she could see Edward was driving, a terrifying expression cut into his face as he glared at the road; Bella peering at him with an estranged fear, tears in her eyes. Y/n only saw them for a second before they passed, headed for home.

Had they been fighting? Y/n’s heart lurched for Bella. Despite Bella’s lack of communication recently, y/n still understood how much Edward meant to her, and of course she would still be there for her.

For a moment she wondered if she should turn back, wait till Edward left and then call on the house again, but her mind was already carrying her to the beach. She needed this time to herself; a break from everyone and everything.

***

Y/n hadn’t been driving long when she was pulled from her mind once more. She was driving down one of the lesser known roads, green and blue blurring around her when she caught sight of someone standing on the side of the road.

The first thing y/n noticed was her hair, ferocious red. It exploded around the woman’s head in fiery ringlets. Her clothes were raggedy and didn’t fit her very well: a tartan button up and loose fitting beige trousers. Over her shoulder hung a backpack with a bottle of water and thick rope looped off the side. She was waving her hands desperately in the air, clearly trying to catch y/n’s attention. Without thinking y/n slowed the car and rolled down her window.

“Are you okay, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank God!” The woman cried in a strange accent. “I was hitchhiking when I thought I saw a bear. Ran like I never had before but now I’m lost. If you could just drive me to the nearest main road I’ll be able to find my way back to my car.”

Y/n couldn’t help but drink in the appearance of the woman now that she was closer. Her hair appeared even more explosive, a stark contrast with her ivory skin which appeared dewy and soft. Perfect freckles were sprinkled across her nose underneath a pair of dark eyes. She was unimaginably beautiful.

“Sure!” Y/n found herself saying without really taking it into consideration. She was pretty sure the woman looked like that girl Martha in her history class, maybe this was her older sister. “Hop in!”

It would be a minor detour, wouldn’t take long at all. The woman moved fluidly to the side of the car, opening the door with a flash before seating herself comfortably next to her. Y/n paused a moment, waiting for the woman to pull on her seat belt, when realising she wouldn’t she started the engine and drove on.

“The plan will work.” Edward comforted Bella, the two now back at the Cullens house following their performance for Charlie. The Cullens themselves rushed around them, preparing.

“Rosalie and Esme are heading down to your house as we speak. They won’t take their eyes off of Charlie. He’s perfectly safe.” Carlisle added, Bella shot him an appreciative smile. A pause of silence.

“Carlisle what about y/n?” Edward pondered aloud.

“Already thought about it.” Carlisle answered without looking up, Bella glanced between the two. First Edward’s invitation (for which he brushed off all her questions and instead supplied the phoney answer of wanting to know Bella’s friends better) and now this?

“What about y/n?” Bella asked. Edward took a deep breath, not meeting her gaze and ignoring her question.

“James and Victoria have no reason to suspect y/n is of any importance to Bella, Charlie or any of us. They’ve never seen y/n with us, they haven’t heard us talk about her. Y/n is no more than a neighbour. Besides, with Rosalie and Esme having eyes on Charlie they automatically have eyes on y/n.”

“Y/n’s not at home though,” Bella interjected worriedly, “We saw her pass us, she was leaving in her car.”

“What.” Carlisle stated rather than asked, his voice dropping as well as his easy smile. In fact, his entire body language changed, he stood taller, stretching his shoulders forward slightly as he eyes flickered a darker shade of bronze.

“It’s fine.” Edward said, not phased by Carlisle’s reaction, “I read her mind, she’s headed to La Push. If Victoria or James goes onto their territory...” Bella shot him a confused look.

“You’re right.” Carlisle murmured, relaxing slightly as he chewed on the new piece of information, “As long as she’s there she should be safe. I’ll send word to Rosalie, she can keep an eye out for y/n’s return.”

“Let’s go.” Edward muttered without another word.

***

“Just a few more turns then we’ll be on Bogachiel Way, you should be able to find your way from there.” Y/n said automatically, wearing a cheery grin as she hoped not to spook the woman any further - it sounded like she had had a rough day.

“Actually I was hoping we could take a left," The woman spoke, it was the first thing she had said since being in the car. Her voice was smooth like honey but not overtly-sweet, there was definitely some bite in there.

“Are you sure?” Y/n’s brows furrowed, “I haven’t been down there before and we could risk both of us getting lost,” She chuckled to herself, “And-” She turned to face the woman and stopped abruptly, her jaw clamping shut.

“What is it?” The woman asked, not breaking eye-contact. Y/n felt as though she was being compelled, she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Your eyes,” She stuttered, “They’re...blood-red.” She tried to laugh, speaking as though the woman would be surprised herself.

“Oh.” Was all the woman said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion. “Well that just gives it away.”

“What-” But the woman had already snapped her fingers through y/n’s hair, and all she remembered was the sight of the driver’s wheel as her skull crashed into it.

***

Bella sighed heavily from where she was sat in the hotel room. The TV presenting her with some daytime talk show with a painfully loud and obnoxious host. Alice and Jasper were completely still next to her as they watched, no emotion, they looked as though they weren’t even thinking.

The phone exploded with a shrill ring that made Bella jump, before she could get up Alice was already answering it, nodding along to whatever the other person was ranting about. Bella waited patiently with watchful eyes, if it was Carlisle that was calling Edward couldn’t be too far away.

“Bella,” Alice turned to her with a vacant expression, holding out the phone. Bella went to reach it when all of sudden it was falling out of Alice’s grasp with a resounding ‘k-dunk’. Bella went to protest when she realised Alice couldn’t see her, she was seeing something else, something from the future - Jasper was behind her in a second.

“What is it?” He asked soothingly, his hands resting on her shoulders.

“It’s...Victoria.” Alice spluttered distantly, her golden irises flitting back and forth.

“Charlie is he-” Bella began.

“She’s driving. She’s happy.” Alice continued.

“Alice, is Charlie-” Bella tried again.

“Oh.” Alice once more continued as if she hadn’t heard. Then it was over and she turned to Jasper with wide, fearful eyes. “It’s y/n. She has y/n tied up in the back of the car.”

“What?” Bella distantly muttered behind her, meanwhile Edward’s frightful voice could be heard yelling through the phone from the floor. Jasper swept down and twirled the phone into his fingers.

“Edward.” He said clearly, “We have a problem.”

“Is y/n okay?” Bella asked shakily, her fingers half covering her mouth. Alice simply collapsed back down on the couch, her brows furrowed, eyes frightful and she chewed on what she had just seen.

***

“What’s going on Edward?” Carlisle asked as he shifted the car up a gear, racing down the motorway. Edward’s eyes were wide, fluttering left and right as he took in new information.

“What’s wrong?” Emmett asked from the backseat, picking up on the awful tension.

“We have a serious problem.” Edward began.

“How serious?” Carlisle asked, not removing his eyes from the road and yet his voice was still calm, supportive.

“Alice just had another vision but it was of Victoria, apparently she’s driving somewhere with y/n tied up on the backseat.”

What Edward had said didn’t seem to settle with his audience for a while. Carlisle’s face enigmatic, Emmett just simply confused.

“Who’s y/n?” Emmett pondered aloud. Y/n’s presence and affect on the family had pretty much been kept secret between Edward and Carlisle, and Edward was only in on it because of his ability.

“A friend of Bella’s.” Edward answered so Carlisle didn’t have to. “Her best friend, in fact. She could be used for leverage.” Carlisle still hadn’t spoken although his knuckles where blushing blue from his grip on the wheel. “Carlisle?” Edward asked after a moment, still on the phone to Jasper. No response.

“We’re going to need to split up.” Carlisle’s voice was calm, the same as it always was. It was only his eyes that were different, flickering to a darker shade of bronze. “Emmett, Edward, I’m going to need you two to keep driving. Head for the airport and buy yourselves plane tickets to Seattle. Regroup with Jasper and Alice and keep Bella safe.”

“And you?” Emmett asked, now curious.

“I’m going to turn around and head back to Forks. See if I can track down Victoria and stop this from getting anymore messy than it has to.”

“How are you going to...ah.” Edward’s question was answered when Carlisle swung a hard right and sped into the car dealership. Before they knew it Carlisle was up and out of the car throwing the keys to Edward.

“Don’t scratch the Porsche,” Was all he said. “It was a gift.”

“Are you sure?” Emmett called out leaning out of the back window, “You don’t need help?” Carlisle smiled at his son.

“It’s more than I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the building. Edward in a flash was sitting in the driver’s seat, starting up the engine - desperate to see Bella again.

“So,” Emmett smiled broadly as he leaned back and stretched out his arms across the seats, “This girl...y/n...she’s important right.” Edward sighed deeply, before glancing over his shoulder with a soft grin.

“You have no idea.”

***

Y/n stirred, her head feeling as though it was going to pound out of her skill. Distantly she was aware of something holding her wrists and ankles close together and the hum of the engine beneath her.

At first her vision was blurry, and it didn’t help that the trees were rushing past her window and an incomprehensible rate. It was also dark outside, too dark, how long had she been out?

“Wakey, wakey.” A dark voice fluttered down at her. Y/n groaned in response, her hands, bound, automatically rushed to her forehead and when she pulled them back they were slick with blood. This couldn’t be happening.

“What’s going on?” Y/n was surprised how calm her voice sounded as her eyes focused on the sight of the red-head, her wild appearance now feeling threatening. This woman must be insane.

“You have no idea what you owe me.” She spoke in riddles. “Lying there bleeding across these seats. I almost messed up the whole plan.” Yes, she was definitely insane.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “Have we met before?”

“No.” The woman rolled her eyes, “I promise you would remember if we had.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n didn’t feel like playing into her games, she was petrified as it was.

“Seattle. A girls trip.” She grinned menacingly at her over her shoulder. “James just called, apparently some of your friends just booked a flight there. We can’t risk flying though so I’m afraid we’re driving.”

“To Seattle?”

“We’ll be there before you know it. I’m a quick driver.” She was, the trees were rushing by so quickly no distinctive feature could be made of them. Whenever they came across another car on the lonesome road it whipped by within the millisecond.

“What did you mean by my friends?”

“The Cullens, silly. I saw you hanging around Bella’s house, asking after her even. That’s why your here.” Y/n couldn’t make sense of it, the jumbled words and the fizzing in her head meant everything she tried to process felt scrambled.

“I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” Y/n muttered, her eyes scrunching up as she tried to endure her throbbing skull..

“I’m not sure about that.” Victoria glanced in her rear view mirror, y/n noticed and, twisting in her seat, she watched as a white blur stayed hot on their trails, following the cars movements perfectly. She tried to focus on the identity of the driver but another wave of nausea rolled through her guts.

When this had passed she glanced around panicking. Looking down she noticed the rope, about an inch thick and bound several times around her wrists and ankles in expert fashion. It didn’t take long for y/n to conclude there was no way she could get out of them herself. Glancing around, her head feeling a littler clearer she looked for any way to slow the car down or at least call for help.

Trying to look inconspicuous, y/n leaned forward and looked through the window resting her fingers near the trigger to pull it down. With a quick glance at the woman she slammed down the trigger; but the window rolled down all to slowly and all to loudly. The woman’s head snapped around.

“Bitch.” Was all she spat before rolling the window back up with the panel by her arm. “What were you going to do, make a jump for it? We’re going 150 on the motorway.” The number made y/n feel queasy but she had already committed now, she wasn’t just going to sit here and we carted off to her ‘girls trip’ in Seattle.

Quickly, y/n flipped the window down again and using the bony knot of the rope between her arms she began to attack the top of the glass the same moment the red-head began moving it back up. She wasn’t quite sure where the strength had come from but after a small fit of thwacking her arms against the window she became aware of the tiniest crack at the top. This fuelled her flame.

She started again, aiming directly at the crack beating her bound arms against it relentlessly. In the moment the pain ignited her fury although she was sure she would regret it later. All of a sudden the window gave, one piece fell and then suddenly the whole thing shattered. Before the woman could stop her she leaned out the window, her hair exploding in the wind as she was caught in the white cars headlights.

“Help!” She shrieked, the volume of her voice astounding even her. “Help! Get me out of here! Call the police!” Re-filling her lungs for another spout of shouts the woman leaned over the front seats grabbing a handful of y/n’s hair and slamming her back into the car.

“Insolent bitch!” The woman cried, taking her hands off the steering wheel to yank y/n over the divide between the front two seats. “If you make this anymore difficult for me I’ll find away to get Bella without your help!” This caught y/n’s attentions and she went limp across the seats, her head hanging back so she saw out the front of the car, the world upside down.

“Bella?” Y/n choked.

“If you keep struggling you’ll never see her again.” The woman twisted so that one hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding y/n’s hair so she was firmly bent back against the armrest, straining her neck; y/n couldn’t help but notice the impossible strength at which she was being pinned down.

The short scrape had pulled and split y/n’s previous head wound: a deep cut curling above her left eyebrow. And when she had broken through the glass and leaned out the raw glass had cut her waist and cheeks. This meant that as y/n’s head was pulled back blood dribbled up her face, trickling into her eyes and leaving a mixture of blood, tears and sweat.

She wasn’t held in the position for long. At some point the woman gasped and let go, now holding two hands on the wheel. Y/n couldn’t quite see what was happening around her but she saw a flash of white and felt the cars wheels roll unstably. She snapped back into the backseat, now no longer interested in the window but rather trying desperately with her bound hands to buckle her seat belt.

As she focused on her bound hands she could faintly hear distant, familiar voices and the red-headed woman shouting back something incomprehensibly fast. Her instincts proved correct, within the minute the car leapt out of control underneath her, swerving off the road and rolling down the small hill. Clutching onto the overhead hanger for dear-life y/n felt her entire world upside down, the sickening scent of burning flesh before darkness finally coddled her once more.

***

Y/n stirred from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours and the first thing she noticed was the release on her wrists and ankles. Before she tried to open her eyes she fluttered her fingers over her wrists where there lay course indentations. The skin was tender to touch and she was sure the skin would be black and blue.

Trying to open her eyes she noticed the warm light above her, somehow this made her feel safe. Her head still throbbing furiously she tried to open them further provoking tears to prick behind her eyes and dribble down the sides of her face. A wave of nausea overtook her then and abruptly her body snapped up underneath her, once she was vertical it seemed to die down.

“Woah, woah, woah.” She heard a familiar voice call, she knew that voice. It appeared he had leapt from the shadows, guiding y/n back down but she protested, groaning audibly. “Slow down.” He said calmly, his fingers firm on her sides. A harsh intake of air whipped from her lips and his arms snapped back.

“Your fine it’s just...my sides.” Y/n muttered, wincing from the lingering stinging from her sides, the cuts from the glass of course.

“You’ve had a rough couple of hours.” Carlisle spoke into the silence. Y/n groaned pushing up again, this time Carlisle didn’t move to stop her. “You really shouldn’t sit up, you’ve got some serious head trauma.”

“Just for a sec.” Y/n’s voice was breathy as she pleaded with him, “I just feel too nauseous if I lie down.” He didn’t say anything, but he let her sit. Y/n had just assumed she was in the hospital what with the presence of Carlisle, but when she looked around she wasn’t startled to realise she was propped up on his kitchen counter top. A series of cashmere and fluffy looking blankets covering the surface to make it soft, she tried to ignore that a few were covered in blood.

“I assume you have a lot of questions.”

“You think?” Y/n didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know where to begin. It was a debate on whether to tell Carlisle her crazy story, to describe to him the red-headed woman with blood-red eyes, how she had talked about the Cullens and Bella. On the other hand, instead of explaining she wanted to ask questions; how had she ended up at the Cullens house, where was her car, what happened to the woman. She settled on her question. “Is Bella okay?”

Carlisle stared at her with a pondering expression, as if he were chewing on the information she had released by that question alone.

“Bella is fine.” He said slowly, his voice soft. He had stepped away from y/n and stood at the opposite counter top, running a white cloth (by the smell it was doused in alcohol) over an assortment of medical instruments. Y/n tried not to look at them. He turned to her suddenly, as if he were waiting for another question.

“Do you know what happened to me?” Y/n asked, her fingers rushing to her forehead. He was there in a second, his hand empty, holding her fingers back with his own gentle touch. He had moved with supernatural speed but y/n couldn’t process that right now, that wasn’t the craziest thing to happen tonight.

“Yes and no. Don’t touch your wound I’m not done.” He answered clearly, going back to his work. Y/n just stared at him, waiting for him to go on. He sighed. “I got a call saying that you were in danger. That you had been taken hostage by Victoria.” Y/n automatically linked the name with the face. “I came to help you. I was in the white ford bronco behind you.” Like deja-vu the images shot through her mind, leaning out the window calling for a help, unable to make out the figure in the white car.

“How come...” He was back assessing her wounds, dabbing it here and there, engrossed in his work. Her eyes were large, slightly dazed and glossy as she watched him through his arms, her eyes fixed on his own.

“How come...” His warm voice was only a whisper, guiding her along her words.

“You. How come it was you that came for me? You...” She trailed off again, aware even through her murky mind of her heartbeat picking up at his closeness.

“Because, and I know this is confusing,” He began, taking a break and looking directly into her eyes, capturing her attention, “I will always be there when you need me. Perhaps not necessarily when you want me...but always when you need me.” Y/n surprised herself by completely understanding what he was trying to convey. It all felt like a dream anyhow.

“When your car went off the side of the road.” He began, unable to return to his tools as he was caught in a memory, “I-” He trailed off, a flash of anger dancing in his eye. “I pried open your door and you were unconscious. And the blood-” He stifled something in his throat.

“You’re a doctor and you don’t like blood.” Y/n murmured, a smile slipping on her lips. Carlisle smirked.

“I’m not afraid of all blood, only yours.” He went back to work.

“You’re afraid of me?” She asked, her voice quiet and small. He paused, catching her off guard as he moved forward, his nose an inch from hers.

“I haven’t felt fear like I did tonight for three hundred years.” Y/n still felt like she was dreaming.

“It hurts.” She mumbled after a few moments of tense silence.

“I know, love.” He hummed, saddened at her pain. “Where?”  Y/n went to brush her forehead but stopped herself, she then moved to her stomach, tentatively, afraid of showing Carlisle her exposed flesh she lifted her shirt slightly. Peering down herself she noticed a series of cuts dancing around her waist, in particular her front from where she had leaned on cut glass. If she were not mistaken, Carlisle’s breath hitched in his throat. She let her shirt drop.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Carlisle winced as if he disagreed.

“You shouldn’t even be this hurt in the first place.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone. “I thought that by leaving you alone I was protecting you. In reality, I was only pushing you away because I was afraid.”

“There’s that word again. Why do I scare you?”

“It’s not you per-say, more what you’ve made me realise about myself.” 

“Carlisle...my heads spinning.” He met her eye before turning away grabbing something off the counter top.

“Here,” He murmured, a smirk lighting up his face. Looking down y/n caught sight of a roll of band-aid held between two of his slender fingers; the familiar dinosaur pattern somewhat sun-bleached.

“God, I can’t seem to escape those.” Y/n murmured softly smiling despite everything. 

“Well I might’ve taken a box home since the accident.” Y/n eyed him, he had taken these from the hospital? “I guess I couldn’t help myself.” He said as if reading her mind, his brows now furrowed as he turned back to his work. He unwrapped a decent amount of plaster before tearing it with his fingers, finally he positioned it above her right eye and, soft as feather, pressed it against her head. As he had done this he had inched closer and closer, y/n’s legs automatically opening so that he may position himself comfortably.

“I have to say I think you’re going to get your wish.” Carlisle muttered softly.

“What?” Y/n whispered back, astonished at how close he was standing, his hip bones touching the inner of her knees.

“I think this cut may just scar. You can finally walk around town with something interesting to talk about.” Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned broadly, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“By the way, what am I going to say, about this?” Her fingers reached up to her face resting against her dinosaur spotted plaster. Carlisle thought for a moment.

“You,” He began, reaching his own fingers up to join hers, “Were tired...and upset,” His voice was so soft, and yet the silence blanketed around them meant it filled the room. “And you went for a drive,” Chills sparked down her spine as he slowly lowered himself to her level, careful not to make any sudden movements. “And you...lost sight of things...for a moment.” She could feel cool breath brushing against her cheeks. “It was dark and you crashed...I saw it happen by chance, and helped.”

“Okay.” Y/n murmured. “But...that’s not the truth.”

“No,” He breathed into the tension, “Unfortunately the world cannot know the truth.”

“Can I?”

“I think it is what you’re owed.” Y/n pondered this.

“The woman?”

“She had disappeared before I got to you. Afraid probably.”

“Of you?” Y/n asked somewhat incredulously, but she could see it, the power in his voice, his control over a room.

“I have a...reputation.” Y/n just grinned, overwhelmed.

All of a sudden his cool fingers were brushing her hair off her face before resting either side of her head, his thumb back to brushing under her right eye. Y/n froze at the contact and yet he clearly found the movement completely natural as he tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

“There is so much about this world you have yet to discover. Right now, you are on the cusp of a discovery that may change your life forever and most certainly it will mine. We’ve been keeping something from you, me, Bella, Edward. But not out of contempt, or anger, or hate...but because it’s difficult to know how to best protect those whom you love. And if today is any indication, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Love?” Y/n whispered. Carlisle paused heavily.

“It’s...not my fault, I promise.” Carlisle murmured, his nose brushing with hers ever so slightly, “There is a degree of destiny involved.” Y/n grinned as she pulled back slightly, but Carlisle’s hands never left her face.

“You speak in riddles.” This caused Carlisle to laugh, deep and heartily.

“A product of my age unfortunately. But, I promise. Things aren’t as complicated as they seem...or maybe they are. Either way, you no longer will be left in the dark.”

“Is this the part where you spill all of your dirty secrets?”

“How did you know?” He mocked with a grin. “Now listen carefully.” He pulled back leaving only cold air where he once was, but he remained in contact, holding onto y/n’s hand, brushing circles over the feathery veins as he seated himself next to her. 

“There’s a lot you need to learn.”

next part

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[babyboy-cody]

What about jealous Duncan 😳 over reader cause she is spending too much time with Micheal and cockwarming him while using his laptop so you hear her whimpering and Duncan is extremely jealous that she doesn’t want to spend time with him and if you want to add angst you can :-)

oh.. oh yes. this. this right here. this is art.

It was a very late night. The snow outside wasn’t letting up and sent a chill throughout the house. The sun had begun setting during 5 in the evening. It would always create beautiful warm colors in the sky; hues of orange, pink, sometimes purple. Winter was your absolute favorite season of all due to reasons like these. You adored how bright the atmosphere would get when the sun reflects from the blankets of snow. On some days, you could've sworn that the snow was sparkling. Winter also gave Michael an excuse to use the newly installed fireplace, which you both used almost every night. It also gave you an excuse to make passionate love with him. If only Duncan was home to experience it as well.

Tonight was like no other. Duncan had been away on yet another business meeting while you and Michael stayed home. You deeply missed Duncan in more ways than one; the way his scruff felt against your skin, the way his cologne overwhelmed your nostrils, the way his lips would turn into a smug grin when he was able to get you to blush, the way he would let out a loud groan when he did that type of stretch, and more. Michael and Duncan were so different from each other that you all completed one another and connected as if you've been long lost soulmates for centuries. Because of the polar opposites, your relationship has been incredibly strong and just the definition of perfection. However, you can feel it slowly come apart.

With Duncan away the entire day on his business trip, you had become so needy to the point of almost bursting into tears. You loved Michael so dearly. You looked at him as if he hung the moon and the stars. If he asked you to jump, you'd ask how high. But you missed Duncan, so very much. Michael could tell instantly. He can sense your emotions and it's incredibly overwhelming. He can almost feel your heartache and your devastation. He's not sure why, but he's beginning to come to a realization that the polyamorous relationship is slowly coming apart.

"Sweetheart?" Michael knocks lightly on your door and pushes it open gently when you call back in a small, barely there voice. When he steps inside, his heart nearly breaks at the sight. You’re sat on the ground with your back pressed against the front of your bed. You're holding a scrapbook you made for your three year anniversary on your lap with Duncan's old college sweater engulfing your body.

"Hi," you softly said and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes, glasses placed sloppily on your nose. "I thought you were working on a project."

"I was," he told you and sat down beside you, looking down at the open scrapbook. "But I missed my girl and decided to check up on her."

You blushed and let out a small chuckle as you ducked your head down to brush your thumb across the corner of the book. You stared at the picture of you, Michael, and Duncan at an office party of the brunettes during the first few months of your relationship. You had worn a deep red dress with a black shawl and black heels that made your head come up an inch over their shoulders. Duncan was wearing his signature dark and mysterious outfit, which consisted of dark slacks, a black shirt, and his favorite black leather jacket. Michael wore one of his gorgeous and expensive dark velvet suits and both men looked absolutely handsome and rich. To say the least, every single man and woman was jealous of you three.

"Remember how shit-faced drunk you were at the end of the night," Michael chuckled and pointed at the picture. "We both had to carry you out."

"Oh God," you groaned and covered your face with embarrassment. "Don't remind me. That was the worst night of my life."

You both laughed as you turned the page again. It was quiet for a few long seconds. You shuffled closer to Michael and leaned your head against his shoulder. He turned and pressed a gentle kiss to your head. You closed your eyes and let out a tired, broken sigh.

"I miss how things used to be," you whispered.

"Me too," he whispered back, feeling that ache in his heart increase when he heard your small sniffle. “We’re gonna be okay.” But will you?

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

It’s been approximately three weeks since yours and Michael’s interaction. Since that night, your relationship has sprouted into something stronger. Your happiness has been something you haven’t felt in a while. You’re not crying every night any more. Although he works from home because of the pandemic, he still gives you endless affection and attention. It makes you feel like the first month of when you started dating. But because Michael works from home, that means Duncan works from home as well. It’s only the start of the pandemic, so you’re not sure when it’s safe to go to work again. 

Duncan hasn’t noticed how your attitude changed towards him. He seemed oblivious as always. What he did notice was how your affection grew for Michael. You were always attached to him, whether it’s when you’re cooking in the kitchen with Michael, cuddling on the sofa during a movie, or even when you’re making love. You always gravitated towards Michael, regardless of whatever situation you’re in. He was confused because everything was okay. You still spoke to him and kissed him, even if the kisses you gave him were shorter. That aching feeling in his gut intensified when he heard you whimpering in Michael’s office. The door was cracked open just a few inches; enough for Duncan to see the entirety of Michael’s desk and both you and him on the chair.

He can tell the difference between your pleasure whimpers and emotional whimpers, and these were definitely pleasure whimpers. He shuffled a little closer, and sees Michael’s head barely turn, as if his senses can locate Duncan’s spot. The blonde man knows he’s watching. Duncan can see your house dress bunched around your hips and the absence of your underwear. He can also see Michael’s trousers unbuttoned as you sit upon his lap, your face buried in his neck as he continues to type away at his laptop.

“Almost done, little one,” Michael whispers in your ear, kissing your warm cheek gently as he lightly strokes the outer part of your thigh.

“That rhymed,” you giggled and shifted your hips a little, moaning softly and leaning up to look into his warm blue eyes.

“It did, didn’t it?” He lightly chuckles and and moves closer to his desk, briefly pressing your back against the edge, as well as causing his hips to buck up into yours in the process, eliciting a sweet gasp from your lips. “My apologies,” he grins like the cocky bastard he is.

Duncan can no longer hold in this building rage that was bubbling inside of him. After days of zero attention from you and Michael, he decided it was enough to dance around the unresolved issue. He pushed the door open all the way with such force, it slammed into the wall adjacent to it. The loud noise jarred you and caused you to jump in Michael’s lap, whimpering softly from suddenly being knocked out of your soft headspace. Angry Duncan was something you always hated. Michael sat emotionless as he ignored Duncan and hushed you softy.

“When you two are done engaging in your rendezvous activities, I’d like to speak to Y/N alone,” he tells the both of you, his voice low and filled with anger and jealousy. “And don’t make me wait.”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

You left Michael’s office a flustered mess. Your cheeks held a lively, rosy color in them. Your lips were a darker shade than usual. Your hair was a bit tousled, but still neatly kept because you’re that kind of person after having a fun time. And your panties? Oh boy, were they damp to the point of sticking to your achingly sensitive core. Michael assured you that everything was going to be alright, and that if you needed him during your talk with Duncan, he’d know. And so with a nervous pep in your step, you hesitatingly knocked on the door of Duncan’s bedroom, twiddling your thumbs to ease the frantic thumping of your heart in your ribcage. You looked behind your shoulder and at the closed door of Michael’s office just as Duncan’s bedroom door opened. Your head immediately shot ahead, and you briefly stared at his chest before lifting your head up to look at him.

You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you could make out the sudden softness in his eyes when he sees you up close for the first time in a long time - but then it goes away in an instant. He steps aside and holds a long arm out to motion for you to come in. You do so without hesitation. He doesn’t close the door all the way, only leaving it open just a crack. You’re almost thankful for that. He sits in one of the cushioned chairs in the corner of his room, the one closest to the window. You remember how often you’d barge in and catch him with a book in his hand and a glass of scotch in the other, the sunlight pouring in and creating a halo of orange and yellow around him. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling a little bit. It goes away soon after when Duncan clears his throat. He rubs his scruffy jaw and sighs deeply, looking far off into the distance.

“I don’t know how to put this,” he begins to say. “Do you still love me, Y/N? Does Michael still love me?”

“Of course we do,” you say in a shocked tone as you went to go towards him, but he raised his hand to stop you in your tracks. “Why would you say such a thing, Duncan?”

He laughs humorlessly. “You know, when I was a little boy, I was often ignored by the people closest to me. I was thrown into a corner like a used toy that someone got bored of. When I was twelve years old - twelve - my mother said not one, but two words to me the entire month. I didn’t even get a fucking happy birthday. But you know what’s funny, Y/N? I still pulled through.”

You stood in silence, arms crossed over your stomach for comfort. Your mouth opened and closed to say at least something to him, but nothing came out. You were rendered speechless. Duncan took notice and let out an emotionless chuckle.

“You know, I never expected you and Michael to do the same.” He sounded so heartbroken that it nearly broke yours. “I feel like that same fucking twelve year old boy all over again.”

You cleared your throat and licked your dry lips. “The only reason I’ve gravitated towards Michael more than before is because you were barely here, Duncan. You were always away and that broke me. Michael noticed it too and he helped me feel good again. It wasn’t the same as when it was all three of us, but it was something. I was happy.”

“So you weren’t happy with me?” He asks you gruffly, not meeting your eye as he stares at his empty and neatly made bed. “I’m here now and you’re still not happy.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that, Dunc,” you whispered helplessly and shook your head. “Michael has been here the entire time, even when he does have work. He made me feel loved and wanted. I just wanted you to do the same.”

“I tried,” he snapped, eyes filling with a dark rage which caught you off guard. “And you didn’t fucking let me, Y/N. You were so caught up with whatever shit you were doing with Michael to realize.”

“You were never fucking here!” You snapped back, your voice cracking as your emotions spewed from within. “It wasn’t the fucking same, Duncan. I needed you and you weren’t here.”

He laughs. It doesn’t reach his eyes. And that’s what scared you the most. Sensing your erratic fear, Michael hurriedly exits his office and makes his way to Duncan’s bedroom. In there, he feels the tension piling onto his shoulders and it’s overwhelming. Duncan barely casts him a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“Look who joined the party,” he sarcastically replies. “The man of the hour, Michael fucking Langdon.”

“Calm down before you do something stupid and that you’ll regret,” Michael warned him, slowly stepping closer to you while keeping his eyes trained on the man in front of him, whom was slowly coming apart by the minute.

“No! Fuck you, Michael. You took her from me. You took everything from me. God, I should really hate you - both of you. But I can’t!” Duncan shouted and slammed his hand against the wall beside it, causing you to jump and gasp softly at the loud and sudden noise. “I keep trying, but nothing’s working. I’m a good fucking person. I help provide for us. Nothing is ever enough, even when I am here.”

You stood silently beside Michael, the blonde man not uttering a single word as he allows Duncan to vent and spew out these withheld emotions. He needed to do this. His unspoken demons would chew him out, and most days it would be Michael’s duty to bring him back down to earth again. You were casted out of moments like these specifically because of Duncan lashing out. His brain works faster than his mouth, so whatever he says, he won’t even realize it until after.

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” his voice cracked. He looks at you and Michael with such heartbroken eyes, rimmed red and filled with unshed tears. His face contorts into one of pain and he presses the heels of his hands into his hands. “I’m sorry I made you feel unhappy. But you have to understand that I do these things to make you happy too. And it clearly didn’t work.” Then, the tears fall. He swallows down a choked hiccup, his shoulders and chest twitching painfully to catch a breath.

A lonesome tear rolls down your flushed cheeks. You take a step towards Duncan while Michael stays motionless in the spot you left him in. When you’re standing directly in front of the broken man, you reach a hand out slowly as if he were a panicked kitten hiding in a corner and lightly touched his cheek. The feeling of your skin against his is what made him officially breakdown. He couldn’t keep his cries inside anymore. Seeing your pained eyes, feeling your warm touch, smelling your sweet scent, hearing your gentle voice whisper his name - it was enough to make him fall to his knees in defeat. You followed him and desperately pulled him into your arms, allowing his head to bury itself in your neck and shoulder. Your arms soon wrapped themselves around his trembling body as he let out gut wrenching cries.

“Please don’t leave me,” he weeped helplessly, trying to catch a breath as he heavily pants and hiccups. “I can’t lose you and Michael. I can’t be alone again.”

You hush him softly and rock him gently from side to side, all the while kissing his warm and clammy forehead. Michael quietly walked towards you both and got down on his knees as well. His arm wrapped around you from behind as his hand held the nape of Duncan’s neck. Both of yours and Michael’s touch was enough to calm the hysterical man down.

“I love you, Duncan,” you whispered in his ear, making sure not to speak louder. “We love you. And we’re not going anywhere, neither are you. We’ll fix it, okay? We always do.”

“Promise?” Duncan sniffled and leaned up to look at you in the eyes, suddenly feeling that warm sensation in his chest again like the first time he laid eyes on you. He looked at Michael and felt at ease when the blonde man gave him a look of adoration. “Do you promise, Michael?”

“I promise,” you both spoke in unison, and that was enough to make Duncan feel like everything will be back to the way it was before.

[willgrahymn]

Strangely Estranged

this is my gift to @romansandersprotectionsquad for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange!! I really hope you like it :]

Description: Remus just wants to make his art, but Roman is still distressed by the events of SvS Redux/POF and it's affecting both of their abilities to create. When Remus goes to confront him about it, he gets a little more than he bargained for. Content warnings: Some Remus being Remus-y type lines, blood mentions (again, Remus), a good amount of swearing, and throwing some shade at Janus. Word count: 2747 I’ll rb with the ao3 link :]

- ’Honestly,’ Remus thought, ‘this painting could use more blood.’

He stared at the incomplete project. It was at least the 7th time he started on something today, but no matter what he always came to a pause.

Roman, that motherfucker, he probably had a creative block. Remus didn’t care much about only being half of Creativity, hell, it was fun coming up with the most gory stories he could imagine, but it seemed like whenever Roman hit a block he just had to drag him down with him.

He leaned back against his wall, tossing his paintbrush and catching it again. He stuck the brush in his mouth. Blue paint didn’t taste as good as green, but maybe he was just biased.

Remus glared at the painting. If it had eyes, he was sure they would be staring back, mocking him. Maybe he’d scrap the thing and use it as a target next time he played with his throwing stars.

He ground his foot into the stained carpet. Whether it was paint or blood didn’t matter. Come to think of it, he’d been at a pause for some time now. Roman hadn’t left his room nearly as much either. The only people he’d seen Roman hang out with recently were Virgil, Logan, and (inescapably) Thomas. Then there was Patton and Janus who hardly spent time together before. Now they never left each other's sides. Remus would be a liar if he said it wasn’t somewhat upsetting.

Remus loved drama. He loved watching people fight and be seconds from either murdering each other or making out right then and there. It was exciting to see people so close to their limit. Roman’s drama wasn’t fun though, it was just fucking sad.

He was pretty sure it would stay that way unless he took matters into his own hands. He grabbed his morningstar. He didn’t think he’d actually use it, but if he had to literally knock some sense into his dear brother, then so be it.

Walking down the hall of the mind palace the lighting got brighter. Silently, he wondered how the hell Virgil had managed to live with the other three for so long. With Roman’s obnoxiously loud personality and old villain accusations, he doubted the rogue raccoon could’ve slept the day away like he did when he tried to avoid him.

He stood in front of a tall, white door. It looked like something you’d find in a children’s movie or fairy tale that told the protagonist there was some sort of grand adventure on the other side… 

How boring.

Without bothering to knock, Remus opened the door to his brother's room. Maybe for Janus, he would have knocked. There was hardly anything that could truly shock him anymore with all the fun little fantasies that ran through his head, but Janus’ wrath was something he would save for a day when he needed that extra kick.

Then again, maybe he was wrong to say that he couldn't be shocked. Not when Prince Perfect’s room was such a mess. Not when one of his mirrors had been knocked to the floor. And certainly not when he took in the sight of the other half of Creativity, sitting there at the side of his bed in his black undershirt and dress pants.

Something in Remus’ guts told him there was something wrong here, and this time it wasn’t because he had been impaled or ate something Logan and Janus insisted he shouldn’t have. No, this was something else. Something he hadn’t been allowed to see since the two split up. One brother deciding he needed to be pure as white, and the other allowing himself to be the darkest black imaginable.

He stepped closer. Roman hadn’t made a sound, not yet, but it felt like approaching a lion. A lion that stood for courage yet fell to shattered pieces of what it once was.

And maybe if he hadn’t been feeling real, genuine concern for something other than Thomas’ lack of flare in his art, he would have laughed when his mind went to Scar and Mufasa.

It wasn’t like he cared though. Concern, maybe. But he couldn’t be bothered to care for his brother who he hardly ever spoke to for purposes other than making him uncomfortable with his ideas.

Roman shifted on his bed, still not bothering to look to see who entered. “I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

Remus rolled his eyes. Of course his brother would choose to be a little bitch about this.

“First off, you didn’t tell me shit.” He said. Roman sat up, looking at him. A mix of defense and curiosity in his glare. “Second, I’m not the one making your life any harder than I normally would.” His brother scoffed. “Aren’t you though?”

“You’re the one affecting my work!”

Roman huffed, pulling his legs up to his chest and hugging them closely. He liked the pressure. Logan would probably be able to tell him why if he asked. He remembered hearing a conversation between him and Virgil when the darker first showed up. Something about pressure was a stress reliever.

At the same time, Remus crossed his arms, tapping his boots and rubbing his fingers against his sleeves. Whatever response he had been waiting for didn’t come. Maybe he should leave. Pretend whatever this was wasn’t happening and go focus on something else until the other half got his shit together. That would be a lot easier than standing here, the air of the room suffocating him into silence.

Either way, neither brother knew what to say. It would be easy for the pensive prince to turn around, to tell the other not to speak to him and to go back to wherever he came from. At least it should have been.

Remus bit down on his lip not minding the pain. It wouldn’t do any good to try to beat at what was already broken. “I can go find someone else.” It was more of a statement than an offer.

His twin tensed. “Please don’t.”

Remus just nodded. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. Normally he didn’t have to think this hard. He didn’t want to care about his brother and his problems. He knew at least part of the reason behind the other’s mood was because of him because Roman hated him and being compared to him. Yet still, despite being twins he couldn’t help but feel like he had to care for his baby brother.

‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

He was Dark Creativity, the embodiment of intrusive thoughts and other so-called disturbing ideas and imagery. It wasn’t something that ever upset him, and hell it was fun making the other Sides and Thomas uncomfortable. It was fun telling Patton things that would make him shift in his seat and try to change the topic as if nothing had happened. It was fun to create thoughts that would fuel anxiety and haunt the sad little Side who harbored them. It was more than amusing to sit beside Roman, watching as he tried to do his work and ignore his bothersome brother’s constant suggestions that ruined his fairytale fantasies.

If Thomas didn’t want to use all the available ingredients he gave him to create that was fine. He could manage just fine! Really, the repression only made him stronger.

But Roman knew how to make people feel those warm fuzzy feelings that were like caterpillars in your ribs. Something that looking at it now, maybe Remus regretted not trying to pick up on the wholesome little messages that his brother always cared about. At least maybe then he’d have a better idea how to deal with all of these emotions going on. Even Logan would have done better in this situation.

His brother sighed, sitting up and turning to finally face him. He looked worse than expected. No wonder he didn’t want to see anyone else. Remus couldn’t tell what he was feeling, taking in the sight of this mess. Roman’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his nails digging into his skin.

“Why are you still here?” He asked.

Remus bit his lip and chose to ignore the question. “I know you’re pissed about Jan being accepted.”

“Yeah duh,” Roman scoffed. He sounded like a dam ready to break. “Excuse me for not being absolutely overjoyed at this… Manipulative Malefactor being accepted by our very own Moralidad.”

The Duke nodded. Sure, you could call him friends with Double D, but he wasn’t going to be like him and lie and deny that Janus certainly had… a way… of getting what he wanted, whether it meant using others as a stepping stone or not.

“I never should have trusted him.” Roman continued. “I mean, I never even liked him. Hell, right after he revealed himself to Thomas I said I hated him… I only went along with what he wanted because he pretended to be someone I’m supposed to be able to trust, and then he used me again by flattering me with fake love and bringing up Thomas’ dreams. And I just– I just keep falling for it because I’m an idiot and I keep fucking everything u—”

He hadn’t noticed Remus approaching him or pulling him into a hug until it happened.

It was tense at first. Roman froze at contact. Slowly, he sunk into his brother's arms, not caring about the way the material scratched against his face. He just wanted to feel safe.

“What’s happening?” He asked.

Remus wasn’t sure he had an answer.

“I think Patton would refer to it as brotherly bonding, but I really don’t know.” Remus laughed lightly.

Eventually, Remus slowly pushed his brother off of him, still holding onto his shoulders and smiling in a way he could only hope came off as sympathetic. On any other occasion, Roman would despise the fact that his brother was just the tiniest bit taller than him, but right now he didn’t care. He wouldn’t tell him it was good for hugs though, he hadn’t lost all of his dignity.

“Listen, Ro-bro, we’re twins. What affects you affects me too. I know it might not change much, and you might still not want to be around me. That’s fine. Just… remember that we’re two Sides in a trenchcoat trying to make up for one, got it?” Roman nodded, rubbing at his eyes and smiling slightly. “I would have expected a darker way of phrasing that from you.”

Remus shook his head. “I may not think much, but I do know enough to understand it’s probably not the best timing for it.”

He smiled, watching as his brother lightened up a bit.

The room was still a mess. They’d have to fix it up later. Not right now though, he didn’t think his brother was ready enough to face his own destruction.

“C’mon, get your outfit on.” “Huh?” “You weren’t planning to stay locked up in here like Rapunzel all day, were you?” “I mean… kind of, yeah?” Remus shook his head. “Not happening,” He said. “We gotta do some dumb shit to make you feel better.” “Ree, I’m fine now, really.”

He ignored him, grabbing Roman’s stupidly bright white shirt off the floor and throwing it at him. Checking around for his sash afterwards.

“You at least gotta put yourself together! I know how you are about your looks– even if mine are better.”

Roman rolled his eyes before pulling his shirt on, grabbing his sash from under his pillow. “I can’t stand you.” They both knew it wasn’t the truth. Not right now at least.

“I’m going to fix… this.” Roman said as he waved his hand in front of his face.

The prince left to his bathroom, grabbing some of his makeup from his desk as he went. Remus flopped onto his brother's bed. This wasn’t exactly where he expected his day to go. It was fine though. Actually, it probably went a lot better than whatever he originally planned. Bitching at Roman could be fun, but he doubted it would have made anything better. Hopefully getting rid of some emotional block would stop the art block too. It sounded like something Logic would approve of.

Remus stared up at the glow in the dark stars that littered his brother’s ceiling. Roman’s room was less loud than usual. More quiet. Like a heartbeat that once echoed so loudly had suddenly stopped, or a fire which finally died out leaving nothing but smoke and ash behind.

He heard it when the faucet turned on, when a hairbrush hit the floor, and when Roman cursed at his eyeliner.

‘His hands must be shaky.’ They’d have to fix that.

Remus got up again, half-assedly making his brother’s bed and tidying up the place. He didn’t know where everything went, so he could only hope he was putting stuff where it shouldn’t have ever been. Even if he was trying to cheer up his brother now didn’t mean he couldn’t work in advance to cause trouble for him later.

When Roman came out he looked as if nothing had happened. Like nobody would be able to look at him and think twice of if he was okay. It was an art in itself to be a raging storm and to settle down to the tranquility of dewdrops on flower petals within a matter of minutes.

When had he learned to do that?

Or maybe it was just that he didn’t spend enough time around the other to know. Maybe if one of the other Sides saw Roman now, they wouldn’t even have to study his movements or expression to know he had been upset. It would be as easy as looking at  him and recognizing the scripted smiles and rehearsed words for what they were. Was he really that bad at being a brother to fall for his own twins’ tricks?

Roman shifted on his feet. “So… What are we doing?”

“Oh!” Remus bounced, the beads on his shirt clicking together. “Well I was thinking about it earlier and since Papa Patton and Daddy Dee are spending so much time together–” “Never call them that ever again.” “You never let me have fun! But fine. You know how those two have been hanging out more.”

“I can’t let you do anything mean to Patton, he’s off limits.”

Remus pouted. “I thought you were mad at him!” “He’s Patton!” Remus glared, and Roman glared back.

Remus sighed. “You’re so lame, but I guess we can just focus on the snake. Oh! And don’t worry, I can take the fault. Besides, I haven’t fucked around with him in a while and have been waiting for a good day to do it.” He grinned. Roman would have considered it evil, but this, this was pure sibling mischief. “I was thinking we could start subtle like moving his shit 2 inches to the left and work our way up from there. I was thinking about leaving my pet rats in his room and letting them go wild, but he is a snake and I don’t trust like that…”

Roman tried to stifle a laugh. Remus tried not to smile. Remus turned away, heading to his room to put his abandoned work away before anything else. Roman, he noticed, hadn’t followed. Slowly, he turned to him. “Are you coming?” “Oh, yeah I just...“ Roman paused, taking a deep breath and smiling softly. A real smile, not the mask he had given before. “Thank you. For doing all this.” Remus’ eyes softened, nodding as he spoke again. “Don’t go getting too soft on me, Ro-bro. I’m still going to attack your side of the Imagination.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” The two brothers stood there, an awkward yet comfortable quiet moment of understanding neither wanted to interrupt. “C’mon,” Remus said, waving his brother along. “We have vengeance in our hearts and glitter in our pockets. Let’s fuck shit up.”

The prince glanced to himself in the mirror. Now wasn’t the time to focus on his shattered world view, or how his brother may not be as horrible as he thought. Now was the time to have fun messing with the one who had messed with him.

He looked to his brother, eyes sparkling. “Let’s do it.”

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

Behave, Majesty

There was a reason he was assigned to be the head of your security. He was the fiercest warrior your father could find, which meant you- the heir to the throne and the most wanted marriage match between the three largest kingdoms of the land- would be safe against any reckless nobles who resorted to more desperate means to take your hand by force.

When you met he was still in his full armor, and he held his helmet impatiently in his hand, allowing you to see the mess of pale gold strands of his hair. You descended the stairs leading into the main audience room, the gossamer layers of both your cape and your dress- designed to highlight the generous curves of your body and show off your desirability to potential suitors- a soft rose that complimented the dusky shade of your skin, and made your dark areolas and nipples stand out. It was also thin enough that Bakugou could see the shadow of hair that covered your pussy. You weren't sure if he wanted to fuck you or kill you based on the way he was taking in your official royal attire.

You always felt ridiculous in these outfits, like a show pony, but somehow when it was his gaze taking you in like it was his right- you felt powerful. Desired.

Introductions were long and ornate and boring, and somehow you were relieved by your new head guard's rude interruption-

"Bakugou, your Majesty. Can we skip the formalities? I'm sure the heir to the throne has more interesting things to do." He almost sneered at you, as if he knew most of your life was preparing to be the trophy of the most politically beneficial suitor.

"Yes, I have an appointment with the master of the baths this afternoon in preparation for the suitor ball in a fortnight." You returned evenly, but your narrowed eyes and cuttingly dry tone just made your new guard grin with a sharp fierceness that made your stomach clench.

"I'll keep you safe while you're getting pretty Majesty."

Having Bakugou as a guard was.. interesting. He was always alert and prepared for all threats, and he saved you from many attempted kidnappings. Every time he put you to bed after an attempt he'd stay the night with you, sitting in a chair by the door while he sharpened his knives.

You loved these nights, because you never felt safer than when you called out to him in the low light of the room, only able to see him in his poet shirt because of the candle he used to see his blades and wetstone, and he grunted at you, "I'm here Majesty. I'm not leaving your side. Now go to sleep."

Having Bakugou as a guard meant getting lectured the first moment you're alone.

"My job, Majesty, is to keep you safe. That means you have to behave. You have to obey every order I give, when I give it, because your obedience can mean life or death in a moment of danger. Do you understand?" He was crass and abrasive around others, even your father the King, but when it was just the two of you he was focused and straightforward. Determined. A conquerer, if you'd ever seen one. Whatever he set his mind to he'd accomplish, you were sure. What would it be like to be the focus of such relentless intent?

"Focus, Majesty. I asked you a question." His words were sharp, making you guess he'd called out to you more than once when you were lost in thought. You blushed furiously but nodded, and if your voice shook at least only he was here to witness it.

"Y-yes, I need to behave for you and be obedient to ensure my safety." His eyes seemed darker for a moment, watching the way your tongue swiped over your bottom lip. With a sharp nod he ended the conversation, and retreated to be a protective shadow like he was assigned to be.

Having Bakugou as a guard means through all the would be suitors, the balls, the brunches, luncheons, court audiences, he was by your side. Rolling his eyes when you couldn't at the ridiculous promises suitors made you, and holding his hand while you lean on him to take your painfully ornate shoes off for just a moment before your next appointment.

Having Bakugou as a guard means seeing the way he slowly starts to show his respect for the work you do for those in your kingdom you claim your father's infrastructure has failed. He follows you day after day going around the kingdom's orphanages and poor houses, bringing your maids in waiting to carry more baskets of food and blankets and medical supplies. He helped carry the heaviest supplies, his red eyes following you as you sit and talk with the children while your aids distribute the food and blankets (because as much as you'd like to you're not allowed to actually do any of the cooking and preparations yourself as another ridiculous limit because of your royal blood.)

But then your father tells you he's found a suitor, that he's tired of your arguments for not marrying the decent, perfectly acceptable matches he's put forth, and that you're to be married within the year.

Having Bakugou as your guard as a betrothed royal is hell. He sneers more often than not when mentioning anything about "Prince Izuku, the Compassionate" your soon to be husband if your father has his way. And after meeting your betrothed you found he was a perfectly kind man, with an honest heart and a genuine desire to do what was best for his people.

But he didn't make snide jokes with you about the gilded trappings of the upper class that felt like a prison, he didn't sit with you to ward off nightmares of men coming to take you simply because of who you were born to, and he didn't make the vow to keep you safe- willing to lay down his life to make sure you kept your freedom.

Having Bakugou as a guard means finding the most inconspicuous time to have a moment alone to tell him-

"I don't want to marry Prince Izuku." Your handmaids were dismissed for the night, and you had claimed you were fearful of nightmares to get Bakugou to stay the night with you.

You were in your bed, the sheets long since turned into a tangled heap, and you leaned against the ornately carved wood of the bedframe's canopy as you made you declaration.

The nightgown you wore was, like most of your clothes, more gossamer threads than anything substantial. And in the candlelight of your royal bedchamber the champagne fabric made your skin shimmer like bronze. Bakugou's heart clenched at your words and he hoped so brightly for a moment it took a viscous amount of self control to wait, hear everything you had to say.

You stood and walked over to him, barefoot, a vision that was begging to be claimed.

The doors were locked, and no one but the man you wanted was able to see the way you knelt before him- a royal showing such an act of loyalty and submission was unheard of. But Bakugou could see that you were genuine in the way you bowed your head to him for a moment, and the longing in your gaze when you finally looked up at him.

"I want you. You swore to always keep me safe, do so by taking me for yourself. You'd protect me.. and you'd protect any heirs we may be blessed with.." You murmured your reasonings softly, your hands resting on his knees as you spoke. You saw the hardness between his strong thighs and you took a risk that had your face flushing red-

"I'd have to obey you, as my husband. But I always obey you don't I? Give me a command. Let me show you how well I can obey."

Bakugou cupped your cheek and brushed his thumb over your lips, bitten red with your worrying.

"Such sweet lips saying such tempting things. You'd give up the throne to two kingdoms to be tied to a simple knight?" His question was quiet, but the weight of it hung between you two heavily.

"I'd give up everything to be by your side for the rest of my days. I'm not afraid, I'm never afraid because.. I know you'll protect me. That's all I need." You'd thought this through. You were prepared to present your father with an alternative form of union between the two kingdoms, or runaway if need be. You also had a plan, one that was crazy, reckless, desperate. But if there was no other way to make sure you were his.. You too, could be relentless in pursuing what you wanted. Maybe your love for him gave you that drive.

"And you want to give me children?" The way his voice grew rough as he asked it let you know this question affected him just as much as it effected you. Your thighs clenched together, and that heat that always lingered in your belly in his presence seemed to be ignited by the thought of what he was going to say to your reply.

"I want to behave for you as any good royal should, and provide my husband with as many heirs as he desires." You met his eyes seriously, and you didn't when his hand lowered to wrap around your throat. You leaned into his grasp, breathing in sharply when his grip tightened briefly at your blatant trust and submission to him.

"Your father may not allow it." It was as if you scented blood in the water, if he was coming up with reasons you shouldn't it meant he was in favor of it. You would have him, because no one else could ever compare to the brightness of him that exploded in your life and didn't leave a single thing the same.

"If I'm already with child when we present our argument, he won't have a choice but to give you my hand in marriage." You blurted out, your one ace card. The way Bakugou's jaw clenched and his grip on your throat tightened enough that you got light headed made you squirm.

"Are you truly so desperate for me that you'd allow me to put my seed in your belly? Tonight?" All it took was a nod, and he was hauling you into his arms. Your legs went around his waist without hesitation, and he carried you back to your bed.

Stripping you of your close was easy, especially compared to your lover's brute strength- the gossamer silk fabric didn't stand a chance. You were bare before him in moments, and he shouldered his way in between your lush thighs to he could finally get his tongue in your pussy like he'd been dreaming of doing for months.

You were biting your lip and trying to hold in your moans, because you couldn't get caught. Not yet. Not until you were sure his seed had taken root in your womb.

"Not a sound, Majesty. We are not going to be interrupted until you are leaking my seed." The low, growled words made you whimper, and you pushed your hand against your mouth to try to obey him. Because you would always behave for him. Your Knight.

[willowbird]

Hello! Can I request andreil Christmas morning with the foxes? Or just them?

Yes, yes you can <33

(Technically I have one more prompt before this one, but consider this my contribution to your asks for happy things~)

-----

Sleepy, cozy mornings were a new thing for Neil. Not that he’d never been tired in the morning, or had never been warm and comfortable. There was a difference. Sleepy, for one, implied a certain level of inherent safety and lack of urgency that even throughout his entire first year with the Foxes he had never had the luxury of. Similarly, cozy was a foreign notion to him that carried a downy reassurance of safety he’d never been privileged enough to even consider. 

Right now, though? Right now he was basking in what was decidedly a sleepy, cozy morning. 

Light was filtering through the slatted blinds of Andrew’s bedroom in the house in Columbia like ghost-breath, pale and ephemeral in the early morning. Neil’s eyes were open, but only just, and his mind was so peacefully blank that he spent what could have been ten minutes and could have been a full hour just watching the light steadily warm and brighten, igniting the floating specks of dust like tiny fireworks in a celebration of such unfathomable ease. Behind him were the low, steady cadences of Andrew’s breathing against his shoulder and his heartbeat against his spine -- a duet that Neil idly thought he’d be happy to play on repeat for the rest of his life.

So yeah, he was cozy. He was sleepy. He was... happy. And he was content to bask in that for as long as he could. Stray thoughts filtered through the haze of his only half-awake mind, none of them sticking, none of them elevating his own heart rate above its slow, relaxed beat. It was more that he just... noticed things, then let them go. He noticed the shifting of the light, he noticed the creaking of the house, he noticed that warm, pleased feeling that pulsed in his chest and spread all the way down to each finger and each toe when Andrew sighed and nuzzled his face against his shoulder, the arm around his waist tightening slightly. 

He allowed himself to wake slowly, and when he did feel alert and fully conscious, he remained in place to bask just a little bit longer anyway. 

“Hn..”

Behind him, Andrew made a small, sleepy noise of his own and tightened his arm around him again, fully hiding his face against the back of Neil’s neck. Since Andrew couldn’t see him anyway, Neil didn’t bother hiding the smile the action conjured. 

“Morning,” he offered in greeting, knowing the difference between Andrew’s unconscious movements and signs that he was actually awake but resisting it.

“Too early.” Andrew’s response was muffled, grumbled as it was against Neil’s skin, but decipherable. 

Neil shifted slightly, and Andrew instantly loosened his hold so that Neil could roll onto his side to face him. As much as he enjoyed being held by Andrew sometimes, it was still his favorite to lay facing him. He liked to be able to look at him, to watch his face and see the way light brought out new hues in his hazel eyes. They were almost green this morning, but flecked with brown that flashed gold when he narrowed his eyes into a glare. 

“What?” Andrew accused. 

Neil debated telling Andrew that he was beautiful, that getting to see his face first thing in the morning was his favorite thing about waking up in Columbia, that if it was the last thing he saw he’d count it worth it every single time. 

Instead he shrugged and said, “Nothing.”

Andrew’s glare narrowed and by the accusatory glance at Neil’s mouth, Neil supposed he must be smiling or making some other offensive expression that he knew Andrew must either like more or even less than he said, considering how often he would kiss it away.

Not this morning, though, which was preferable. Neil loved kissing Andrew. He did not like the particular vintage of ass that occurred first thing in the morning before either of them had a chance to brush their teeth. 

By the annoyed sigh Andrew made, Neil supposed he had come to the same conclusion. He didn’t resist when Andrew put his whole hand on Neil’s face to push it into the pillow, only humming in an amused way that he knew would annoy the other man. Andrew was already rolling out of bed when Neil heard the scoff that told him he’d succeeded on that point. 

Pleased with himself, Neil took an extra few moments to stretch, burying his face into Andrew’s pillow and inhaling deeply, allowing himself to go a little light-headed on the rush he got when his senses were flooded with Andrew’s scent. Andrew was gone by the time he’d fully roused himself and was back by the time Neil had changed out of his pajamas and into some lounge pants and a fresh t-shirt. They didn’t have any real plans for the day that he knew of and he was planning to hold onto this cozy feeling for as long as possible even if the sleepy bit had faded. 

Andrew was waiting for him in the hallway when Neil got out of the bathroom, holding a red bundle of knitted fabric in his hands. When Neil only raised an eyebrow, Andrew shoved it at his chest and said, “Nicky’s stupid tradition.”

Neil might have asked, except that he could now see that Andrew had pulled on a sweater over the shirt he’d been wearing when Neil had entered the bathroom. It was dark green with a gold and white tree on it, loopy knitted lettering proclaiming ‘Happy Holidays!’ with aggressive cheer. Now he knew he was grinning, and he didn’t even press a hand to his mouth to hide and cover it, because it felt nothing like his father’s smile. This was something entirely different, born of shock and awe and humor and affection in a combination Neil didn’t think he’d ever actually experienced before. 

“Put yours on before you come down,” Andrew ordered with a flat expression Neil didn’t believe for an instant. “I do not want to listen to Nicky’s whining.”

Then he turned and marched down the stairs, where Neil realized he could hear the sounds of quietly chipper holiday music and the rustle of bodies moving around. 

Neil looked down at the bundle in his hands and shook it out to see the design. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan at the image, which was probably the ugliest-looking rendition of a reindeer he’d ever seen in his life. Neil would never say that he had an eye for fashion or art, but this was just... sad. The shade of the nose was just slightly darker than the background of the sweater and he was pretty sure the animal was cross-eyed. 

Ah well, it wasn’t like he’d have to look at it if he was wearing it. With a shake of his head, he tugged it on and turned to head downstairs. At least it was warm. It was also big on him and knitted with something soft, so if Neil were to call it anything, he might say it was... cozy.

“Neil!” Nicky cheered from the stove when Neil entered the kitchen. He was wearing a bright green sweater with an elf on it. Or at least, he thought it was an elf. To his knowledge, elves didn’t wear purple eyeshadow, but hey -- he wasn’t here to judge. “You wore it! I knew it was the perfect sweater for you.”

Neil raised an eyebrow and tugged on the sweater, looking down at it. “Huh. It’s that Christmas deer, right? Randolph?” he asked, full well knowing the correct name. He’d lived on the run for half his life, not under a rock. 

Nicky made a pained, whimpering sound. “Dead. I’m dead. You’ve killed me. Neil, don’t... don’t tell me you’ve never heard of... of Rudolph..?”

Neil looked up at him and affixed something between innocence and confusion on his face. “Isn’t that the guy who makes that snowman. Uh. Freezy or something?”

“Frosty! No, he--”

“Nicky, he’s fucking with you.” This from Aaron, who had no right to ruin his fun when he was sitting there with (a distinctly cross-eyed) Santa Claus on his own sweater. Why did all of these characters have a vision impairment?

Nicky looked from Aaron to Neil, who just shrugged and moved to make himself a cup of coffee. 

“Aww Neil, you asshole,” Nicky whined, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin on his face as he turned back to the stove, where he was just finishing up the bacon. It appeared to be the last thing on the menu, because the table was already laden with every single breakfast food Neil could fathom. Three different kinds of eggs, toast, waffles, sausages, biscuits -- it was a regular feast and Neil’s stomach rumbled at the sight. 

“Wow Nicky, what’s with the spread. Did I forget someone’s birthday or something?” Neil asked as he took his usual spot next to Andrew, who’d been watching the whole previous exchange over the rim of his own coffee cup. 

Nicky turned around with the plate of bacon in hand, his expression stricken. “Neil you.. you do know what today is... don’t you?”

Aaron sighed and opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and glared at Andrew, who must have kicked him. Neil bit back a smirk and frowned instead. “Uh... December twenty-fifth? Probably?” He looked toward the fridge, where Nicky’s calendar hung. The twenty-fifth was circled in green and red marker with two smiley-faces and at least six exclamation points. 

“Shit, it’s your birthday isn’t it? Sorry Nicky, I forgot. I’ll make it up to--”

“It’s CHRISTMAS, Neil! Christmas!!” He set the plate down, like he needed to get it out of his hands before he dropped it. Or maybe so he could fee his hands to gesture emphatically at the sweaters they were all wearing. And the paper snowflakes in the window. And the Christmas lights strung around the cabinets. And the little snowman figurines arranged in various places around the kitchen (even the salt and pepper shakers were a Mr. and Mrs. Snowman now).

Neil followed each gesture obediently, then met Nicky’s eyes. “Oh. Is it?”

The sound that came out of Nicky was something between a scream and a sob. Neil reached across the table and pilfered a piece of bacon, munching on it as the twins also started to fill their plates and Nicky pulled himself back together again. 

This time, it was Andrew that took pity on his cousin. 

“Neil knows what and when Christmas is, Nicky.”

Nicky looked from Andrew to Neil, then to Aaron (who rolled his eyes and took two extra links of sausage), before finally settling his gaze back on Neil. 

Neil blinked at him, then smiled -- because.. well, he couldn’t think of a reason not to, and wasn’t that a weird reason to smile? Instead of commenting on any of that he stole two sausages directly off of Aaron’s plate and put them on Nicky’s, ignoring the affronted cursing from the other man. 

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” he said pointedly, then went about loading his own plate. 

Neil had never thought much about Christmas before, it just hadn’t been anywhere close to his list of things to worry about. But now... now that he was able to think about things that, well, that weren’t worries he thought that maybe it was something he could kinda get used to. Maybe it was something he could like -- especially if it meant sleepy, cozy mornings and times like this, where he could be so comfortable, so happy, in the circle of his family.

[uhhhhyandere]

👉👈 more yandere dimitri pls,,, that last one you wrote,,,, WHEW

haha idk where this was going or like... what the plot is or even what it’s about... but i had fun HAHAHA and literally all that matters 

so here’s 8k words of purple prose and pointlessness and idk what else i love him so much... also not proofread bc I'm lazy. y’all stan a lazy ass author. 

warnings: gory, death of minor characters, kinda bloody too, injury, manipulation

”It’s stupid. I-I don’t think… I just don’t want to get my hopes up, Annie. It’s been years…” With Garreg Mach looming on the cliffside, memories began to resurface with each field and decrepit village you, Annette, and Mercedes passed. They were fields where you would train relentlessly in the early hours of the day. An excuse, you think, to see him more. Innocent enough. Who wouldn’t want to improve their skill with the future King of Faerghus? Under those very trees is where you would have clandestine meetings at the same time beginning after the celebration of your victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Undeniably, the best night of your life. 

You silently thanked Sylvain for slipping into the wine cellars and claiming you all had to finish the stolen bottles and clear the evidence. The only people still okay enough that night to do any cleaning were Mercedes and Dedue. Felix was technically okay too, but he left far before Annette was vomiting in the washroom to actually help out. 

Your drunken first kiss at your bedroom door that Dedue definitely did not see. The sober one the day after. The sneaky one after breakfast. Quick one after training. Goddess, the heavy one in the dead of night after you scurried upstairs that Sylvain and Felix one hundred percent did not overhear through the paper-thin walls of the dorms. Countless kisses under the shadow of covers, night, until the ball. If everyone and their mothers didn’t suspect something was up when you two did not even realize you were the only pair left dancing, all eyes on you, until Sylvain whistled from the crowd, well, you would be deathly concerned about them.

“But those memories are from a long time ago, Mercie.” You pulled yourself from your thoughts. “Thinking about them only hurts. This place, what’s left of it, only hurts.” Mercedes set a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You think after five whole years, it wouldn’t hurt as much, but I don’t think I’ll be okay until this war is over. Until the cause of this - of all this pain and misery - is put to rest. Back then, even if we could have died at the end of any month, I thought he was invincible. I fled Fhirdiad as soon as I heard. Like a coward.”

“You can’t honestly think that! The Empire was taking the city. If you stayed, you could have died too! Don’t think like that.” You rolled your head back to look at the dark sky. You would make it back before it starts, at the very least. 

“Everyone grieves in different ways, and it courses through us all at different paces. You have to let yourself hurt.” You shook your head, beginning to see the shadow of the village at the base of the monastery. 

“I’ve been hurting for years now. When I met up with Felix in Fraldarius territory, he told me that the distraction will get me killed. An hour later he saved my life in battle, so he's ever the same. I wonder if he decided to show today. Sylvain would inevitably follow then. I’ve always thought--hey, do you hear that?” You stopped your movements suddenly, holding your arms to stop them as well. FIghting. 

“Is it the Empire?”

“I don’t know, but we should help out anyway,” Annette replied. “Come on!” 

You expected the Empire, but you weren’t surprised when you encountered thieves attempting to saunter off with the abandoned riches of the monastery. It was just like any other weekend you were off the road of bandits with the Blue Lions to clear a path for bandits. 

Until you saw him. A ghost. As pale as one, at least. A hulking, nearly unrecognizable mass of strength shrouded in black and blue. Relentless, he tore through his path of thieves, the professor and Gilbert hot on his trail. The… professor? They were alive too? Your hand shook at your side. They’re both… okay? You swallowed. The professor always did tend to micromanage Dimitri. You realized you could not swallow with a closing throat, wobbling along with your chest. Wheezing, crying, freezing in battle. You heard Mercedes and Annette all around you behind a wall of fog. Legs shaking, you fell to the ground, hand tight to your chest. 

“Y/N, come on, get up!” It was Annette’s urging, but she stopped suddenly. Two sets of feet set up around you. A barrier to protect you as your muscles shook. Get up. You have to. Get off the ground and fight. Just as he always taught you. 

Your bow came out quick, sniping an enemy in Mercedes’ blind spot. Before you can do anything, argue it was your imagination that conjured the sound of his grunts and the blue of his eye, you had to survive to see them and keep track of Sylvain in the corner of your eye. He still tended to always look right instead of left. Were you not so shaken up, you would have reacted to seeing the rest of your old house in battle, but your mind kept filtering back. You did not see him again in battle. He and the professor were far ahead, after the familiar bandit you had dealings with from Anna, with the remaining three bandits. You, Annette, and Mercedes went to secure the area to make sure there was no bandit unaccounted for. 

Didn’t last, though, as you fell to the ground against the foundations of a destroyed house, legs outstretched and limp. With your palm being held tightly over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes tight to get any remaining liquid out.

“Y/N…” 

“H-he’s alive.” 

“We know. We saw-”

“He’s alive. I spent five years grieving for someone who was here. I-I should have known he was here. I thought about it. I thought about it, but then I second-guessed myself and said that it would only hurt more. Searching for the dead. Pining for them, but look. I-I don’t know. I don’t know if I can even face him.”

“And you don’t want to.” Felix’s voice was just as sharp as it always was. He was grimacing, pace fast as he joined the three of you. “He is not the Prince you fell in love with. He’s the boar that’s been festering underneath his polite smile” With an exhale through your nose, you looked away. Felix really could read you like a book. He scoffed. “You knew too, didn’t you? All this time. Of course. I shouldn’t have put it past you to push things under the rug as you always do.” 

“Felix…” 

“It’s true. It’s how they even got through the relationship. Not as perfect as you thought, huh?” 

“Felix, I think that’s enough.”

“No,” you interrupted. “He’s right. I knew. I was at the rebellion. I was at that battle that is ingrained into Felix’s memory. I was in the Holy Mausoleum when we found out the Flame Emperor's identity, but he never told me… I didn’t know the extent. You all knew he would hide me from all harm, including himself. Do you really think he would tell me whatever plagues him now? Though, I could take a good guess after spending a few nights in his room back then.” You swallowed, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “How bad is he?”

“A lowly beast.” 

“There you all are. Professor says to regroup. Says we have plans to discuss, if you all are interested - woah, you okay?” Sylvain scratched the back of his head. “Oh right, yeah. Well, I don’t know how long His Majesty is willing to wait. He looks pretty - uh - impatient.” You shook your head and used the wall to support you back to your feet. 

“Reunions like this are usually supposed to be happy, aren’t they? I-I’m sorry I’m ruining it on you all. I really am so relieved to see you all okay. It’s just… there’s a lot of emotion going on right now.” It was Mercedes’ hand on your back. You needn’t look to know. 

“You don’t have to face anything you aren’t ready for.”

“No, I need to see what he has become. It’s as Felix says. I can no longer ignore problems I must face. I can do it, but we still have to check the perimeter…” Sylvain shook his head. 

“Teach had Ashe and Ingrid do it right after you left.” Your professor always knew you better than you could ever know. “Well, let’s go then. Don’t want to keep them waiting on us too long.” His brown eyes came in close. “You hardly look like you’ve been crying, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t!” Annette stomped on his foot. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Me and Mercie are right with you!” A smile broke out on your face. Albeit sad, you nodded your head and believed her. Though you both knew, in the scheme of things, you were alone in this battle. 

“Sorry, teach. You know Felix. Walks like a grandpa.” Sylvain, as common as it is for him to be the asshole, was a kind soul. No matter how much he tried to hide it. You gifted him a small smile of thanks as he glanced back. You were in the back of the small group when you joined the semicircle surrounding Gilbert, Byleth and… and… you couldn’t do this. 

His hair has grown long and unkempt. Grease and grime painted his hair, his skin, his clothes. The armor he wore just a few shades darker than the circles under his single remaining eye but, oh, it still glittered brighter than the rainy sky. That was his eye. Though only one remained, it was his. This was your Dimitri. You clenched your teeth, for you could not cry anymore. Even if this Dimitri, from what you have heard, would not care for your tears, Dimitri five years ago would. You would stay strong for him if no one else. 

And when his eye met yours, goddess, the jolt was felt down your spine. You knew your face screamed your emotions. You were no Felix, Slyvain, or Byleth. Lips parting, your breath halted as he kept your gaze. Nothing on him reacted. Goddess, his gaze was so much more piercing. You did not dare to move.  As if you were a stranger, his eye flicked back to Gilbert as the knight continued to speak. Annette grabbed your hand from beside you and you squeezed so hard you watched her wince, yet she remained steadfast in holding yours just as tight. 

For the mornings spent under the trees in the field after training, you would not cry. Dimitri is alive. He is here. A few steps away, though miles remained in between, he was alive. Within his dead eye, people will find hope. You will find hope. You know Gilbert already has as he speaks about returning to the monastery to begin to plan for the retaliation against the Empire. You know the former Blue Lions have as well, as they follow the professor loyally back up the ruined stairs you used to trip on far too often. You wondered if Dimitri can feel your eyes on the back of his head, or if he has come to be numb to that as well. 

Annette did not let go of your hand until it was out of shock in the chapel. Its remnants littering the floors. Still, the peace of the goddess remained. Its silence was a lullaby to your worries. She, it had to be her, brought back the ones you love most. There was no other power. There couldn’t have been. Even though there was a hole where she used to stand, you thanked the rain beginning to pour in.

You would be strong for the boy Dedue would sneak you to in the dead of night. To wherever the Duscur man maybe, you would do it for him, too. 

But being brave and strong was always easy for the people in Ashe’s books. They did not hesitate through their fear. It pushed them to be the heroes they are, but you could not find that platform to jump from. A mouse approaching a wolf, a boar. You sought help from the expert himself. 

“Have you? I mean, have you tried to talk to him?” Ashe fiddled with the padding on his glove. 

“No, not yet. Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Mercedes have, though. You should ask them. They can probably be more help than me.” Stepping onto the wall separating Garreg Mach from the cliff, you sat next to him, allowing your feet to dangle in the open air. 

“No, I think I need someone as scared as me. Someone who wants to be a knight from one of your books, but is the measly coward in the back used for poetic comparisons. Not that you are. I’m talking about me.” Ashe shook his head. 

“It’s only been a few days since we’ve arrived.”

“And you think I would have already sought out the man I fell in love with already? A faithful reunion. Not quite like the ones in the romances.” 

“I don’t think anything going on is anything like a book.” You furrowed your brows. “I know that’s crazy coming from me, but no book is like another. They have similarities, but they are all inherently different. This one we’re in now, this is ours. This is what people will be reading about and looking to for help. Us. No book can help us right now. I think only we can help ourselves and each other.” You kicked your heel against the wall repeatedly. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “You should try. If Dimitri will listen to anyone, it’s you or the professor, and they tried already.” You could feel your throat beginning to close up.

“What do I even say? What if I say the wrong thing? He’s hurt, Ashe. He always has been. I don’t want to… I can’t push him more. He’s not off the deep end yet. He can’t be. I don’t want to be the final straw. I know what I’ll say if I get too… emotional.” The man sighed, green eyes scanning the clouds. 

“Well, from my humble opinion, which you don’t have to take, is that, if what you’re saying is true, you’re hurting him by avoiding him.” He stopped fiddling with the leather. Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh. “He is, deep down, the same Dimitri we know. What if he was the same, and you were doing this?”

“That’s debating if he is the same underneath. Knights are torn, but I know he’s there. He wouldn’t so easily feed into it. I know it. It may be time and so much help, but he’s in there. This is part of him. This is not an imposter. This is just as much of him as the one we knew so well. It… has to be, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not.”

Nights seem to be falling earlier and earlier with nonstop cleaning, repairs, and supply running. Even if you wanted to, you lacked the time to seek the prince out. The greenhouse had to be fixed. The rubble had to be cleared. The holes had to be patched. Communication had to be made. Word was the Knights of Seiros would be arriving this evening. Preparations had to be made for that. How the hell did Cyril do this day-in and day-out? 

You were exhausted by the time Seteth and company arrived and set to meet in the chapel. The second time you’ve seen Dimitri since the bandits. The millionth time war efforts were to be discussed. Most of that work was carried out by Byleth and Gilbert. You only needed to follow orders, and your orders were to clean. Sorting out your emotions was just a side job.

“Y/N. Y/N. Are you listening?” Seteth’s scolding, something etched into your brain from the academy, broke you from your thoughts. However, you first regarded Dimitri, who looked at you the same as he did the first time, before having the courage to look at Seteth. 

“I-I’m sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.” 

“I asked if you have heard anything from Aegir? I know you were in contact with Ferdinand during the past five years.” Dimitri’s eye burned holes through your head. You could feel the sweat from it on your scalp. 

“Duke Aegir has been placed under house arrest, sir. Everything from their title and land has been stripped from them. I… haven’t heard anything since. It would be safe to presume that they will not be an in with the Empire.” Yours and Ferdinand’s history stretches only back to the academy; however, before you and Dimitri became official, you and he would occasionally… work some stress out. Casually. Dimitri always hated this fact, but he did his best to hide the jealousy from you.

“It’s not fair of me to judge you on what you have done in the past,” he said. “I will be more mature about my feelings.” Though the gleam in his eye now was all too familiar. 

“I see. Thank you.” Something within you kept you from meeting Dimitri’s eye. A fear he would look away, so you focused on Seteth, Gilbert, and Byleth as they discussed the steps to making Garreg Mach the Kingdom’ base. When the meeting ended, however, you did not listen to such fear. Dimitri spent his time in the chapel. The spectacle to gawk at. It was no surprise when he did not move as the rest of the group disperse, and neither did you. 

But he would not break first. Turning around, his cape followed him back towards the wreckage of where the altar used to be. You followed with steps as silent as possible. Opening your mouth to speak, you released only empty air. Inhaling, you tried once again, but a wall erected itself in your throat, cutting you off once more. 

“If you have something to say, speak.” His words, guttural, reverberated in you. Wringing your hands together, you took one last deep breath. 

“Dimitri.” 

“Do you wish to speak of the past?” His head turned, so you could only see one eye peeking from under his bangs. “The boy you loved is long dead. There is nothing here for you.” You shook your head and took an adamant step forward. 

“T-that’s not true.” A dry laugh escaped him.

“Is it not? Are you not frightened of me? Is it not why you have hidden yourself ever since you arrived? You know it as well as I.” You tapped your fingers against your thigh. You had to remain calm and patient. He was going to try to push you away, and you knew that. Do not stray from the path. 

“It was not you I was scared of, Dimitri.” Another laugh. This one wry. He turned around to face you then. You knew he had gotten bigger, stronger, but he stood so much higher than you. A power stance you would not succumb to. This is the same boy who broke a pair of scissors and was scared Mercedes would yell at him and smuggled sweets for you two to have late at night to study for your certification exams. “Do not tell me it is because you think you could have changed something. Prevented something. Nothing would have changed whether you were here in the past five years or not. Do not think so much of yourself.” 

You squared your shoulders. You did not want to take this route, but you had to provoke some type of emotion towards you. Something to tell you that you are more than the tool of war to use against Edelgard, and he had already given you a hint. 

“Then what about at that meeting, when Seteth asked me about Ferdinand? I saw the look you gave me. I’ve seen it before too. You cannot hide that.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you felt successful. “You can say anything you want. How I am insignificant, a tool to use, another body to die in your path to revenge, but do not-” you pointed a finger at him “-tell me what we had was nothing. I want to see what you see. I don’t want you to shut me out.” His eyes trailed down to your finger, and with an armored, gloved hand, pushed it aside. 

“So you admit it then? A tool at my disposal. To use and then break?” You shook your head, and your throat clenched once again. 

“You would add me to the list of people who already haunt you?” 

“You know nothing of the dead. Of what they say to me. There is nothing for me to be concerned about other than taking the head off of that girl’s shoulders. Should you die getting in my way, then so be it.” His lance to the heart, but you would not let the pain show. He was the same boy who broke his training lance and hit Leonie with the broken handle and fretted about it for the next month, despite the blood on his hands. You had to believe that. Latch on to that single hope. 

“You always did what you could to protect me. From Demonic Beasts, bandits, Felix’s words, but right now, I think you’re protecting me from yourself.” Metal against your neck. In a blink of an eye, his lance touches the skin. 

“Do not speak as if you know me, and do not speak anymore, or else I will slice your throat where you stand. Go away. If you return, I will not hold back, and I will use you to the bone.” A competition played out between your eyes, but, in the end, you succeeded. Walking out the monastery with a drop of blood on your neck, you did not allow any other droplets to fall until you crossed the bridge into the reception hall. 

You don’t who you cried for, or for how long until Catherine found you and guided you back to your room. Thoughts floated from Dimitri, his words, the past, to Dedue and his untimely passing and your peers that were now your enemies that Dimitri was ready to kill without hesitation and the reality of your death that could come in any battle here on forth.  

Three knocks on your door. Too hard to be Ashe’s, Mercedes’, or Annette. Not hard enough to be Felix yelling at you to train like he used to when he could find no one else. 

“Sorry. I was just passing by, and, well, wanted to check in.” The last thing you wanted Sylvain saying was that he heard your balling your eyes out. With shaky hands, you wiped your burning cheeks and unlocked the door for him to enter. “Oh, what happened? What’s that bandage from? Don’t tell me…” You motioned for the noble to come in and relocked the door. You didn’t want any more visitors. 

“Yeah, I talked to him.” 

“He hurt you?”

“I went too far. I-I shouldn’t have pushed him so deep into his emotions, presuming things he felt. It was just a scratch. I’m fine. You have the eye, Sylvain. You must have noticed the meeting.” You sat on your bed, while he spread himself on your desk chair. 

“I remember he used to come to me during those times. How he can show his love for you through other means. How he had lost you before even had a chance to try. He was so stressed, and so hopelessly into you. I thought he had it for the professor, but color me surprised when he sought me out for advice on you.” You shook your head. 

“Never should have started that with Ferdinand.” 

“Something about nobles, huh?” 

“Shut up, Sylvain. I-Look, I can’t even focus on the past right now. I use it to remind myself I’m talking to my Dimitri, and not the monster everyone fears. That, that man suffering alone in that chapel is the boy who got nervous every time we kissed, but… but it’s so hard. As soon as I saw him that day, I was shocked, overjoyed, but I knew something was wrong the same minute. He’s been alone for five years. By himself. The only people to talk to him were the dead. What kind of… I’m supposed to be the one that knows this, sees this, and helps this, but all I can do is cry in my damned room!” Sylvain was lighting fast to wrap his arms around you, and you clung on tighter to his shoulders. The sleeve of his shirt, the victim of your tears, saliva, and sobs until you had pushed your own self out of consciousness. 

When you woke the next morning, your head lied on a breathing pillow. It did not take much to recall the previous night and you let yourself relax under human contact. It was something you have missed dearly in the past five years, and you know, despite his reputation, Sylvain would never try anything with you. Your eyes, heavy still from crying so hard, lazily trailed across the room. The window Dimitri almost broke with his lance, the desk you both hunched over figuring out the mathematical side of tactics, the potted plant the professor gave you for your birthday that Dimitri also broke, but replaced with the long dead ones present. The broken locks on your door from - 

“Sylvain!” You jolted up, slapping his chest harshly. He woke with a groan while you stood and approached the door. 

“Mm, what?”

“Did you hear anything last night? Banging, or snapping, after I fell asleep?” He rubbed your pillow over his face, so you approached him, tore it from his hands, and smacked him. “Sylvain. My door is broken.” Brown eyes were wide and glowing under the sun from the window. He rushed to check out the damage. “I think I know who would have…” He met your eyes. “Which means he saw - “

“Yeah, I get it. I’m a dead man.” You shook your head. 

“Hey, hey, not yet. We could try to guess why he would come in here.” Sylvain rolled his eyes. 

“Isn’t it obvious? It isn’t to kill you. He already would have been in the chapel. Oh - we messed up. We messed up big time. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You put your hand on his arm.

“It’s not your fault. You were here when I was sobbing. I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m mad at this whole situation. This war. Everything. You just need to avoid him at all costs. Stay with someone. Felix most likely. We could explain the situation to him, so he understands, and so he doesn’t think we… you know.”

“I get it. I get it.” 

....

“Absolutely not.” 

“Felix, it’s only until I get this sorted.” Felix groaned, tying his hair back. 

“I’m not playing babysitter, and I’m not letting you handle this on your own. You’ll get yourself killed.” You shook your head. 

“He wouldn’t kill me.”

“He actually told you he would.”

“But he wouldn’t. I trust that he wouldn’t, and if one of the two of us were to approach him, it could not be you. Out of the question. It would have to be me, and you both know that, and it has to be as soon as possible. I mean, as in-”

“Have you all seen Dimitri?” Ingrid popped around the corner. “It’s the Empire - they’re coming. Gear up and get ready. We don’t know what forces they’re bringing, but we cannot allow them to take the monastery again.” Of course, of all times. 

“We’ll worry about this later. Do not let this distract you on the battlefield. Focus on surviving and nothing else. Got it?” Felix held a finger to your face. You nodded. “Good. Come on, Sylvain. We’ll see you out there.”

Focus on surviving. You were always focused on surviving. Battle was not merely just slaying your enemies. You were the priority. Not the oncoming enemies. That fact never changed during battle. That was the first thing the professor taught you; however, his selfless behavior on the battlefield would have anyone thinking twice. When it comes to fighting with people you cared about, priority gets muddled. 

Dimitri was no longer focused on surviving. His priority was to kill, slaughter his way to Edelgard. Nothing else mattered. In this way, his fighting has improved tenfold. No reasonable person would want to confront him in physical combat, which made life harder for everybody else. Being a distance fighter, you, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes were able to watch his back. Of course, Byleth couldn’t risk that many people micromanaging him. For strategy’s sake, it’s suicide. Mercedes was a critical healer and menace being trained a gremory. That source of power would not and could not be squandered. Ashe had worked incredibly hard to be a bow knight, and your most powerful archer can also not be used as a protector of one person. 

The job usually came down to you. Both by order of elimination and by your lack of ability to focus elsewhere. Your eyes were naturally drawn to the splattering blood and the behemoth of a man as the source. Byleth knew this just as well as you. You were the definition of predictable on the battlefield. 

But, the one thing you forgot was that, on a battlefield, nothing is predictable. To be able to predict the cavalier was able to reach you with his javelin was precautionary, week-one lessons, but, still, it sunk into your side. Unimaginable pain. The raw snap of impact. Warm blood cascading down your leg. Think… think! You had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere an imperial soldier wouldn’t finish you off. Hopefully, someone else would take care of that soldier before they reached you. 

Each inch was crippling. The gathering of bushes and trees seemed so far, and your energy was slipping exponentially fast. You’d be out from blood loss in due time. It even began to drip from your mouth and onto the already stained grass. Almost there. The moment your foot crossed the threshold to the hideaway, you went lip on your back. Smoke and flames met the already decaying sky. 

You glanced down your body. The javelin was at least a third in your body. Getting it out would just expedite the process, so you allowed yourself to lie your head back. Distant shouts and screams and metal clashing filled the air. The smell of the earth around you drowned out by the putrid scent of burning flesh. Something you never take note of while fighting for your life. 

Peace was not a word to use in these places, but you had no other one to use as you lied still. Is this what Dimitri meant? You wondered what he would think and say when he heard, or even saw, your death. Your death. Another nameless, pointless death in Edelgard’s ruthless path to her goal. You can see Mercedes and Annie crying. Maybe even Sylvain and Ingrid. Felix, perhaps, would cry, but you were sure he’d be pissed at you. And Dimitri… 

You sobbed. Perhaps you really were worthless, but you wanted to hope, to pray that he would be there each time you opened your eyes back to the gruel world around you. Each time, he wasn’t. 

Until he was. 

Blood dripped down his face, none of which was his own. It matted down his locks and dripped from each lock. Areadbhar glowed in his hand and dragged across the flattened grass and mud. The air was only able to jostle the very ends of his hair. His mouth opened, canines peeking from the corner of his lips. Leaving the smoke and fire behind him, Dimitri got larger and larger. 

Goddess, he was beautiful. Even as he stared with an empty eye down at you, you couldn’t help but gasp. An angel of death. You moved to rise, but the rip of his lance on your breast pushed you back down. His eye traversed down your figure to your wound. The weapon rose and fell with your breath. 

“Dimitri,” you breathed out. 

“I told you, did I not?” His chin rose and Areadbhar’s tip dug just a hair deeper. “Foolish Y/N. You are too weak for the thick of battle.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “But you will not die by imperial hands. I will not allow it. If you are to die, it will be by my hands.” Your fists gripped the grass. Dimitri hummed. “You won’t say that I wouldn’t? Or do you finally realize the truth?” 

“If you’re going to do it, just do it. Neither of us need this “ -you coughed -”stalling.” His elbow retracted and you winced, ready for the final blow.

“Y/N!” Sylvain. At the silence that followed, you peeked an eye open. Dimitri was focused on the source of the voice, giving you room to squiggle away until he forced the lance forward again. This time, the tip traced your left cheekbone. “Y/N!” Dimitri was daring you to speak, but, right now, you could hardly breath. 

“You said you were not scared of me, before. Are you scared now?” He paused. “You said you want to see what I see. Do you keep your word? Do you honor it?” Were you supposed to answer? Fear crippled your ability to formulate words. “You will not die yet.”  Areadbhar’s glow now dominated your left visual field. 

In a second, everything in that field went black, and you screamed. 

…

“I watched you go down,” Felix said. “You were at the higher ground, where you usually are in the midst of battle. You might as well have painted a target on your back if I can see you from across the plain, you idiot. That javelin went into your side,” amber eyes locked onto the bandages covering your side, “but I watched nothing touch your eye.” 

Thank the goddess for Manuela and Mercedes. Without an expertise in white magic, you would be long dead. By the same token, thank the goddess for Sylvain who found you bloody and passed out in the cover of the bushes and delivered you to them on horseback. 

Your fingers traced the bandages that wrapped around your head and covered your left eye. Everything to your left periphery and everything not covered by your right eye was black. It didn’t throb, didn’t hurt anymore, because there were no more nerves to send that pain to your brain. 

“What happened, Y/N?” Ingrid cut in. Her, Felix, and Annette stood around your bed in the medical bed. You shook your head. 

“I… I don’t remember. The last thing I recall is crawling towards the cover. I don’t even know if I got there.” 

“Liar.” Felix abruptly stood. “Stop defending that boar, and just say it.” Your mouth opened, but Ingrid cut him off. 

“Felix, are you saying you think Dimitri took her eye?” 

“I know it,” he snapped back. “I’m right, aren’t I, Y/N? Just say it. Say that beast took your eye while we were all distracted in battle.” Your eyes glanced to the others, unconsciously asking for help. 

“Felix, you’re adding unnecessary stress. Come on. We should give them space. We’re lucky they’re not dead” Her hand locked onto Felix’s arm. He grimaced, glaring down at you while he shook himself from her grip. 

“When will you ever start caring about yourself? There is more death than just physical.” He spit out before stomping out of the room. Ingrid sent you a sympathetic smile and followed her childhood friend out. Annette left soon as well under the excuse of giving you time to rest, but you could not rest. Dimitri’s face haunted you every time your working eye closed. Every throb was its own lance. Its own mark. 

His mark. 

You thought you were crazy the first time you reflected on why you and Dimitri’s eye total was the same as a normal human being. You thought you were insane for romanticizing it. It was terrifying. Inhumane. To you, at least, but to him, you knew, it was a mark of possession. That when people saw you, thought of you, it would always be connected to him, but it was also a threat. Not only to those who dare try to do you harm that isn’t him, but to you. I told you. This is what you get and will continue to get. 

You waited until the sun set, until the priests and priestesses would no longer be in your room to cry, so your pathetic cries of anguish would be bouncing off the walls in peace. Curling in on yourself, you buried your chin between your arms and stared into the dark room. Waiting and watching, a large silhouette emerged from the darkest corner and approached. Cold claws of his armor wiped away the tears on one cheek while simultaneously breaking the skin. You could only barely make him out through the moonlight in the open window next to you. Dimitri circled the bed, looking down at you from the side before bending down and planting his lips on your cheek. His warm tongue wiped at the newfound beads of blood, and you hissed at the contact. He separated himself just enough to look at the bandages around your eye. 

“I get it,” you said. “I get it.” 

…

Luckily (as lucky as you can get during the situation), the damage cut clean through the nerves, so all ganglion cells and connections to the optic nerve were completely severed. No nerves. No signal to the brain. No pain. Still, it would be a while before the tissue repaired and scabbed over. 

You didn’t know what to do with Dimitri, frankly. Part of you was terrified to even approach him. Another was equally as terrified, but this was out of what he would do if you were with someone else again. You were sure of the correlation between your broken door and your stolen eye. You wonder, then, what else he could have seen? Sparring with Felix or advice sessions with Ashe or… too many instances come to mind. 

Byleth pushed you to train more with your periphery severely impacted, and, when the time to march came, confined you to Garreg Mach until you were proficient enough not to get yourself killed. 

“Good,” was all Dimitri said on the matter. It wasn’t until your assault into the Empire that Byleth deemed you ready for actual battle. Up until then, you spent your time training. First, it was with the knights, until all of a sudden they no longer desired to raise arms with you. Something about the demon over your shoulder. You looked to Catherine, who glanced to the door, where a large shadow quickly disappeared. You inhaled sharply and pursued. 

“No one is willing to train with me. Do you have something to do with it?” 

“They can’t help you,” he responded. He quickly strode down familiar, overgrown paths down to the fields below until you both reached the same field he had trained with you in years ago. Dimitri spun around, raising his lance. “They don’t understand.” From your blindspot, he swung, and you barely dodged out of the way, feeling the very wind from the force. “Get up and arm yourself.” You quickly shuffled to your feet.

“Why? Aren’t you… don’t you plan to kill me, anyway?” 

“Equip yourself. I will not have filthy empire hands decide your demise, and I won’t have you staying behind on your own.” You gave up on trying to read into him. “Now, fight.” 

It was brutal. Unlike the helpful and cautious nature of his corrections and demands, you learned through mistakes. If your leg got slashed, you moved it the next time. If you were pushed and forced to one side, you adjusted your posture for the next time. Dimitri gave you no breaks, no time to tend to the cuts and bruises he gave you. There was hardly time to catch your breath before he was charging again, forcing your back against a nearby oak. He seemed to not be bothered or fatigued at any point. 

It would not be the first time your back was pinned against this very tree. Dimitri growled, his weapon lodged into the wood right behind your ear. A moment passed where it was five years ago, hands tight on your hips and heavy breaths swallowed by one another. Now, he pulled his weapon back and went in for another strike. 

“It’s dark. I think we need to go back.”

“You think they will not use the guise of darkness? That we will always fight when the sun is out? Arm yourself.” 

You limped back to Garreg Mach. The only real guide you had, with Dimitri’s brutal pace, was his footstep imprints and the sound of him pressing on. By the time you reached the gate, you nearly collapsed with Dimitri far ahead. Thank the goddess Anna was around to get help. Byleth’s dark cape flew behind them as they rushed through the market. They rushed you, as fast as you could go on weak legs, to the same bed you were confined to with your eye. Manuela dropped the elixir in her hand as you and your entourage busted through her door. 

“Goddess, what happened?! No matter. Get them inside.” 

Felix was going to kill you. 

But still, when you were able, you met Dimitri again in the same field. And again. And again. Until you were no longer on the verge of death each nightfall when you returned. Your former housemates did not hesitate to chastise you or even micromanage you, but, inevitably, they had to do their own work, and you set off. Felix gave you an innumerable amount of choice words before it seemed he gave up.

You were confident heading into the empire. No opponent you would face, close up or far, was Dimitri. They were far smaller, thinner, and weaker. You’d even say they seemed to have less physical intent to kill you compared to the blonde. You traded in your bandages to a white eyepatch similar to Dimitri’s except there was still padding for the raw skin underneath. Something that inevitably drew enemy forces towards you. 

“Y/N?” Despite the cruel, ruthless nature of battle, Ferdinand’s voice held the same noble gentleness. Your eye, wide and wild, met his. Across a stretch of corpses, the redhead stood tall, long hair matted down in the wind. You swallowed. “Y/N!” He called again, eyes wide behind you. In a split second, you turned to see an armored knight’s axe impending down on you. The next, a lance impaling them that breezed from over your shoulder. 

“You killed your own man.”

“He almost killed you.” You hurried to dislodge his weapon from the body.

“...Thank you,” you muttered, handing the lance back to him. Your eyes rose to behind his shoulder. “F-Ferdinand!” Your warning came too late. Dimitri’s blunt force knocked him to the ground. There was no warning, no room for words, before the sickening sound of death cracked in front of you. Again… and again… and again. You squeezed your eyes shut. 

“Keep your eyes open. This? Was your fault.” Blood splattered onto his pale features, adding to the pattern already decorating his skin. “Let’s go. Stay by me.” Not that you usually didn’t. Still, your legs would not move. Not with the fresh corpse between the two of you. “What?” Dimitri hissed out. “Are you upset? He was just another body in our way... unless it was something more to you?” You shook your head, taking a hold of your bow tighter. “Good. Let’s go.” Dimitri did not bother to even look back, and you… you could not even look down, and hurried to follow. 

You didn’t sleep for days. Ferdinand’s kind smile on your mind. You did not dare tell anyone of his gruesome demise. Though, looking at the detail, the monstrous nature of it, it didn’t take too much  thought to guess who was responsible for it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to celebrate Dedue’s return. The thing about him though was that he never let too many things go unnoticed. 

“How are you?” He simply asked, and you lost it. 

“-I couldn’t do anything. I-I couldn’t! Or… or I didn’t. Oh, goddess, I don’t know.” Your hands shook in front of you. “He can do what he will to me, but to others? Because of me? I… fuck. I couldn’t tell anyone. Felix and co. are already suspicious enough.” 

“I am sorry. I know those words do not mean much now, but, for what it is worth, I am.” He paused, furrowing his brows and focusing on the ground. “I-,”

“Y/N.” Dimitri hulked in the doorway. Where the hell does he come from? Dedue stood promptly. 

“Your Highness,” he greeted. Dimitri briefly regarded the Duscur man before focusing on you once again. 

“Come,” he said, and you followed, wishing Dedue a small farewell. Dimitri’s cape glided against the concrete. He led you across the bridge and into the empty echoes of the cathedral. It was far too late for any priests or students to linger. Especially with Dimitri lurking around in the late hours. “You still think about him.” 

“I still think about his death,” you carified. 

“Do not tell me you mourn for a man who was going to imprison you.” You scoffed. 

“He saved me.” 

“In order to take you back to the empire for information. Who else would he like to obtain than the one he grew feelings for? Do not be so naive to think he saved you so altruistically.” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do. You and I both know how war works. Do you think Edelgard and her army would not use every former connection to get ahead? There is no line on the path to victory.  Being weak, showing compassion, is just how you get killed. How the enemy wins.” You shook your head. 

“You said you were going to kill me. Did you not save me for that reason? My death is the same no matter whose hands it is by. It will have the same impact. One less body between Edelgard and you.” Dimitri’s eye glanced downwards, then shot back up to meet yours with a small chuckle. 

“Are you not already dead? Have you not already succumbed to the wills of those who control your mind? Have you not already become your own form of monster?” You shook your head and took a step back.

“N-no, I’m not.” 

“You are not? You allow these cuts and bruises to litter your body. You allow your own eye to be stolen. You allow others to die. You allow all of this without consequence. You are a worse kind of monster: the one that allows another to live, to unleash without consequence. You hardly see the others anymore. You do not train with them, eat with them. They tend to your wounds and you run to get more.” Metal fingers gripped your chin and forced your head upwards. “I told you I would kill you, and I have.” 

HIs kiss was fire compared to the ice of his armor pushing against you. All-consuming, Dimitri’s lips molded to yours and his teeth pierced your skin. He licked at your lips, and you willingly opened your maw to let him in. You willingly allowed him to drown you out, to push you towards a pew and lock you between his body and the wood. He only separated to breath before digging for more, more. His tongue dragged across your own and touched upon your teeth, tasting your intricacies with increasing vigor. He inhaled every exhale you panted into his mouth. These were not the kisses Dimitri five years ago gifted you. 

“You taste the same…” he whispered. “Show yourself to me. Let us be dead together.”