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macyomoiji · 3 years ago

Note

hi :) can you write any scenario with levi x fem reader who is independent and never listens anyone with makes her someone with no breaks. levi and her used to be rivals and for some legal reasons to avoid smt bad for survey corps they were forced to marry each other. after a time they fell in love blah blah thank you if you do it love u bye <3

Eek! I love this idea! Alrighty, some fair warning, I’m a little bit of a detail oriented perfectionist, and a very literal one as well. With that said, I hope your in for a long ride. I’m using references from OVAs and details Hajime has shared. We’re following as best as possible, how living underground for a female/female presenting person. I hope you enjoy this one!

Edit at 4am I did my best. Watch the OVAs, No Regrets and Lost Girls and everything else on 9anime.to/as-list/A?page=25 kthxbye!

Warnings: language, drug use (by others not “you”), alcohol, angst, fluff, Canon based, smut.

Levi x fem!reader

Everyone you’ve met or have gotten to know has had a…unique upbringing. That seems to be the standard of citizens living underground. So why would your story be any different?

At some point your mother instilled a fear in your brother and yourself. Contrary to what you were told up until then, titans were not your only source of worry;

“My angel you must never let any man touch you.” Your mother told you one day while brushing your hair as you played cards with your brother.

“But mommy, that means I can’t hug my brother.” You leaned back, atudhinf her face that appeared upside down to show your confused and displeased expression. At one point in your life, you had no problem with hugging people or being close to them. Unfortunately, ignorance regarding this issue, would spell an early death…you were only 7 or 8 at the time so it seemed like an odd new rule. You also thought it would be incredibly hard to adapt to.

“Your big brother is different though sweetie.” Raising an eyebrow, you then redirected your attention to your hand of cards.

“Yeah N/n cuz I’m your big bro!” Saying so with his usual vibrant toothy grin. B/n was always so expressive and energetic.

“That’s right darling.” Her smile was like the sunset you had only seen on 2 occasions and for a short span of time.

“What about the really old man at your work who says I remind him of his granddaughters?” Taking your cards and putting them down, your brother settled in front of you laying his head on your legs. Like always, he placed one of your hands in his hair before crossing his arms and closing his eyes. This was something your mother did to comfort the two of you. It was a neutral a form of affection and comfort towards your loved ones. Something that means quite a bit to you.

“He’s okay so long as I’m around.” She the thought about how to better explain this guideline while you tried to braid your brothers hair. He’s only older by a few years, but took his role as your older brother seriously.

She then told you both “you’ll both get to know lots of people in your life. I’ve taught you how to decide right and wrong. Good and bad, fair and unfair. Find someone who does what is best and who values those close to them.” It was a lot but it was something she’d tell you and your brother throughout your childhood.

“One day you’ll find someone worthy of being close to you.” Following your mothers guideline to never let a man touch you, has indeed kept you safe. In return, it’s made you paranoid if not downright anxious and fearful of being put in a situation where you had little to no control.

When you were 13 she told you about the things she feared and was careful with. The reason children and friends went missing at random. Why Underground there aren’t as many women wandering freely. She told you what you needed to know as a young lady and why she encouraged you to learn self defense. You were far more interested in learning about people and puzzles. When you think about it, the two are somewhat synonymous.

From the day you were born, adults fussed over you. You’re gorgeous so it made sense. Beautiful (h/l) (h/c) hair, entrancing (e/c) eyes, soft pretty (s/c) skin and a dazzling smile. Your mother and brother were just as beautiful. There was a time when you liked the attention you were met with. That was early on and for a short time.

When you were 17, she was one of those pretty women predators targeted in hopes of selling them…but she wouldn’t let them take her without putting up one hell of a fight; which is why you found her in pieces… Counselor Lovof was one of the men your mother worked for as a house keeper. He was not some defender of humanity like his position lead you to believe at first.

At one point, Lovof tried to have her abducted. It didn’t make sense at the time but you realized that had she gone missing during work hours, it would look awfully suspicious. She was well liked and respected. She couldn’t just go missing without someone raising a fuss or taking notice.

Some years after your mom died, you stopped stressing as much over hiding your appearance. You hid your hair though and still refrained dressing feminine out of habit. Things got more and more difficult over time since women underground were far from safe or respected. This made it hard for you to tolerate others, mostly due to their shitty behavior often accompanied by a terrible attitude. If you have nothing nice to say, write it out and edit until the venom is undetectable.

Your brother had worked with a few not so great or safe crowds. He was how you met Furlan Church, and Levi. Your brother thought Furlan was awesome and Levi was like his hero. Their resilience and ODM skills were impressive. For a time you didn’t like your brother working with them. Until the week he died, Furlan had been the only one who tried to convince him to stop being a Coderoin distributor. Had he listened he’d still be alive and you wouldn’t be in the position your in now;

Then one day you were tasked with what would redirect and entirely change your life. But what did it matter? All you did was tinker and assist in building somtimes.

“How clever. You managed to survive this long by making a fake identity.”

“That’s an interesting way to begin a fairytale…”

“Perhaps if you weren’t so cold, you’d be married, have kids and die having made actual minuscule difference in the world.”

“Anything else?”

“I didn’t come to badmouth you. I came because your mother and brother were good people.”

A man you met way back who worked under Lovof, had felt inclined to warn you?

“Change your last name or marry someone. You have access to one of those two options.”

“Why should I do that?” You ask raising your eyebrow at him, the solution he’s presenting is far fetched and drastic at that.

“Your mothers told you about things she never should have known. Additionally, your brother supported some associates who are no longer on good terms with Councilman Lovof.”

Apparently councilmen honor and respect some things. In reality they are just covering their asses. But if you have some kind of archived anchor they won’t go after you. After all, the king might find out and wouldn’t be too pleased to know that some who supposedly followed his idesoligy, only did so when convenient.

“When has marriage ever stopped them from being sick bastards?.” Using an uninterested tone you turn the page in your book of detailed designs that hasn’t yet been lost with all the other worthwhile books.

“I overheard them discuss your records and how much of a problem it would be if you went ‘missing’ with lasting ties to something.” Why is there a target on your head? Your not a teen like the ones that usually ‘disappear’. How did they even know you were still alive? What had your mother told you or exposed you to that was so important?

“Why do I need to have anybody to prove I have value as a person.”

•••

After you’ve picked out a few good books you head home. With books in one hand, you poke your nails into the top of your thumb. It’s a nervous habit that no one aside from your brother has noticed. It results in your skin being minimally irritated for a bit. Shouting and some cheering from around the corner catch your attention. It doesn’t sound like anything bad so you make your way over.

“Isabel! You’re gonna crash into-“ before Furlan finishes, you’re suddenly knocked over.

Tumbling to the ground you drop your books in exchange you have Isabel. It was kind of awkward when you met her a few months ago. You admired her pretty red pigtails but forgot you more or less presented yourself as a man. Kinda just out of habit at this point in your life.

“Hey Isabel.” You say weakly while sitting up and adjusting the fake glasses you’re wearing.

“Sis N/n! Are you okay!? You’re not hurt are you?!?” She quickly helps you up and scans you for injuries.

“Looks like I got lucky.” With a light smile you notice a cut on her cheek.

“Are you two okay?” Furlan says as he catches up to the two of you.

“I’m fine but she’s got a cut.” Letting the smile fade, you turn her head to check the other sides of her face.

“We can stick to cleaning if you can’t follow instructions.” Landing beside Furlan, Levi notices the cut when you let go of her chin.

You pull out a small bandage from your jackets pocket. There’s almost always one with you. Once you’ve covered her cut, you go to collect your books.

“Here.” Standing up, you take the book back with narrowed eyes from Levi. However, Isabel catches you off guard with a sudden hug around your midsection.

“Thanks for the bandaid!” Although surprised, you don’t shake her off. You know she means no harm. Additionally she reminds you of how you used to be towards your brother. “I didn’t know you had such pretty hair”

The moment is cut short though; “what’s got you so stressed?” He’s harmless, sure; it still isn’t really necessary for Furlan to care enough to hold your wrist.

“Let go of my hand please.”

He’s respectful and lets go. Your brother likely explained your cold behavior at some point.

“Am I bugging you?” Isabel asks still hugging you.

“No you’re just fine.” With one shake of your head, she smiles before letting go. She spots your hat on the ground and grabs it for you.

“Tch.” Levi turns around to leave, gesturing for them to go. Home isn’t far so it should be fine.

You remember that at some point, Levi spoke briefly with your brother about being able to obtain documents. “Hey I need a favor.”

“Oh?” Furlan pauses with the triggers if he ODM gear in hand.

“I need documents.” Using the word need is one you don’t particularly like using. Not everything asked for is needed. If your life or well being isn’t at risk, it falls under ‘want’. However, your life is indeed on the line.

“Let’s talk back at our place.”

“That’s way far away on foot though!” The concern Isabel has is appreciated.

“It’s important. I’ll meet you guys soon then?”

“Now let’s go.” Levi’s voice trails off as he takes to the air.

•••

On the way to their home you thought about the fastest way to get marriage documents. Hopefully, neither Furlan or Levi care enough about a piece of paper. From your experience, they’re some of the only people who didn’t make you incredibly uncomfortable.

•

“So you’re looking for a husband? Never thought I’d see the day.” Furlan jokes once you’ve gone over your predicament.

“I’m looking for documents. Forged or not. Marriage means nothing otherwise.” You say while taking your hat off and pull your hair over your shoulder to play with the ends as a way to keep from sounding embarrassed or uncomfortable.

“Well, If I must.” He’s nice but a lot like your brother. That’s an odd thought.

“Hell no. You’re way too excited about this.” You scowl.

“Why not marry bro Levi then?!” Isabel’s certainly excited over the idea. At first you were concerned that she’d resent you for taking one of her brothers. More or less brothers anyways.

Your face hadn’t divulged your displeasure with the issue until now. Why? Perhaps it’s the underlying thought of Furlan reminding you of your brother that makes you not really consider him as seriously.

“He doesn’t have a last name though.” Thoughtfully, Furlan taps his chin.

In reality, you’re not so much careless and cold, as you are a thoughtful and a dreamer. The future your mother hoped for you is one you would have liked to bring to fruition.

“Isn’t that better than? If her name is the only thing tying her to something. Plus you two could just make something up if there is a problem.” Isabel’s thought process is a little more hopeful than the issue calls for. But she’s got a point, anyone who’s a registered citizen holds more recognition. In order to qualify for residency on the surface you have to have a record. Even if it’s only your birth certificate. Not like anyone ever gets to see those though.

“I’ll see if I can’t bribe whoever officiates this at the courthouse first.” You say before putting your hair back up and hat on.

“One of the guys should go with you then.” Isabel says while sitting up on the couch in the main sitting area of their home.

“I’ll be fine.” You smile at her briefly before heading out.

Unfortunately, the man you thought worked at the court house doesn’t work there anymore. The one who does work there isn’t making many exceptions. To make matters worse, he tips you off that the guys working on the surface will find it suspicious if you don’t have some registered event or honeymoon following your obtaining a marriage license.

“Absolutely, fucking ridiculous.” You mutter to yourself crossing to the other side of the little side street. There was a group of guys sitting on the ground and along the wall of a building. To avoid discomfort or unwanted interaction, you crossed. Only giving your attention for a moment, you turn the corner.

There are far too many homeless people. It’s upsetting to know the people running things above ground, care so little. The amount of people underground actually exceeds the population of those living in the Utopia district. The idea of people living underground was supposedly to “restore” or “save” entire colonies, and a number of people who fled here due to persecution.

“Well look at what we have here.” Startled a bit you look to see who the voice behind you belongs too. Not stopping, you look over your shoulder. Some guy who certainly doesn’t look friendly. He’s not anyone important that you need to stop for though.

“Aw come on, I can tell you’re a pretty lady. Why not come have some fun with me and my buddies?” Ignoring him you turn back around spotting the road you’ll have to go down that leads to your soon to be patchwork family.

It’s been a while since you’ve used the term let alone think of someone as family. Some time has passed since your brother died. Living alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But you’ve managed to do okay alone. Today’s not the day that changes.

“I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.” Since you almost always have your hood up or hat on wearing a coat, it’s unclear to you what gave you away.

The thought of someone actually assaulting you hadn’t been too bothersome. But have you possibly become careless with the way you carry yourself? You do have a habit of crossing one arm while raising another to poke your thumb or play with your hair. When talking you sometimes put your hands on your hips while putting your weight on one leg or the other. Things you’ve forgotten to refrain from. The biggest give away is your voice. If he was unsure before, he isn’t now.

“Playing hard to get eh?” Hearing him get closer you duck as he reaches for your head. Thankfully he only gets your hat before you start to sprint.

“Leave me the hell alone!” You shout before turning a corner down a small alleyway. The next turn should lead to the walkway of Levi, Furlans and Isabel live.

“Eh get back here brat!” One last turn.

“Hey what’s-”, Levi stops at the bottom of the steps. Slowing down as much as possible, you still accidentally bump into him.

“That asshole”, quickly moving behind him while struggling to breathe you point before you put your hands to your knees to catch your breath. “I—don’t have—a knife—on me.”

“Thanks for stoppin her buddy.” The guy sounds angry as hell after finally catching up. With burning lungs and eyes squinted shut your surprised when you hear the guy yell.

“Ahhh! What the hells your problem?!”

“Keep your disgusting hands off, you’ll get dirt on my clothes.”

The guy had tried to pat his shoulder. Clearly, he doesn’t like being touched either.

“Whatever man.” Hearing the guys footsteps trail off, you open your eyes, your breathing is a little more even. “I’m sorry—I bumped into you.”

“Tch…come on, stop crying.” He offers a hand. Surprisingly, you realize you had started crying. You put your head down but take his hand anyway.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We don’t let Isabel run around alone.”

Still jumpy from the chase, you instinctively grab Levi’s arm when Furlan suddenly opens the front door.

“Sorry.” Immediately dropping his hand, you put your arms around yourself.

“Stop apologizing for no reason or you’re marrying Furlan.” Stopping to let you take a step ahead, he pushes you forward. With a nod, you take a seat by Isabel.

“Where you hat go?” Isabel asks.

“Guess I lost it on my way back.” Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you sit back against the couch.

“We can get y’a a new one!” Her positivity is refreshing but you shake your head.

“Why did you wear that thing all the time anyways?” Furlan asks while taking a seat in the armchair to your right.

“How many women do you see in a week besides myself or Isabel?” Answering his question with another.

Waving him off, Isabel turns to face you. “Sooo?!”

“Hmm?”

“Are you gonna be Mrs. Levi now or what?!?” Raising an brow at her “you’re blushing!”

“Like hell I am kid.” Crossing your arms, you say so in an almost annoyed tone.

“I’m not a kid!”

“Aw you throw tantrums like one too.” With a smirk you par her head.

She swats your hand away though in a more playful way than angry. “You’re shorter than me anyways. So aren’t you the kid here?!”

“Oh hardly!”

“Alright alright!” Furlan interjects as you put an arm over Isabel’s neck to ruffle her hair. “Enough arguing with Levi’s Fiancé, Isabel. It’s bad manners.”

“How about we have you two get married while we’re at it then?” Your comment phases neither of them.

“Nah, I’m the ring bearer and she’s gonna be the flower girl.”

“We’re signing papers. There is no wedding.” With a deadpan expression, you turn to Levi. “How much do I owe you?“

“Don’t worry about it.” You raise an brow at him.

“I’ll go with $150 then.” Standing up you head to the door.

“You’re already paying for the documents. Don’t worry about it.” He reiterates.

“Aw! A wedding gift from your husband!” Isabel chimes in.

“Where are you going anyways?” Furlan adds.

Pulling your hood up, you stop at the door. Freezing before you grab the handle, “Id rather not mess up my sleep schedule by staying out late.”

“You can stay here you know.” Levi says while going to the counter for water.

“And sleep where?” Crossing your arms you turn your head to look at him.

“Isabel’s room.”

“It’s too small.” She’s rather quick to reject the idea. “You can stay in Levi’s room! It is bigger after all.” Her attempt to not smile or giggle is…terrible.

“Tch.” He stands up and moves to the hallway. “I can grab bedding from the storage, or take you home using ODM gear.

“I can walk home just fine…”

“ODM gear it is.” He walks back to the table and where his gear is.

“Very funny…”

“I’m not in the mood to beat up more guy for you.”

“They already argue like a married couple!” Isabel’s fake whispers to Furlan.

“Is ‘bro Levi’ blushing?!” He fake whispers back to Isabel before getting up and passing Levi to head to his room.

With one hand on your forehead and the other on your hip, “Fine I’ll stay here…” you grumble.

“You can borrow some of my pajamas too!” Isabel says grabbing your hand “come on Mrs. Levi!”

“Tell her about Eman!” Furlan yells from his room.

“What is Eman?” Confused, you look to Levi.

“It’s name backwards…in case they require a last name” Levi says while turning to go down the hall. “Is your room really that small?” He asks stopping in front of what is probably her door. Pulling you with her, Isabel opens the door to her room and goes in. It really is too small…

“Fine…” turning around he points to one door, “that’s the bathroom, my room is here.” Opening one door, he goes and places the bedding a few feet from his bed. Isabel passes you a tank top and shorts.

Once you’ve gotten ready for bed, you go to knock on Levi’s door. Before you can, he opens it. “You coming in or what?”

Holding your clothes to your chest, you nod and walk in. The candlelight provides enough light. Taking a seat in the cot you put your clothes to the side. “Thank you…”

“What for?”

“Helping me with that guy earlier…and letting me stay here.” Putting the pillow at the head of the bed, you spread out the blanket over your lap.

“Don’t mention it.” Pausing before he closes the door, “open or closed?”

Looking up to see what he means, you shrug “Doesn’t matter to me.” He closes the door and goes to lay on his bed.

“You sure you’re okay with signing a marriage license?” Using a quieter voice, you lean forward and pull your hair over to run your fingers through it.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it being me?” This time he answers a question with a question.

“Fair enough.”

“I forgot to ask, how do you feel about heights?” Stopping for a moment you turn to look over at him.

“Why do you ask?”

Turning to face you, “ODM gear.” His response causes you to grimace.

“Do I really need to?” They told you about the job they’re doing that unfortunately involves the same Councilman youre trying to avoid. There’s hardly a chance that he’ll find out about your being involved. As far as ODM gear is concerned; It’s not like you’re afraid of heights…they just aren’t your favorite.

Nodding his head he proceeds to explain a little bit about what you’ll need to keep in mind when using it. Surprisingly, he isn’t as terrible as you thought he’d be…just so there are no surprises tomorrow, you recap your conversation with the guy who’s supposed to approve your marriage license. Purely out of curiosity, you ask Levi a couple questions about himself. It couldn’t hurt to know a couple things right?

“Wait what do you mean you don’t know how to-”

“Laugh and the deal is off…” not knowing how to read or write much isn’t something you were going to tease him about. It’s not surprising either. Not much is offered Underground in regard to education. Since your mother had worked on the surface for a time, you were lucky to join in learning various things with children from the families she did housekeeping for.

“I’m not laughing or making fun of you. I was just surprised.” You explain putting your hands up in defense.

“Whatever.” Turning to lay on his back, he pulls his blanket up and looks to the ceiling.

Because you don’t want him to be pissed off at you, you press further, “since you’re teaching me how to use ODM gear tomorrow, I’ll help you work on your reading and writing skills.”

“You’re learning because you don’t have much of a choice…” still upset he folds his arms behind his head.

“True. But don’t you think it would be a good idea to better your reading and writing before ‘joining’ the scouts?” You say while twirling a strand of hair between your fingers.

Thinking it over, he realizes he will probably have to read over some documents when he joins. It will probably be good too know exactly what he is looking for when going to the surface to get whatever it is Lovof needs regarding Erwin Smith.

“Fine.” Peaking over at you through one eye, “do you always play with your hair so damn much?” He asks.

“Hm?”

Opening his eyes, he turns to lay in his side; “I noticed earlier. You do that a lot.”

Maybe it’s embarrassment that causes you to blush. It’s not like you can see your own face though. You look at the strands between your fingers. “I’m not sure. My mother used to play with my hair when I was a little girl to comfort me or just because it felt nice.” Smiling to yourself you remember a couple times she had done so when you were upset. “I did the same for my brother. Even as adults.” a light giggle escapes you.

After a moment of comfortable silence, “So you only pretend to be a cold bitch.” His comment although joking, almost breaks your good mood.

“Whatever Mr. quiet and ‘mysterious’.” You grumble using air quotes. “How about you?”

“What about me?” Raising an eyebrow at you but still, he sounds curious.

“Did your mom used to do something like that?” Unintentionally, you murmur with your elbow on you knee, you rest your chin on your palm.

Taking a moment to think, he seems somewhat forlorn. “I don’t remember much about her.”

“That’s okay. Also, you don’t have to tell me anything just because I ask.”

“I know.” He says simply. “I’m glad you’re not terrible to talk to.”

“Gee, thanks.” Making eye contact with others isn’t hard but to some, it is. Levi seems to be part of that some.

“Hey, are you okay?” For whatever reason, his face seems to have a fever.

He raises and eyebrow “what do you mean?”

“K, stay still.” Scooting over, you sit close enough to out your wrist to his forehead.

“What are you doing?”

The door suddenly opens, “Yeah, what are two doing?!” Isabel and Furlan ask with more or less the same words.

Having been momentarily wide eyed, you roll your eyes and put your wrist to Levi’s forehead again. “I think he has a fever. Did you really grab your knife?”

“Yes.” Directing his attention to the hell raisers in the doorway, “what?”

“Oh nothing.” With feigned innocence, he stands up straight again.

“They for awfully close. Bro Levi’s blu-“ covering her mouth;

“You’re already acting like a doting wife” Furlan smiles before letting go of Isabel.

“Have you already prepared for that whole man and wife thing?” Her question kinda goes over your head.

Having totally let yourself forget, you remove your wrist from his forehead and scrunch your eyebrows together thinking.

“Go to bed.” Sitting up, Levi closes his door.

Since it doesn’t seem like he’s sick and he doesn’t have a temperature; “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” He states simply laying back down where he was.

You scoot back to your bed stifling a yawn. Laying down, you pull your covers over yourself and close your eyes. “Goodnight Levi” is the last thing you say for the night.

“Goodnight…Y/n” is the last thing you hear.

•••

“What the hell are you talking about?” You ask incredulously.

Holding the certificate behind the counter with both your signatures on both copies of the marriage license, the ‘priest’ yawns. “I told you yesterday that I could help y’a out. I’ve cut the price already and made a ‘reservation’ for your honeymoon that your not even going to.” Whisper shouting the honeymoon part, he puts one copy in the tray of documents behind him.

“You couldn’t mention this part yesterday?” Levi asks.

“Listen here kid, I’m already risking my job. You can kiss her or waste a hundred bucks.” The priest says.

Grabbing Levi’s hand, you lace your fingers with his and kiss the back of his hand. With your hands still together you put it in front of his face.

“Doesn’t count doll face.”

Before you can object or say anything more, Levi yanks you over by the hand. Trying to go with it as much as you can, you grab his shoulder to keep yourself from completely crashing into him. You freeze for a moment, “A-are you sure?” You whisper.

“Yes” sounding calmer than expected, he still seems terrified.

“Okay.” Looking to his lips to make sure you don’t miss, you close the gap between you feeling him freeze. Apparently the priest counted down;

“Congratulations!” He, Furlan and Isabel say more or less at the same time.

Keeping it short and simple, you break away and let go of his shoulder. He takes the certificate from the priest and puts it into the bag over your shoulder.

“Alright, that wasn’t so hard was it.?” Before either of you can respond, he hands you a piece of paper.

“What is this?” Looking over the paper it reads exactly as he explains.

“Honeymoon reservations are at the first address. Rings are at the second address.”

“Rings?” Levi asks while looking at the card in your hand.

“Comes with the service. You put hers on her left hand she puts yours on your left hand. Viola, immediate first glance proof.”

“Oh…is that a common thing?” You ask.

“Yeah, now hustle. The faster you get the rings on, the better.”

“Thank you.” Giving a quick wave before being tugged along by Levi, you notice the address is close to your home.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Letting go of your grip on his hand, you try to step back from Levi when you notice him, Furlan and Isabel adjusting their ODM gear.

“We don’t have time to waste. Now get on my back.” Kneeling he lets go of your hand. Hesitantly you follow his instructions. Almost immediately he’s off. Also almost immediately, he uses one hand to grip your arm. Feeling him pull your arm, you realize you were choking him and loosen your grip.

“Sorry.” Keeping your eyes closed and pressed to your arm.

“It’s okay.” Letting go of your arm, he catches up to Furlan and Isabel.

••

Once you’ve stopped by the second address, you had intended to stop by your home. Unfortunately, Lovof gave a rough estimate of when to expect a run in with the Military Police and assisting Scout Regiment soldiers.

“There’s been a change in plans.” Levi says.

Looking over your shoulder, you see then round a corner still a good ways away. You turn to face forward again and notice Levi aim for a rooftop. Landing, you remember to alternate plan that had been previously discussed.

Letting go of him, you walk backwards for a sec, “Be safe.”

“You too” he says really quick before leaving. Spotting the soldiers you see them getting closer and run to the shoddy fire escape. Using your sleeves, you put you feet to the sides of the ladder and slide down. Pausing 2 times, you manage to make it to the ground. As soon as you make it to the ground, you book it exactly where Levi said was best and safest. As predicted, you are abruptly grabbed. What was not predicted was being thrown over some assholes shoulder.

“Who the hell do you think you are!?!”

No Response.

“Hey asshole! I asked you a question!”

Still no response and he turns a corner causing you to slide partway off his shoulder. You close your eyes but hold onto his cape.

“Are you trying to kill me?! We’re you hired to kill each too? If thats the case then you might as well drop me asshat!”

No response and he shrugs you off his shoulder. With a gasp you hit the ground and open your eyes. Feeling pain in your elbows, you follow the plan further. When he reaches to grab your hood, you roll out the way. Putting the little self defense training you got to good use, you move out the way when he grabs at your ankle. You aren’t just winging it. When he misses, you quickly kick forward. Landing one good kick to his face before getting up, you turn around but he grabs your hood before you can run. Not so gently, he puts your hands behind your back and moves you along while tying your wrist together.

~~~

Once you 4 arrived to the surface, like you discussed with Levi, you were entirely honest minus everything about Lovof and his contracting Levi, Furlan and Isabel. After being given the choice to return, you declined the offer and joined the trio. When Levi expressed wanting you Furlan and Isabel to stay behind, you agreed. Before they left, you had grown extremely attached now that you were days away from the place you knew as home. They were now home to you, so they weren’t too surprised when you hugged them goodbye. What they were surprised by was your feeling particularly attached to Levi resulting in your choosing to kiss him a second time. During the expedition, you voluntarily joined the military training and worked with cadets that mostly had not yet decided on what regiment they intended to join. As a little girl, you were fully aware of how terrifying Titans were. Your mother had taken you with her to work in the Utopia district while she filled in for one of the kings house keepers who had fallen ill. You were not meant to see the king in his Titan form. On another occasion a year or two later, you were unexpectedly accosted by a titan who managed to grab someone your mother knew.

Distance does honestly make the heart grow fonder, as does loss.

They havent been gone for too long, but it feels like they’ve been gone for a month. Earlier in the day you were told you had to wait at HQ for them to return. Pacing up and down the hall, you freeze when you finally hear their return being announced. Knowing it will take a minute doesn’t help you stay patient for long. Keeping your composure is damn near impossible as you see how few of them have returned. Looking over each of their faces, you begin to panic. Looking over their faces a second time, you see the top of Levi’s head. In total disbelief, you check all the heads after him, but only 10 people are behind him. None of those behind him resemble Furlan or Isabel. Feeling tears run down your face, you run and cling to him right as soon as you see him. He stops and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he puts his arms around you. Feeling him bury his face in the crook of your neck, you both stay that way for a while. A while after the sound of footsteps disappears, you wait for him to loosen his hold. When he does you don’t ask him anything, you just put your forehead to his for a moment. Staying in place, the only thing you do is retract your arms and grab one of his hands. Letting him choose when to head in, you follow in silence.

Levi wants to talk to you but has no desire to do so immediately. He wants to kiss you, but can’t yet bring himself to do it. Instead, you both walk back to his room, take off your shoes and lay in his bed. He’s comfortable like this. After not getting much sleeping, he feels himself drifting off while you gently run your fingers through his hair. Before he’s totally drifted off, he hears you whisper;

“Never stop coming back to me.”

Pulling one of your hands to his lips, you hear him whisper back “never”.

***

I’m not looking over this again. I’ve made sure to pause and check part by part. I like what I’ve written. I’m likely going to continue this story because I like what my noggin came up with. If you’ve read all the way through, I hope you enjoyed it. It’s 3:30am. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if I can’t understand what your request is saying and your profile has no info, don’t expect the outcome to be steamy n shit. This was surprisingly difficult to put together but honestly very fun! ☺️ tbh I’ll rewrite this bish through all 4 seasons if y’a ask me to. Like bit by bit not for one request. 🙃😝

I shared the site I watch AOT on where all the OVAs are available. There’s a hentai pop up but it’s proven to be safe for me. I hope you enjoy the site, they post the new episodes of the final season usually within 48 hours of its release. Like, reboot, send requests IM CHECKIN YOUR PAGE IF YOU ASK FOR SMUT! Please be sure to reread your request so I don’t feel totally terrible/concerned for altering it. Part 2 of my last Levi x reader is up next! (TBH for all I know, you could be straight up fuckin lying in your bio. I’m not the tumblr cop. All I ask is that you make sense for me and don’t make me uncomfortable for being under 18 askin for sex posts. If you’re gonna lie to me, send an anon requests XD Im takin my delirious ass to bed. Share your thoughts and feels. Take care of yourself, eat food drink water and praise Captain Levi. Weeb out!🤣🤍🤣🤍🤣🤍🙃🤍😌🤍☺️🥱😴

Oh also, I’m putting the title here because I can’t be bothered to figure out how to put one above without pressing return and messing something up. It’ll probably be a continuous selection of words that make sense when read in order;

Never

2/22/2022

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

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Meet Cute (GN!Reader/Mothman)

Pairing: GenderNeutral!Reader/Male!Mothman

Genre: Cryptids

Warnings: Car accidents, descriptions of bruisings and pain

Word Count: 2564 words

Summary: After an incident, You find yourself in the care of a rather strange savior.

Request: Hey, long time fan, but I could never think of anything to request! I was wondering if cryptids were considered monsters here? Would you be willing to write a meet-cute with Mothman? Maybe something along the lines of them saving the reader from a disaster and sparks fly, and boy, if that's not a pun: like a moth to a flame. Mothman can be man or gender neutral, and I'd like the reader to be gender neutral! But everything is to your discretion! Have fun~! And thank you~!

He doesn’t usually do this.

As he cradles your neck, feeling the microfibers of human hair at the base of your skull and your thrumming heartbeat, it feels as if you could shatter apart in his talons. Your pupils flutter behind your eyelids, the pain of the collison definitely affecting you, even in your near-unconscious state. He sets you down on the scraps of thrown away jackets and ratty down-comforters, paying extra attention to your head and side, where splotches of purple and yellow already bloom up your ribcage. You easily fall into the warmth of the pile, snuggling into the fabric.

He sighs, anxiety decreasing as your body relaxes. Having already checked you, he thinks you should last a night before needing to go to a human hospital, just to double-check. He perches by you, tuning the ancient radio to a subtle night-time station, and waits.

Your chest flutters rhythmically, peacefully. Your features seem to shine in the firelight, catching the shadows and giving the appearance of a Baroque painting. So serene for someone just hit by a car.

He sighs.

He just hopes you won’t freak out.

-------

You wake up in a jerk, immediately filled with regret as your right side screams in pain. You clench your teeth, hand immediately checking your ribs as the memories of last night come flooding back.

You had been walking back home after a night out with your friends. You weren’t drunk, barely even tipsy, but had decided to walk the short path to your tiny house anyway. It was quick, just a 5 minute jaunt by the side of the highway and away from the bar. Just enough time for some asshole to swerve off the side of the road, send you flying, and take off without a care for the deer they assumed they just killed.

It takes a little while longer for you to process that you are definitely not in a hospital right now; Not even in your own house, or any house for that matter. A dying fire crackles nearby, the rising sun beams peaking through makeshift curtains attached to a structure of branches. You sit in a small pallet of fabric, right next to a collection of newspapers and old cctvs.

It’s ramshackle, sure, but well-loved. It doesn’t look like a permanent residence, but is lived-in nonetheless.

“Are you feeling alright?”

A calm tenor breaks the silence, causing you to shoot your eyes away from your surroundings and to focus on the person across from you.

Well, person probably isn’t the right word.

His eyes, even in the morning light, flash with red. They’re huge, set deeply into his face with very indistinguishable features. His neck is nestled into a large amount of fluff, reminiscent of winter scarf, that extends back into his large wings, which are tucked behind him. The antennas that flicker on top of his head are distinctly insect-like, but his long, muscular body and hands are more mammalian. Not human, but more similar to an animal. His hands are long and near-spindly, each finger ended with a long claw.

All these features should come together into an uncanny-valley, terror-inducing nightmare. But there’s something about his voice, the way he sits, so cautious yet concerned, that says the contrary.

“U-Uh...I think so.” You shift your body, a lightning bolt of pain shoots through your ribs and you wince. “I’ve felt better, though.” You tentatively lean down and touch your side, trying to check for a fracture without hurting yourself even more.

The creature stands up, wings still closed and kept to his back, and walks over to you.

“Would you mind if I checked your injuries? I have some experience with collisions such as yours.”

After a second, you nod. He steps closer to you, still moving at a micro-speed, and his hands slowly begin to wander up your side. You suck in a breath, but are more afraid of the potential pain than him. His slow, southern drawl reminds you of old movies and your grandpa, radiating comfort with almost every word. Plus, whatever he was, he had shown you more compassion than the human asshole who had hit you last night, so you felt a little more relaxed having him this close.

Nevertheless, he treats you gingerly, fingers just grazing your bruised side. You wince as his index finger finds a particularly dark bruise, and the creature quickly pulls back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, it just-fuck that hurt.”

The creature nods but doesn’t move to touch you again.

“Does it hurt when you breathe deeply?”

You shake your head. You had been taking calming breaths to assuage the anxiety of waking up in what might be a monster’s den.

The monster hums, a light chittering sound, like several wind chimes all at once. He reaches over to a small, nearly-rotted, medicine bag in the corner and pulls out an ancient-looking jar of pain cream. He gingerly slides it towards you. “You may try this, it might relieve the pain for a while. Although you should probably see a human doctor to see if you’ve sustained any serious damage to your ribcage.”

You uncork the cream and tentatively dab a bit on your fingers, looking up with a shaky smile to your savior.

“Uh, t-thank you. For everything-”

Growl

Your hand jerks to your stomach, face going flush as you accidentally brush against your swollen side. The creature perks up.

“I believe I have some human food. Would you like some?”

Sucking in a quick breath, trying to hide the tiny pain and your embarrassment, you nod.

The creature stands up, fumbling with the remains of a kitchen cabinet. From his hunched posture, you’d guess this tiny shelter isn’t big enough for his full height. With his long fingers, he reaches and flicks on the radio. The sounds of a local station’s jingle filters through the air as he grabs a can of beans from a shelf.

You slowly begin to rub in the medication to your side, occasionally looking up at your savior as he flutters around his den. Despite his extended limbs and large body, every movement is very similar to that of a human’s; He moves around the make-shift kitchen like a doting partner, a thought which brings a small blush to your face.

The illusion is shattered when he tears the top of the can clean off, cutting through the metal like a hot knife through butter. As he turns to rekindle the fire and start your breakfast, you quickly look back to your wound, trying to hide your curiosity.

The creature lazily stirs your breakfast as a song begins playing on the radio. The strumming bass is perfect for the morning haze, the low drawl of the singer rhythmic and relaxing. You notice the creature bobbing his head, humming along to the tune. His voice sounds slightly distorted, squeaking like the crackle of tv static. You find you quite like it.

The silence returns, filled only by the radio and the crackling fire. The creature's disposition is amicable, but you're still not sure how to initiate small talk.

“Um, thank you, again. For everything. You really saved my ass.”

The creature gestures with their hand as if to say “No problem.”

“I saw that man hit you with that car and take off. As you were hidden from the road, I thought it best I intervene.” The creature pulls off the now-cooked beans and grabs a spoon, handing the can to you. You take it eagerly, another rumble growling from your stomach. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, foregoing all table manners to scarf down the breakfast.

“If I am being honest, I don’t typically interact with humans in such a….direct manner.”

“Ah, I guess that,” You eyes do another survey of his gangly, inhuman appearance, “makes sense.”

The creature nods, grabbing an apple before sitting across the fire from you. You can tell he is tense, probably waiting with baited breath for you to come to your senses and scream. There is a small part of you that wants too, desperately, but you silence it with a large mouthful of beans. The apple is tossed back and forth between the creatures hands, his eyes locked on the fire. The curiosity of how he eats things sneaks its way into your thought process. “Do you have a name?”

The creature perks, pausing it’s movements and looking at you with its large, red eyes.

“.....I’ve heard humans call me Mothman. I think it is quite accurate.”

You nod, swallowing down another bite of beans. “Do you...like that name?”

The creature doesn’t respond, eyes still piercing into your heart. His face has a small micro-expression, but you’re not sure you can read it. “Because my brother always said first impressions are the perfect time to reinvent yourself, so I could call you something else if you wanted?”

The creature's eyes flicker, in a movement you think is slight shock, before his eyes roll back to the fire. The small light of the fire flatters the dark black of his fur (You think it’s fur?) and only accentuate his large eyes, flashing and reflecting like rubies. In his relaxed position, he sort of looks….handsome.

“You may call me Mothman. Thank you for asking.”

You nod, letting the strumming banjo of a new song on the radio fill the void. The bouncy beat has you unconsciously bobbing your head as you scoop a spoonful.

“I love this song.” You mutter, lamenting how you're almost out of food to stuff your mouth with.

Mothman hums in agreement. “Me as well, this station is my favorite.”

Given your empty bean can, you take the leap into a conversation.

“Do you have a favorite kind of music genre?”

Mothman fiddles with the stem of his apple, brow (if it can even be called that) furrowing.

“I guess I never thought of what my favorite would be. I mostly listen to whatever the radio plays, enjoyable or not. Though,” Mothman points his thumb to the radio, “I love the sound this instrument makes, though I am unsure what it is called. It’s almost like….”

Mothman’s voice begins to make a squeaking trill, one extremely similar to that of plucked strings, although much sharper and shorter.

“Oh, you mean the banjo? Uh, the one that goes like-” You try your best to imitate the chords of the banjo, unconsciously moving your fingers to imitate playing. It’s not nearly as musical as Mothmans’, but his eyes widen and he nods excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, that sound is very pleasant. I’d say any music with that in it is my favorite.”

“Ah, country, that’s a really popular one around here. Have you ever heard ‘Goodbye Earl’ by The Chicks?”

Mothman shakes his head. Your face drops in surprise.

“Oh, it’s so good, it’s about-” As you lean over to give a long spiel about the song, another bolt of pain shoots up your side, forcing you to bite your cheek so as to not cry out. You keel over your legs, clutching your rib cage.

Right, car accident.

In a second, Mothman is next to you, tentatively laying a hand on your shoulder. His fingertips just barely brush your skin, yet you can still feel a slight fuzziness, the same that covers his whole body.

“You might want to see a human doctor, soon.” You suck in through your teeth, slowly adjusting yourself back upwards. “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a smart idea.

“I can take you as far as the end of the highway, if you’d like to call a friend or a cab.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Mothman’s other hand slowly moves to your other hip, only applying a modicum of pressure.

“May I help you stand up?” He almost-whispers, a hot breath of air blowing across the side of your neck as he speaks. A shiver runs down your spine as his large fingers play gently against your skin, covering a good portion of your pelvis. You’re thankful you can explain away any blush with the pain. You nod once more.

The two of you stand up gingerly, Mothman almost extending to his full height and brushing the blanket-ceiling with his antennae. You take a couple of small steps, the pain in your side taking the occasional moment to sting you.

Your eyes squint as you exit the encampment, sun already fully risen and in your face.

“If at any point you feel uncomfortable or in pain, let me know.”

You turn your head towards Mothman, but before you can ask any questions he sweeps you up in a bridal carry and extends his wings in one motion. From the corner of your eyes you can see dark red patterns that swirl on them, invisible until caught by the sunlight. Your hands instinctively lace around his neck, fingers tucking into the soft fluff of his neck. Mothman gives you a quick nod and what you think is an assuring smile

Without a word, you two take off.

----------

You two fly low to the ground, Mothman expertly maneuvering through the trees and underbrush as he glides along the highway. You’re sure if you were to drive by, he’d look like a flickering shadow in the woods, nothing more.

He sets you down by the edge of town, just out of sight of the semi-busy main street. You basically collapse to your feet, heart pounding with adrenaline and mind wracked with “Holy fuck, I just flew with the goddamn Mothman.”

“This is where I must depart. Do you think you can find suitable transportation to the hospital from here?”

You nod, still trying to wrestle your vocabulary from ‘What the fuck, Holy shit, Oh my god.’

Mothman gives you another smile and comforting nod, patting you on the shoulder.

“Very good. Good luck on your travels. Oh, and try not to be hit by any cars, alright?”

With a playful glare from you, Mothman begins to unfurl his wings and ready himself to fly back into the woods, buut before he can-

“Wait! Uh….” Mothman halts, wings still wide open. Your mouth and mind stagger, not even sure what you wanted to say. “I have some old country cassettes back at my place. If I found my mom’s old WalkMan I could….show them to you? Some time, maybe? Give you a chance to be your own radio DJ?”

Mothman’s face remains relatively neutral, but the way his antennae unfurl and his wings slightly perk upwards betrays his interest. It’s extremely adorable, like a little kid who hears the word ‘ice cream.’

“Yes, I think I would love that.”

“A-Awesome.” You breath out, not realizing how long you had held it in. “Same place, maybe next Saturday? Though hopefully I won’t be thrown in there by a car this time.”

Mothman lets out a series of squeaks, which you assume is his laugh. He gives you a thumbs up. “Cool, it’s a date.”

With the last word, you walk away, still hobbling with your probably-fractured rib, a large smile on your face.

As Mothman flies away, the cold wind of a West Virginia morning blowing across his body, he can’t deny the certain warmth that radiates from his chest.

I have a date.

#my writing #mothman #monster x reader #monster romance #gender neutral reader #reader insert #mothman x reader #fluff #cryptids

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years ago

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Dreams, Chapter 14

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 14

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1976

Summary: Once more, a moment at the bar shifts the relationship between Sam and the reader irrevocably.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w b u r n, this section has a little gentle smut

It was sweet, actually, taking things slowly enough that Sam didn’t feel an acute sense of betraying Dean. You started kissing in stolen moments like teenagers, accidentally honking the horn of the Impala before taking over from the day shift and walking in shyly with swollen lips and mussed hair, tasting the orange juice off of his lips after breakfast.

Never more than that save a fumbled glancing grope here or there, Sam sometimes having to break away for a long walk in the brisk winter air before going to sleep with you at night, you taking extended showers to deal with the building tension. He simply wasn’t ready, and the additional closeness was already so much more than you’d had anyway, almost too much stimulation to handle. Not that it really made sense to you, that this was somehow different in his mind, but it didn’t matter.

Dean came to you in your dreams with increasing regularity. He started teaching you how to go to places you hadn’t been, or hadn’t been with him, slowly reconstructing the bar and the cabin so you could show him around your new life. Sam had been right, of course, and Dean did love the bar as you showed it to him, scuffed floors and ever-present stickiness of the cash register included.

It felt pretty real. And who’s to say it wasn’t, because it was really Dean and it was really you, the whiskey really poured and made his lips taste peaty like they always had. More than that, it was enough. You were able to relish your time together, drink Dean in while you slept feeling less desperate knowing that you’d see him again soon. The days got easier too, waking up warm inside from Dean and outside from the firm protection of Sam’s body. Neither Winchester ever told you what they did or talked about in their time together, but Sam got looser and looser. You had almost forgotten how goofy he could be, how enthusiastic and fun he was Before Everything, but the longer he spent dreaming with Dean the more he reminded you of that guy—the affectionate, quick-witted boy you’d split cans of Spaghetti-o’s with at Bobby’s a lifetime ago.

Going to work felt like a little game sometimes. Periodically one of the customers would comment on the way Sam always seemed to wait until you were right in front of the fruit before going to refill it so he had to press the length of his body against yours. Often you’d have to help him finish his side work before closing up together, having hung off him all night in a way that prevented him from getting everything done until it was just the two of you together in the darkened bar cutting up limes as your shoulders brushed against each other. The regulars thought you were finally comfortable enough to show them a little PDA, that you’d been secretly like this all along, and there was no other explanation you could give them. Like everything else, you rolled with their assumptions and got that same giddy-hot feeling in your chest and throat every time they said it—like you were being teased about some juvenile crush.

The Wednesday it finally happened you were having a normal day at work, catching those little jabs after Sam snaked a bottle opener out of your back pocket while you rattled a shaker of martinis. He kissed your hair with a smirk when he passed by you, carefully not jostling your arms as you poured the drinks into chilled glassware. When you went to refill Joe’s pint of Spotted Cow, you noticed the tap start to stutter and foam the last dregs of an empty keg and raised your head to tell Sam it was out.

He was leaning on his elbow, ankles crossed where the long stretch of his body met the floor and talking to Jake, clearly telling some joke from the way Jake cracked up and gave him that snapping handshake men often exchange instead of hugs. The smile on his face was just smug enough to show he knew whatever he’d said was funny, and more than anything he looked relaxed, looked comfortable. Looked like he belonged there, the reflection off green glassed whiskey bottles making his eyes seem lit from within. You decided to change the beer yourself and leave him in peace; the bar was slow enough that he could handle it alone for a few minutes, limited cocktail experience or not.

Every time you went into the basement at work to change a keg you were amazed that Sam even fit in the room where they were stored; it was back at the end of the walk-in cooler with ceilings so low even you felt claustrophobic there. Aluminum kegs in varied states of fullness stacked by their respective lines, marked by stickers and tags of indeterminate ages, were in a sort of half-organization around the walls. Based on how fast Sam changed them when one went empty, you were pretty sure he would know instinctively which ones were which, but as it was you had to climb around the makeshift aluminum jungle gym to trace each looping hose back to its source. You finally found the empty Spotted Cow and the line that would tie it to its respective tap in the corner. To get there you’d had to hop on top of two others, one foot on a fresh Bud Light and the other on some Coors while your spine curved to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling. Unfastening the tap from the empty keg, you yanked back to tug it off and slipped on some extra moisture on top of the metal. It sent you off balance enough that you grabbed at the tubing at the end of the tap you were holding in an effort to stay on your feet.

The hose pulled out of the line system and sprayed the rest of the beer within all over the room and you, brown ale getting in your mouth and eyes and sending you careening to the ground, tugging the empty keg on top of you with a huge clatter. You rolled it off of you, thanking God it was empty, and tried not to think too hard about the age of the beer remnant mixture leeching off the cement floor into your t shirt as you got up. By the time you got back to your feet, Sam was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a look of concern on his face.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene.

You still had the keg tap and hose in your hand, completely detached from the wall. “I was going to change the Spotted Cow but I couldn’t reach the back so I had to climb and then I…slipped.” Sam’s face smoothed in relief when he saw the smile spreading across your face. “And broke it.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Probably going to have a pretty kickass bruise tomorrow and I’m covered in beer but yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I pulled it out; do you know how to fix it?”

Sam smiled, his dimples carving into his cheeks. “I’ll figure it out.”

You pouted around your embarrassment and sheepishly handed him the tap. “I should probably get back upstairs,” you offered, shaking your wet shirt away from your body.

“I’m, uh, I’m ready.” Sam murmured, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

“Do you need me to go get tools or something?”

“No—I mean, like, ready.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and the emphasis crashed into you hard enough that it almost sent you careening back into the kegs.

“Ready ready?” you breathed, sounding stupid and not caring, wanting to bound over and leap into Sam’s arms.

“Ready read—” and Sam was cut off by your lips on his, taking a sharp inhale against your cheek as he kissed you. After a beat of electric shock Sam twined into the hair at the nape of your neck, his fingers hot from washing dishes and soothing in the air of the cooler. You slid down the soft flannel of his shirt and wrapped up fistfuls of it, desperate to have him closer, closer, closer, feel the firm slopes of his body when you weren’t sleeping. He groaned into you and it sent a shudder down your spine as you slipped down the edge of his jaw to kiss along the broad expanse of his neck, tendons squirming under your lips and the thrum of his blood pumping fast and hard.

Sam moved a hand to your lower back and bent down to scoop under a hamstring, gently but swiftly lifting and spinning so you were pressed up against the doorframe by his body, hitched up in the air to better reach his face. You gasped and felt Sam’s smile against your mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and greedily roaming the muscles in his chest as they flexed to carry you. The way the wall pinned you to Sam made it so easy to rock into him, feel the metal of his belt buckle through the worn cotton of your jeans and the heat seep through his shirt into the sticky beer drying on yours. “I—oh fuck—” Sam stammered between kisses as you rolled your hips, trying to balance the need to catch his breath with the pent-up magnetism between you. “We have—Jesus Christ, ah—there are customers upstairs,” he finally spit out.

That zapped you back to reality, finally breaking away to press your forehead against his. “Fuck,” you moaned. A long second passed, sharing air between you and Sam as he held you suspended. “Do we care?” you murmured hopefully against closed eyes, smiling.

Sam chuckled, breathy and low as he lowered you to the ground softly. “Unless you have another way of paying rent.”

You gently knocked your head into Sam’s chest. “Man, couldn’t sit on that for a few more hours? How am I supposed to work the rest of the night?”

He ran his tongue over his molars as he grabbed the tap from where it had fallen to the ground, accepting the gentle teasing. “I just—I don’t know, you were just standing there and it all kind of—it just made sense all of a sudden.”

“The stale beer did it for you? If I knew that I would’ve broken all of the lines ages ago.” You bit your lip against your smile, suddenly a little bashful and exposed and feeling every drying drop of beer across your chest.

“I um, might have another t-shirt in the car if you want me to check.”

“Thanks. I can get it though, can I have the keys?”

Sam snaked a hand into his pocket and you could see the muscles in his forearm ripple as he grabbed them for you. He handed the keys over, his face open and vulnerable even with the hint of smirk. Tapping the keys against the doorframe you stalled for time, wanting more than anything to have even just an hour without responsibilities. You reached out and stroked his arm. “You’re sure about this? It’s okay if you’re—”

Sam’s head bobbed quickly. “Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.” He looked solemn, resolute in a way that reassured you. “I’m sorry it took—”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to check.”

He closed the step between you, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear and gazing down into your eyes. “I know. And thank you for that.” He kissed you on the forehead, grinning into your hair. “Now go change, you smell like a frat party.”

You pushed playfully against his chest and made your way upstairs, leaving him smiling at your back as you walked away.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 15

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mochi-marie · 4 years ago

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hello and congratulations ! 💕 for the event could you do the song heat waves by glass animals with bokuto? focusing on the chorus „sometimes all i think about is you, late nights in the middle of june,,,,". for the reader! male reader if you're okay with that, if not then gender neutral is totally okay! shorter than him (not by a lot, probably like half a foot or less), and has a build more on the larger side, and has freckles, curly hair, and glasses. the reader is also introverted and gets flustered very easily. thank u ! <3

genre : ( insecurity-based ) angst to fluff ( ? )

pairing : bokuto kotaro x introverted! male reader ( bigger, curly, freckles, glasses )

author's note : okay, for some reason, i started to listen to this song on repeat for a long while just basking in the lyrics and music to get acquainted and to familiarize myself with the general vibe i got from it -- i got really inspired by reading the lyrics while listening, so thank you so much for helping me find my new favorite song!!! i hope you enjoy! this is also my first time officially writing a male-insert, so please, any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! also, i might have strayed from the main focus of the specific lyric, so i deeply apologize!! 😖💛

also, if i forgot any warnings that anyone thinks i should add, please tell me as soon as possible!!

warning : insecurity, feeling as though you are not enough, angst ( kinda? ), ooc bokuto ( in my opinion ), written at 2 A.M. + Unedited

Hands shoved into small pockets under the summer night sky, you avoided his curious gaze, opting to let your hand come up to ruffle your curly hair rather hastily. thinking -- thinking about ways to stall for just a few minutes longer, hoping to whatever power above that he would just wait and listen patiently until you finally explained why you had asked him to meet you out in the parking lot after his practice. The daylight had disappeared during the few minutes you both silently basked in each other's company, the stars just barely starting to flash and twinkle above both of your heads. Summertime was in full swing, though a soft breeze managed to drift by, tousling and playing with your bouncy locks and waving through his salt-and-pepper hair. If the bitter thoughts had not been weighing heavily on your mind, perhaps you would've giggled. Any other time you might have nudged him, gesturing for him to lean down just a smidge so you yourself could do as the wind and card through his hair with your fingers, gently separating the spikes of hair stuck together from sweat due to the hard volleyball practice. Oh, what you would give for your mind to be empty enough to carelessly be enough for and with him.

The thoughts weighed on you heavily -- the ideas implanted by society's view of perfection. The world around you would question why Bokuto would be with someone such as yourself; someone so imperfect, drowning in their insecurities. What gave you the right to bog him down with your personal issues? Did you not notice the glances peers would give, watching Bokuto buzz around you happily as you both walked along? Do you not see the way he works hard to keep himself so... perfect? That was the only word worthy of describing your Kotaro. Perfection was his middle name, it seemed; a perfectly beautiful smile that lit up a room, a bubbly personality that could only ever seem to do good for the people that relaxed in his presence. Yes, your boyfriend was effortlessly perfect. So why couldn't you be the same? Why were you who you are, why must you feel so unworthy?

Your arms had migrated to wrapping around your mid-section, eyes planted to the ground as your mind raced. You didn't see the way Bokuto's eyes glanced down to you, worry laced in his honey eyes. While Bokuto wasn't the brightest academically, that did not mean he was completely simple-minded; he was well versed in emotions, specifically your emotions. He often prided himself on saying that he knew you like he knows the very back of his hand, and it seemed that this claim was no lie. His hand gravitated toward your own, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry -- "(name)? is... is everything okay?" His voice was spoken low and soft, hoping to not startle you. "What's wrong?" His voice reached your ears, and with a quick glance from the corner of your eye, you were met with the honey-hued sight that always managed to calm your nerves better than what any remedy could.

Clearing your throat softly, your mouth opened, and yet no words would form. The words that swam dangerously in your head died the second they landed on your tongue, and you were left open-mouthed, trying to form a coherent sentence. Why was it so hard to simply talk about your insecurities? You mentally scowled, a bretah catching in your chest before you let your eyes flutter closed, trying to gather yourself quickly.

Bokuto's hand grasped onto the tips of your fingers, eyes surveying your face for any reaction. With the familiar cute pink hue slowly growing onto the apples of your cheeks, he pulled your hand closer to himself, his own fingers nervously fiddling with your own fingers. Your nervousness was starting to catch, making him anxious. What was so wrong that you could barely even form the words you wanted to say? His mind blanked, biting the inside of his cheek as he scanned your face numerous times, waiting for a sign that you were ready. He would be patient, for you.

His hand never left yours.

"Why are you still with me?"

Shaky breathing. The stilling of fiddling fingers. The confused exhale of air, paired with furrowed eyebrows that you could not see with your eyes tightly snapped shut, cheeks burning with embarrassment and eyes met with the faint, familiar hot sting. Your breath was held tightly in your throat, glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose with the way your head was tilted at a downward angle.

"What do you mean?" Was his only response, calm, though by the small waver of his voice, you knew his eyes were most likely wide. Wide and churning with golden panic that would not suit his boyish attitude. Eyes creeping open, you were met with exactly what you had predicted. Your hand slipped from his, arms resting against your stomach, trying to provide yourself the comfort a part of you was craving -- a crave for his comforting touch. His hugs of which never failed to spark butterflies to explode in your stomach, the hugs that wrapped around you fully, trapping you within his warm, strong embrace that made you feel at home; the hugs that made you feel like everything was okay again. "You'd be better off with someone more like you. You just need a better life than this..." Your voice met his ears, and with every unspoken word that finally spilled from your lips, he finally realized how much this bothered you, and now how it affected him.

His hands found your shoulders and he pulled you to his chest, one palm resting snug against your back, the other arm resting around your shoulder, cradling your face to his chest and into the strong, warm embrace that always managed to wash all your worries away.

"You're all I need." Bokuto mumbled firmly, adam's apple bobbing as he held back the severe urge to let his tears escape from the corner of his eyes where they had started to pool as the situation continued to dawn. You didn't feel enough, and that was more than enough information for him to finally understand what was going on through your handsome little head. "You're all I need, all I'll ever want, 'kay?" Voice murmured against the crown of your head as he pressed his lips to your curly hair -- so soft, locks of your beautiful curls that always tickled his face when you'd embrace in a joyful hug at every greeting, his lips, like default, softly curling upwards at the familiar feeling that calmed his nerves. "You're more than enough, just remember that. Sometimes all i think about is you... don't forget that 'm never far away," Bokuto paused, pulling away to look down at you softly, readjusting the glasses that had slipped down your nose and at an awkward angle to avoid being crushed by the force of you against his chest.

"Say it with me."

"What?" "Say you're enough, please, (name),"

"Wh-"

"So you know that you're perfect the way you are, I need to know that we leave happy. Happy and together, (name)," Bokuto smiled a wobbly smile, eyes begging you to do this one thing for him -- for the both of you.

"I am enough" is a phrase that will resonate with your soul one day. A fact that is disguised by the hardened layers of stony-resilience that makes the battle of self-love seem impossible. Yet you are one of the strongest people Bokuto knows, and he believes in your abilities, passion, and you as a whole in all of his entirety, just like you do with him. A relationship with a deep emotional connection, and with him, this deep connection felt like a home away from home. Yes, Bokuto is indeed perfection, you decide.

His hand never left yours for the rest of the night, uncharacteristically yet sweetly lifting the back of your hand up ever few minutes to press three quick kisses to the back of your hand in a show of physical love -- a reminder that your Bokuto Kotaro will always be there, no matter what.

#boo.screams.50 #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #hq #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #bokuto x male reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles

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pretchatta · 4 years ago

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the laws of spectre dynamics

I know it’s been a little while, but the university au continues! future updates will be more frequent, and you can always subscribe on AO3 to get notifications for each new chapter.

prev. chapters | chapter three

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.5k words

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The pale morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains. Lying on her front, cheek pressed into the pillow, Hera’s eyes fluttered open. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but she could tell that it was still early.

She stretched, luxuriating in the feeling of soft sheets against bare skin. Lazy Saturday mornings always felt good. She rolled onto her side and was reminded of the other reason this particular morning felt so good; the man lying behind her. The very attractive, very naked man.

Kanan was on his side, his chest now pressed against her back. He sleepily draped an arm over her waist as she settled against him and dragged his fingertips lightly over her stomach.

“Good morning,” came his deep voice from behind her, roughened by sleep. She felt him nuzzle the back of her head and press a kiss to the base of one lek.

She twisted to lie on her back so that she could look at him. His long hair was loose and sleep-tousled, and his face looked a little different without his glasses – more elongated, even though his features were the same. Her eyes travelled over the smooth, light brown skin, crooked nose and the small beard that covered his chin. His teal eyes looked steadily back at her from under his thick, angular eyebrows.

“Morning,” she said, feeling her mouth curve into a warm smile. She tilted her head up so their lips could meet in a chaste kiss. “Did you sleep okay?”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked at her. “Better than okay,” he replied. “You?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth as she thought back to just how she’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I had a great night.”

He leaned in to brush his lips over her jaw. His arm was still hooked over her waist, and his hand was warm where his fingers splayed over her ribs.

“Unfortunately I can’t stay long,” he murmured. “Do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Help yourself, there are spare towels in the hamper.”

He gave her another quick kiss and then extricated himself from the tangle of limbs and bedsheets. Hera sleepily watched him cross the room to the door, appreciating the view in the morning light. Kanan turned at the doorway and caught the direction of her eyes. He smirked before disappearing into the hall, and a few moments later she heard the shower come on.

She let her eyes drift shut, and must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew all was quiet. She felt a little more awake now, so sat up and surveyed her room. Clothes were strewn over the floor, though it took her a moment to realise they were all hers. She listened again, and heard nothing; had he dressed and left while she was sleeping? She knew he had to leave, but he seemed like the kind of person to at least say goodbye first...

Her eyes fell on the scrap of paper on her bedside table that hadn’t been there last night. It looked like a torn-off section of what might have once been an envelope. A few mathematical formulae were scrawled in one corner, but they had been crossed out by the same pen that had added a note in elegant handwriting.

“Hera,

I’ve gone to the shop down the road for breakfast, your key was still in the door from last night. I’ll be back in 10.

-K”

She felt a pang of guilt about her empty fridge. She’d needed to go grocery shopping for a few days now, but had kept putting it off, living off instant ready-meals. There was nothing she could do about it now. At least there was milk for coffee.

Though she didn’t know how long it had been since he’d left, she decided she should have time for a quick shower. She hurriedly grabbed her clothes off the floor of the bedroom and made the bed in case he came back before she was out. Even though he had played an equal part in creating that state, she still felt a need to tidy things up a bit.

As Hera made her way to the bathroom, she was reminded that there were also clothes in the hallway. She found Kanan’s sweater vest in the pile with her coat, and couldn’t help but smile as she neatly folded it and set it on the end of the bed.

In the shower, her body went through the familiar routine as her mind reflected on the previous night. She’d been looking forward to the date from the moment they’d arranged it in the library, and it had gone better than she could ever have dreamed. Their conversation in the foyer of the Vasar-Corellia building hadn’t been the first time she’d seen Kanan; her office on the second floor overlooked the courtyard below, and she’d often seen him crossing it. He’d caught her eye immediately.

She’d been able to discern that he wasn’t a student, and he clearly worked in the Chemistry building, but not much more besides. Very few members of academic staff looked like that, so she couldn’t help but pay attention whenever she noticed him.

Sometimes, when she assumed he was running late, he’d run his hand over his hair and a few strands would fall out around his face. Or his glasses would slide down his nose and he’d push them back up with the knuckle of his index finger as he walked. Sometimes, he wasn’t late, and would stroll across the courtyard holding a to-go coffee cup, his other hand tucked into his pocket. At those times he usually had a distant look on his face, like he was deep in thought.

Sometimes he’d be waylaid by students – that was how she’d known for sure he was part of the teaching staff. She’d marvelled at how easily they’d approached him, but he’d always seemed ready and willing to answer whatever questions they had. She assumed he was a good teacher.

And then she’d finally got the chance to talk to him – properly, not when she had to go set up a lab or talk to someone about a careers fair. Apart from the weird moment as they’d left campus when he’d seemed like he was trying to impress her, he’d been a perfect gentleman and excellent company. Talking to him had been so easy, and with how much they’d had in common she felt like they could have kept going well into the night.

As it was, she was not disappointed with how they had spent the night. It certainly wasn’t how she’d planned to end the evening, but that kiss… It had been electric, like no-one she’d ever kissed before. And the things he could do with his mouth…

She forced herself to focus on washing herself before she could get distracted. Yes, last night had been incredible. He hadn’t even technically gone yet and she was already hoping for a second date.

She finished up in the bathroom and was just pulling on clean clothes when she heard the sound of the front door opening. She finished wrapping a soft scarf around her head – grey, matching the top she wore above orange harem pants, her usual weekend clothes – and went out to the hall. Kanan was just closing the door behind himself.

He was back to being the Chemistry professor again; the clothes from last night (minus the sweater), glasses, hair pulled back neatly behind his head. He held a carrier bag in one hand, and the other came up to run over his hair as he caught sight of her in front of him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He started towards her, but didn’t give her an opportunity to respond as he launched into an explanation of his absence. “You’d fallen asleep when I came out of the shower, but I was thinking I still had some time before I have to go, and I thought you might like breakfast – we did say we’d have coffee today, so why not coffee and breakfast? – and since you didn’t seem to have much in, I thought I’d just go out and pick up a few things – I hope you don’t mind I took your key, I didn’t want to wake you up but I do need to keep an eye on the time for Ezra –”

He was talking quickly, the words almost tripping over themselves as he tried to get them out. “Do you like omelette? I can make something else if you’d rather – or, if you want me to leave, I can just go now–”

She cut him off with a kiss. It was very effective.

“Omelette sounds lovely,” she told him.

He seemed to relax, from either the kiss or her words, or possibly a combination of the two. “I’ll make a start.”

“As long as it’s not going to make you late.”

“Nah, this won’t take long.” He followed her into the kitchen and set the bag down on the counter, pulling out his ingredients.

“I suppose if you’re making me breakfast I could make you that coffee?” she offered.

He flashed her a smile that made her heart leap. “I wouldn’t say no.”

There was barely room in Hera’s kitchen for two people, and they had to carefully co-ordinate who was at the sink or fridge or counter at any one time. Despite this, as the two of them bustled around the small space Hera couldn’t help but notice how right it felt. She’d always considered herself to be someone who was happy in her own company and didn’t need anyone else to make her complete, but there was something very comforting about how easily she fell into the sheer domesticity of making breakfast with Kanan. The only thing missing was Chopper bothering her for his breakfast.

Soon, the air was filled with the rich smell of coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Kanan made quick work of the omelette, expertly dividing it in half before serving onto two mismatched plates. Hera poured the coffee and took the mugs to the table, where she was reminded that her dining situation was very much set up for one.

She shifted the stack of mail that had accumulated on her second dining chair to an armchair so that Kanan could sit down. She considered herself a fairly neat person, but to outsiders she knew her system seemed chaotic. She had a place for everything, and everything was in its place – it was just that the places weren’t necessarily where one might logically assume them to be.

If Kanan’s going to be here more often I’m going to need a new place to put my mail.

The thought crossed her mind unbidden, and she chastised herself. There was no guarantee that they’d do this again. Yes, he had suggested meeting up again last night, and she was pretty sure he’d enjoyed their date as much as she had, but it still didn’t mean anything for certain. She shouldn’t make any assumptions about where things were going, or she’d be setting herself up for disappointment. She shook her head as if to clear it and went to get them some cutlery.

Kanan turned out to be a great cook. The omelettes were perfectly done, and tasted delicious. Their easy banter resumed as they ate, and continued after they were done and simply sat sipping their coffees.

During a natural lull in the conversation, she caught Kanan gazing at her with an unmistakable softness. He seemed to realise it, and snapped back to himself.

“I should wash up.” He took her plate and stood up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you cooked!” she protested, following him back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it.”

He set the plates in the sink and turned to the frying pan, but she grabbed his hand before he could take it.

“Stop it.” She had to step close to him in order to hold both hands, and in the tiny space she ended up pushing him against the counter. “I told you, I’ll wash up.”

“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest.”

She grinned up at him. “You’ve already been great.” She pushed up onto her toes to close the small gap between them. His mouth was still warm from the coffee, and he smelled faintly of her soap mixed with something she was realising was uniquely Kanan. She liked it. Her grip on his wrists relaxed as he twisted his arms away to encircle her waist. The kiss was soft and slow, with none of the urgency of their kisses the previous night. She felt a flutter of sparks somewhere near her stomach.

The moment was interrupted by a buzzing noise. A phone, yet again, although this time it was Kanan’s. He broke away and fumbled in his pocket.

“Sorry, I –” He looked at the screen and swore. “It’s Ezra, I should take this.”

Hera waited patiently while he answered the phone. She heard the panicked voice of a teenage boy on the other end, but couldn’t make out the words.

“It’s okay, calm down. I haven’t left yet, and don’t worry about it, I’ve got one you can use. Is there anything else you need? Good. I might be a little later than I said, but only a few minutes. Just try to stay calm, you’ve got nothing to worry about – remember, it’s only a practise test. I’ll see you soon.”

He put the phone down.

“His calculator’s broken, and last-minute nerves are making everything worse,” he explained with a shrug. “I should really get going though, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Of course!” She stepped back, giving him room to move out of the kitchen. “Go, I don’t want you to be late.”

“Thanks, though. For – letting me stay.” He blushed. She found his awkwardness very endearing.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she replied with a grin.

He started making for the door, with her following. “Hey, maybe we could still get that coffee sometime?”

“Sure! Or we could do this again – dinner, I mean.” It was her turn to blush. She wasn’t exactly opposed to a repeat of their other activities, but she didn’t want him thinking that was all she was after.

He gave her a warm smile. “I’ll call you.”

He leaned down to give her a goodbye kiss in the doorway. She could tell he’d only meant it to be a quick one, but neither of them seemed inclined to stop. The kiss deepened and her arms slid around him. The sparks were back, this time with a touch of heat. She allowed herself to enjoy it for a few moments, and then firmly pushed at his chest.

“Go. Ezra’s waiting.”

He still lingered, his bright eyes gazing down at her. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday?”

“I’d like that,” she replied softly.

Kanan pressed a final kiss to her forehead before turning to stride away down the path. She watched him go, her smile lingering on her lips.

The sound of the door closing seemed to echo in the hallway. Now that Hera was alone, her home was a lot quieter.

No Chopper, she thought to herself. He was with Zeb, one of the few friends she’d made since moving to Lothal six months ago. She’d asked him to check in on Chop while she was out and feed him his dinner, but he’d texted her while Kanan was walking her home to say that Chopper was being clingy (translation: destructive) without her around and so he’d taken the cat home with him.

It was sweet, especially considering that Zeb and Chopper didn’t really get along, but her friend knew how much she cared about her cat. She should probably go pick him up before Zeb did something stupid, like shave all of his fur off. She’d never known if he was serious about that threat and didn’t want to find out.

Hera did the responsible thing and finished cleaning up in the kitchen before making the short walk to Zeb’s place. She rapped on the door in her usual rhythm and didn’t have to wait long for it to be opened. Before she could even greet the lasat on the other side, a yowling streak of orange and white launched itself into her arms.

“Oof,” she grunted as she caught him. “Hello, Chop, it’s good to see you too.”

Chopper was not a small cat. It wasn’t only that he was permanently overweight from constantly managing to get into his sealed food containers, though that did play a part in it – he was also generally very large. Fortunately, Hera was well used to his way of greeting her.

Zeb sniggered from the doorway. “Morning, Hera.”

“Hey, Zeb,” she said, settling the familiar weight in her arms and straightening up. “Thanks for looking after him.”

Zeb’s expressive green eyes looked doubtful. “Not sure he’s so grateful.”

“Was he okay?”

“He was his usual self,” he replied, shrugging his huge shoulders. “He’s been waiting for you by the door since I gave him breakfast.”

“Well, he just wants to – wait, do you have guests?” She’d caught sight of rumpled blankets in the living room behind him.

“Wha’?” He turned to see what she was looking at. “Oh, yeah. Just a friend staying over. He didn’t mind Chop being around.”

“Did they get along?”

“Well, no, but come on, it’s Chopper…”

Yeah, expecting Chop to get along with a stranger was perhaps a little too optimistic.

“Good point. It does explain why he’s so keen to get home.” The cat was squirming in her arms, trying to get comfortable and grumbling quietly.

“So how’d the date go?” Zeb asked.

Hera couldn’t help her smile. “It was good. Really good. We had a lot in common.”

“Yeah?” There was a knowing look on his face. “Think he’s gonna make it to the third date?”

Right. Because the few times she’d tried dating before, it had never gone beyond two dates. Zeb had said she might like them more if she let them stay the night, and she’d brushed his comment off by saying she wouldn’t do that before the third date.

“I mean, I would definitely like to go on a third date. And a second, obviously. But, uh, he doesn’t need to make it that far for, um…” She trailed off, but Zeb’s eyes widened and he smirked in an all-too-knowing way.

��Wow. Must’ve been a really good date,” he teased.

She shrugged, realising she was happy enough not to feel self-conscious. Chopper mewed indignantly at the movement. “Yeah. It was.”

“And how was the…?”

“Zeb!”

“What? Just asking. I know it’s been a while.” He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

She looked away, flushing. “I’m only here to get Chopper. Maybe next time we go out for drinks, I’ll tell you about it.”

Zeb chuckled. “Alright, so let’s talk about how I did you a favour by getting the furball out of your lekku for the night, because there’s actually something you could do for me in return. My nunaball team’s playing an away game next weekend, and the kids could use all the support they can get. It’s in Bahryn – d’you think you could make it?”

She mentally flicked through her calendar. Part of her wanted to keep the next few weekends free in case Kanan wanted another date, but she immediately rejected that idea out of impracticality. “Sure, I don’t have any plans for next weekend yet.”

“You could even bring Kanan if he’s interested. Get that second date.”

Was she really so easy to read? Or did Zeb just know her too well...

“Isn’t Bahryn the team that are your sworn enemies?” she asked, changing the subject.

“...Yeah, that might be why we need the support.”

“Alright. I’ll be there.”

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hera.”

She shifted Chopper in her arms, which were starting to ache. “We’d better get back. But I’ll see you next weekend!”

“See you then!” He waved from the doorway as she turned to leave, feeling glad that it was only a short walk back.

When she let herself back in through her front door, releasing Chopper into the hall, Hera had to restrain herself from immediately checking her phone. Of course Kanan wouldn’t have sent her a message yet, he probably wasn’t even done with Ezra’s exam. Maybe she could text him – wish Ezra luck with the exam, or just straight up ask if he wanted to get lunch on Monday.

Wait… Did she even have his number? Had she given him hers? She felt her heart fall through her stomach as she realised that no, despite all their promises, they had never actually exchanged contact information.

Okay, so no texting. That was fine. She could just run into him in Jhothal on Monday. She saw him from her office window so often, it would be easy to arrange. Right?

#kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars rebels #kanera modern au #kanera university au #the laws of spectre dynamics #fic #pretchwritta

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apothecarinomicon · 3 years ago

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Spring week 3, part 1

I felt much better this morning. I suppose whatever sickness fairy visions impart is strictly transient—or maybe dealing with reagents has given me a good immune system.

When I went outside, I found that I’d somehow managed to plant the foxsocks in the garden. I don’t know how I could have done it in my feverish state and I certainly don’t remember it, but there it is. The foxsocks seem to be thriving already, or at least to have a solid foothold. As I’d hoped, they should be reliably available from here on out.

As I stood there, sleepily puzzling over the garden, I heard a screech from above. Looking up, I saw what at first appeared to be a large bird circling down towards the ground. When she landed, though, I saw she was a woman with wings instead of arms, talons instead of legs, and a feathered tail, wearing a khaki uniform—a postal harpy. She greeted me while balancing on one leg and asked me to confirm my name. I told her and she introduced herself as Liùsaidh. She indicated I ought to retrieve my mail from her talon (it’s polite to wait for their permission). She asked if I might be sticking around and I said I thought I was. She said she’d see me next time I got mail and flew off.

What she’d brought was a letter, with a return address listed as “The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke.” It was a single handwritten (actually, impressively calligraphed) page. The spelling and grammar was, shall we say, characteristic. It’s easier to just stick the letter in between the pages than copy it down, so that’s what I’ll do.

To whom it may concern:

It has come to our attentionne at The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke that ye are a practicing vvitch reſiding in the hamlet of Greanmoore. We would like to congratulate ye on your appointmente and hope you find the positionne both fulfilling and rewarding. We had brief correspondence with your predeceſsor and were glad to learn of yovr presence.

The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke is among the premiere magical muſeums in northweſternne High Rannoc. It has one of the moſte exhauſtive collections of magical materials, svbſtances, and hiſtories native to High Rannoc in the vvorld. Academicks, travelers, and school field trips regularly reference and reſearch the Muſeum’s collections in their purſuit of more compleat knowledge.

As The Muſeum of Magicke does not have a repreſentative in Greanmoore or the surrounding areas, we have a requeſte to make of ye if you are willing to fulfill it. We pride ourſelves on the compleatneſs of our Magickal Components collectionne, but we are miſsing many of the species native to Greanmoore and its svrrounding locations. We humbly ask that ye help vs remedy this deficiency. If you are willing to do so, we woulde requeſt that ye send one of each magickal componente available in the area to the Muſeum, at the returnne addreſs listed above. Should you do so, ye will receive compenſationne.

We hope ye will partner with vs in this endeavor. Your contributionne to societal knowledge shall be greatly appreciated by generationnes of reſearchers, thinkers, and touriſts.

Eagerly avvaiting your reſponſe,

The Friends of The Gleoclas J. Ledgerwood Muſeum of Magicke

[A plain text accessible version of this letter is available here.]

Obviously, the spelling is horrendous. This might have been forgivable a few decades ago, but the shape of the ‘s’ (that is, it not being that odd ‘f’ looking thing sometimes) and the distinction between ‘u,’ ‘v,’ and ‘w’ have been standardized since before I was born. Not to mention, the Ledgerwood Museum is associated with the University of Arcbridge—so there must be someone there who knows better.

The thing is, for a long time the only people who could write were those who received higher education, so the vast majority of documents that exist throughout history have to do with academia. So, even as reading and writing became more accessible and spelling and grammar more standardized, that outdated irregular styling retroactively became associated with education, with decorum, with genius.

I’ve never really had much respect for that kind of posturing—I think that if you’re brilliant the content of your writing ought to speak for itself. You shouldn’t have to so explicitly climb on the shoulders of those who came before you, especially not by intentionally making the mistakes they made or using the outdated styles they used.

I sent back a letter inquiring about the specifics of compensation along with a sample of my foxsocks.

I’m going to the library.

────⊱⁜⊰────

The Greenmoor Public Library is near the center of town, not quite in the square but on Market Street directly off of it. It has some interesting architecture: it looks as if it was originally three separate buildings the size of single-family houses, that were all connected up at a later date by a circular addition between them so that the final building looks like a cog with three spokes. Each section of it is made up of a different material—exposed stone, lime render, and brick for the original houses, and cement for the central cylinder—but it all works together in a quirky, oddball way.

There are no internal walls in the library—even where there must have been external walls in the original houses. They must have knocked them down (I don’t envy that job). Every wall is lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and in each of the spokes there are many close-set freestanding shelves besides, with only narrow aisles left between. At the center of the center is a circular desk, and around this are scattered tables with benches and clusters of armchairs for convenience of reading and research.

The library is owned and run by Donella and Saundra Glasford, an older couple. Saundra is actually the schoolteacher, but she helps with reshelving and organization on weekends. I know this because Donella explained it to me in detail. As soon as I walked in the door she stood from behind (within?) the circular desk and approached me, insisting that she give me a tour of the library. In addition to a survey of the entire space and what kinds of books it contained, this ‘tour’ involved a hefty amount of insight into the daily lives and routines of the Glasford family.

They have a kid named Muiredach, who’s very interested in ancient things at the moment—giant skeletons and the like. Donella has lived here her entire life but Saundra moved here forty years ago. Saundra’s expertise is in thaumatology (specifically thaumatozoology, the study of magical animals), in which she has a degree. Meanwhile, Donella has extensive knowledge of literary and epistemological history, though she received no formal schooling past twelve.

After she finished showing me all the different sections and layouts of the library, Donella told me I should feel free to poke around as much as I wanted. She added that I wouldn’t find any secret passages or hidden rooms, and that they had nothing to hide.

I hadn’t realized before she said that what this was all about.

I told her that the rumors weren’t true, that I wasn’t some Government spy or anything like that (I heard Saundra mumble something like “well you’d also deny it if you were a clype, wouldn’t you?”). Donella quickly assured me that she believed me, but then said “better safe than sorry,” so I’m not quite sure she actually did. I told her I didn’t understand where all the suspicion was coming from. Saundra piped up, saying that I was a stranger who came to a small, isolated town I had no prior relation with to fill a position whose previous occupant had mysteriously disappeared, and asked if I understood how that looked (not in quite those words—her accent and dialect was rather strong). I told her I’d been summoned directly by Mòrag McKinney, and had the paper trail to prove it. I asked if she thought Mòrag was involved in some conspiracy, too. She shrugged and said she was just saying how it looked.

Donella said regardless that I should feel free to use the library—it was for the public, after all—and pointed me in the direction of the section on rune magic. Thus, the conversation ended, but my uneasiness didn’t entirely abate. Still, I’d come to the library for a reason.

The rune section was limited, but I didn’t need to know any more than the basics. I’d only ever been taught one way to create runes, and it was clear my predecessor used a different one—all I needed to do was to figure out which and I could reverse engineer the runes’ meanings.

I found that she used a combination of the witches’ circle and magic square methods, which are both apparently very popular. I wonder why I was never taught them. Both systems derive the shape of the sigil directly from the letters of the intentions they’re meant to invoke. It’s traditional to remove the vowels before doing so, but luckily for me my predecessor chose not to do that.

So, with a bit of work I was able to determine that the sigils I copied down meant: life, autonomy, gentleness, congeniality, and empathy respectively. It was clearly built to be a very kind golem. Now that I know that, I’m going to try to create my own sigils and charge them, and see if that helps.

────⊱⁜⊰────

While I was at the library, I also collected a few of the greatest works of modern literature—Lord of the Midges, Beathag’s Choice, To Kill a Gull-Drake, et cetera. The next morning I packed the books into the rucksack I’d used to travel to Greenmoor and set out to take them to Morna, heading to Hero’s Hollow by way of Moonbreaker Mountain.

As I skirted the base of the mountain, I heard a voice call out from above me, crying “hey, you! Groundling!” It was clearly far above me but somehow also quite loud. I looked up and saw, blotting out the sun, a great hot air balloon. I’d heard vague stories but had never seen one in person before. The most striking part of it was the balloon itself, made of canvas patterned beige and blue and larger than a house. The top half of it (as I was informed later) was enclosed by a net, which had metal rings on its edges attaching it to a tangle of myriad ropes and cords. These in turn held aloft the basket, which was not the simple platform I’d seen described in books but rather looked like a small sailing boat, complete with railings, rotors, and a steering wheel.

The voice announced that it hadn’t seen me around before and that I ought to climb aboard. A ladder with metal rungs unfurled over the side of the boat, just low enough that I could reach it if I jumped. I did so after making sure my rucksack was firmly on my back and shut, and climbed up to reach the aircraft.

The man onboard was only slightly taller than me. His white shirt was rumpled and stained with oil, and his left suspender was fraying. The thick goggles on his forehead, held together with large bolts and screws, were the only thing keeping his thick black hair from whipping in all directions with the wind (mine, in contrast, had already become hopelessly tangled). His sleeves were rolled up, but his forearms were covered by brown leather fingerless gloves, with metal studs that flashed in the sunlight as he hauled the ladder back onto the balloon. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face, with a cylindrical chamber marked “O2” sticking out from each cheek. Directly in front of the mouth was a clear window, so that I could see his lips moving when he spoke. He offered me a similar one and I accepted—the air was rather thin so high up. I could see him say something that was drowned out by the wind, and then he beckoned me towards a door. Given the shape of the craft, I wasn’t surprised to discover that it led to a kind of captains’ quarters.

Inside, the wind wasn’t quite so brutally loud and I could actually make out what my host was saying. He introduced himself as Captain Akash Majhi, aviator extraordinaire, and asked if I needed a lift. I said it might have been a bit late to ask since I was already on the balloon, which made him chuckle. I said that since he’d offered, I was headed to Hero’s Hollow, and he replied that that would be no problem. I noticed as we conversed that he only made eye contact when he was speaking—when I spoke, he instead watched my lips.

As Akash turned to pull a lever on the wall, I asked where he was from. He didn’t respond. With the lever pulled, a large strip of the ceiling rotated so that a piece of what had been the floor above—the piece to which the steering wheel was attached—became the ceiling of this room. Akash then tapped what seemed to just be a wooden accent covering a swath of the metal wall above the desk and bed. The wood slid to the side, revealing a bay window through which he could see.

He took his place at the wheel, positioning me in his field of view, so I asked again where he was from. He told me he was a proud resident of the Cloud Isles. I told him I’d never heard of such a place, and he said I really must be new to the area. Belatedly, I told him my name and that I had in fact only moved here a few weeks ago. He told me that the Cloud Isles were just that: islands in the clouds, with wildlife, ecosystems, and culture. At the center was a great city that, yes, was attached to the clouds, but had mostly been built flying between and amongst them by generations of architects, donors, engineers, artists, and aviators like himself.

I asked him where the city was located and he vaguely waved his hands. “Here and there.” He said that as the clouds drifted so did the Isles, but that the city itself never strayed too far from Greenmoor—otherwise, mapping and resource-gathering from the ground below would be difficult or impossible.

I asked him how I might visit the Isles, and he told me I’d need to be able to fly. He said the general ethos of the residents leaned towards mechanical solutions, but he had heard that there were magical ways of flight as well. I said I would have to look into that. He handed me a business card with his name, “balloonist | engineer | aviator extraordinaire,” an address, and a smoke signal pattern to use to contact him. He said if I was ever in the city he’d be happy to show me around. Then, he announced that we’d arrived.

We went back onto the deck and he unfurled the ladder over the edge. I went to hand him the oxygen mask back but he told me to keep it—they were expensive, but he had plenty and I’d be needing it when (and he did say “when”) I visited the city. I thanked him, shook his hand, and started descending the ladder.

────⊱⁜⊰────

I made it back to the ground (the hop down from the ladder was smaller than the hop up had been), and smoothed my hair down before setting off into the Hollow. I’d only barely made it into the skull when my plans for the afternoon abruptly shifted.

It was just around midday, so the guards must have been on break or between shifts. Hurrying out of the dungeon was a group I recognized—it was the Lows, the mining family. Angus was carrying the son in his arms. The boy was clutching his thigh, and even from a distance I could see blood seeping through his fingers.

Crystal spotted me and immediately called out to me, thanking the gods for my arrival. I hurried to them and guided them back to the cottage, where I knew I’d be able to better determine how to treat the issue. Morna would have to wait—I had a patient to tend to.

⇦●〇●⇨

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fbfh · 4 years ago

Text

hey, sailor - leo x daughter of poseidon

genre: a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, a lot of mermaids lol

word count: 2.4k

au: none really, you have mermaid powers as a daughter of poseidon if that counts lmao

pairing: Leo x Daughter of Poseidon

requested: yeeyee !! hope u enjoy xoxo

warnings: uh brief mention of your step dad leaving when you were younger, an interaction with your best friend doesn’t go as planned, percy’s grappling with rlly complicated feelings towards his dad and new sister

summary: Percy, Annabeth, and Leo all get a little more than they bargained for when they bring Percy’s half sister back to camp Halfblood, and Leo remembers why he had such a huge crush on Ariel growing up.

reccomended songs: hurricane drunk - florence + the machine, sinkin’ in - cody simpson, deep sea ambiance

a/n: as soon as i got this request my dormant mermaid phase woke up from a sound sleep

requests r open uwu

"...And you know what he said to me? He says, 'kid, I think it's time you met your sister'. I have a freaking sister, and that two timing piece harpy sh-"

"Okay, Percy, why don't you cool off a little before we leave. Come on, we'll grab a drink or something while Leo finishes getting ready."

Annabeth takes her boyfriend's hand, and leads him to the nearest drink cooler. Leo turns back to the car they're going to take, and continues loading in the rest of the supplies. He, for one, is excited to meet Percy’s sister. His first thought was ‘hope she’s hot’, which he blurted out before he could stop himself, and was met with a killer glare from both of them. He’s not trying to be insensitive, finding out you have siblings you didn’t know about is kind of traumatic. I mean, hey, Leo’s family went from zero to sixty in one day - literally. Okay, not quite sixty, but only child to one of eight is still a pretty big jump.

A little while later, they’re ready to go. Leo offers to drive, so Percy and Annabeth can sit in back and try to sort out Percy’s feelings. After a couple hours of driving and emotional conversations, most of which Leo just listened to - Annabeth seemed to have a good hold on this, and Leo didn’t want to overstep his bounds again - they arrived in Cape Cod. At this point, the gist seems to be that Percy knows if he should be mad at anyone, it’s his dad. They park in the driveway of the address Chiron gave them. They get out of the car, and look up at the house. It’s gray with white trimming, two or three stories, with a balcony porch on the upper floor - a normal, small town New England house, as far as they could tell. They seemed to take a collective breath, and approached the door.

You’re breathing fast, trying to hold back the floodgates of emotion, when your bare feet hit the sand. You drop your bag, taking in the familiar, secluded stretch of the Cape. A big wall of jagged rocks to your left separates this part of the beach from the others. The old wooden stairs and their faded white paint that connected the low cliff to the sand below are hidden by plant life, so most people don’t even know this area existes. You’ve been coming here regularly since you were nine or ten. So many important parts of your life happened on these shores. You could just tell your mom ‘I’m going to my beach’, and she’d know right where you are. You finish pulling off your shorts and rush towards the water in your swimsuit. You’re met with immediate relief as soon as the water touches your skin. If it was possible to have an emotional support location, you did.

You feel it happen as soon as you’re waist deep. Bubbles and sea foam collect around you from the hips down and your legs get tingly and numb. A moment later, it dissipates, leaving behind a life sized mermaid tail. It changes slightly with most transformations, usually based on your mood and desired appearance, and you’ve noticed over the years you can change how it looks more easily. You don’t care today, you just need to be in the water. This time it’s a big tropical fish tail, its purple, blue, and shimmery gray tones reflecting both your mood and the impending storm clouds rolling in. You dip below the surface, and let the tide carry you a little ways. You don’t worry about getting lost, you somehow always know where you are at sea. You don’t have gills that you can find, but you can definitely breathe underwater.

You finally sink to the bottom, and stare up at the surface of the water. The patterns of light remind you of the night light you had as a child.

Your mom had ensured you were comfortable with water and ocean life for as long as you could remember. She must know other people like you, because sometimes she would have long phone conversations with someone called the Director. You were pretty sure he had a weird name that started with a K or C, but you could never remember. He’s apparently sending someone to bring you to a ‘safe place’ today. It sounds like bullshit to you, but you trust your mom, and your mom trusts the Director. Since you might not be back for a while, she said you could finally tell your best friend Wes the truth.

‘Oh god,’ you think, wishing the salt water would erase your memories of what happened today, but you can’t stop the onslaught of memories. Wes has been your best friend for years. You helped him when he realized he’s bi, he helped you when your step dad left, you could trust him with anything. Or so you thought. ‘It’s not his fault,’ you remind yourself, trying futilely to stop reliving what happened hours earlier.

You brought him to your part of the beach to go swimming so you could show him. You can still hear his voice, asking if you’re sure you want to go in the ocean, you’ve always been afraid of water. Once you’d worked up the nerves to get in the water and transform, you showed him your tail. Your heart broke again every time you remembered what he had said.

“That is... incredible,” your heart had soared, there was hope, “I can’t believe you got one of those silicone swimming tails just to prank me!” Ah, there it was. The other shoe. You tried to tell him it was real, but he said he could see the mold lines, and there the scales don’t quite line up, and there’s the edge of the zipper. You wanted to cry.

“I’m not gonna lie, you almost had me for a second. I can’t believe you learned to swim just to prank me, but whatever works, dude,” he laughed like you were having a good time together. It was too much.

You let out a huge underwater scream, and thunder rumbles in the distance. You sink further down, wishing once again that the salt and algae would erode your memories from today.

Annabeth knocks on the door for the third time. Thankfully, it opens to a middle aged woman in a shirt that said Brooklyn Nine Nine.

“Hello, what can I help you with?” she asks. She has a strong presence, and none of them want to be on her bad side. Percy is still too nervous, and Leo seems to be analyzing wires poking out of the doorbell, so Annabeth introduces themselves, and asks where you are.

“Who wants to know?” she asks.

“We’re her internet friends, we’re surprising her by visiting a day early.” Annabeth replies. The woman doesn’t seem convinced. She smiles, seeming to see right through them.

“Are you from camp?” The shock on their faces gives her all the answer she needs. She smiles, and continues, “She’s down at the Cape, the quiet part past the rocks.” They thank her, but before they can leave she says, “Hey.” She looks at each of them intensely.

“Make sure she gets there safely. Take care of her.” They agree solemnly, and head down the sidewalk.

“And tell Chiron I say hi.” she says with a smile. They smile back, agreeing again.

They get to the Cape, and it’s full of people.

“Shouldn’t be any harder than a Where’s Waldo,” Leo says. Percy’s head snaps to the right, and thunder rumbles.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

“The thunder? Yeah,” Annabeth says.

“No, no.. someone screaming.”

“I don’t-”

“This way,” he takes off towards a pile of jagged rocks. They manage to get over with only a few scrapes and Percy surveys the empty beach.

“She’s here… She’s here somewhere,” he mutters to himself. The dark clouds part for a moment, and Annabeth points out to the water. Someone was there, pretty far out to sea. She could just make out their shoulders and head above the water.

“Gods, Percy, can you get her to shore?”

“Ah ah ah, uncle Leo’s got this one,” Leo pulls something out of his backpack. It’s bronze, and the size and shape of a deflated soccer ball. He throws it into the water. It starts to sink, then expands into a small bronze and wood speed boat. Percy and Annabeth’s jaws drop. He hops in, revving the engine to life. They sail out over the water, Percy directing them around currents and waves. They can see the figure clearly now, and they’re sure it’s you. You’re looking away from them, out towards the darkening sky. The boat starts to slow down, and makes a whining noise. Their eyes dart to Leo.

“It’s probably just a sticky piston,” white smoke leaks from the engine, “... and I should check the coolant, too.” He opens up a panel, and starts to tweak a couple things. He sits on the edge of the boat to get a better angle, and reaches into his tool belt. He pulls out a wrench, and almost in slow motion, feels it slip between his finger tips, and into the water with a light plip.

“Shit!” He covers his mouth, worried he scared you off. Three heads turn to where you were a moment ago. Gone. He feels that familiar shameful heat creep into his stomach and cheeks.

“Sorry guys, I-”

“You dropped this,” He looks into the water, and you’re right next to the boat, handing him the wrench.

“...Thanks,” he says, his heart speeding up. Your hair is wet and beads of water glisten on your skin. Your red bikini top sure isn’t doing anything to slow his racing pulse, either. Your hands brush as he takes the tool from you. You smile, and the clouds part - literally. A beam of golden sun shines behind you, making you glow. His heart is in his throat, and he knows he’s probably grinning and blushing like an idiot.

Percy stares at your head, poking up over the side of the boat. Your hair is dyed shades of blue and teal and seafoam that blend right in with the water, but your roots are dark. He takes in your freckles, your tan lines, and your eyes… they look like part of the sea - shells, or waves, or something. He watches as Leo takes the tool, and a smile appears at the side of your mouth - the same smile he’s seen in the mirror, the same smile he’s seen on his dad. He sees all these familiar traits and knows it’s true, you’re his sister. The realization hits him like a truck, and he’s suddenly choked up. Annabeth sees this, and places a hand on his shoulder. She looks between Percy and an infatuated Leo, and takes the reins for the whole ‘the gods are real’ speech.

“Hi,” she says, giving Percy’s hand a squeeze, “I’m Annabeth, this is Percy, and Leo. We were sent here to take you to a safe place for kids like us-”

“Ohmygod, finally,” the tension leaves your shoulders and you sigh in relief, “you have no idea how hard it’s been keeping all of this a secret, trying to be normal…” You push yourself up the side of the boat Ariel style, and pull yourself in, the edge of your tail draped slightly off the boat as you continue, “I seriously thought I was losing it for a while…” you trail off, watching them stare at your tail.

“You’re not… you’re not merfolk, are you?” The confusion on their faces says it all. Panic rises in your chest as you start to dive off the boat. Before you can, Leo grabs your hand.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We all have weird powers, it’s part of being a demigod.” He shows you his free hand, and flames suddenly dance across his palm. Part of your fear is replaced with confusion.

“A what?” you ask.

“A demigod.” you look over at Percy, who’s speaking since the first time since you’ve met him, “Our dad is Poseidon, god of the sea.” You scrunch your eyebrows, processing what he said. Annabeth smiles at the gesture, having seen her boyfriend do it a thousand times.

“Wait… our?” He takes in a breath.

“I’m Percy, your brother.”

The ride back to shore is a little awkward, to say the least. They had finished explaining about camp and the gods and monsters a few minutes ago, and it’s been pretty much silent since. Annabeth sits next to you, and hands you a water bottle.

“He just needs some time,” she tells you quietly, “Poseidon’s not really supposed to have children, and Percy got a hard time for it when he was younger. He also… he thought his dad was really in love with his mom, so finding out he has a sister so close in age…” You nod in understanding. She pats you on the shoulder, and sits next to Percy at the back of the boat. You scooch up a little closer to Leo as gracefully as you can, which isn’t much, considering you have to drag along an almost 60 pound fish tail. Leo looks over at you from the controls.

“Weird day, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah…”

“So how long does it take to, uh,” he nods down and you flick your tail, “de-fishify?”

You laugh.

“Once I’m dry,” you look up at the summer sun reemerging, a little surprised that it hadn’t stormed. Then again, if children of Poseidon really could make sea storms, it made sense that it had died down now that you and Percy were feeling better.

“which shouldn’t take long.” you finish. You look over at Percy, who’s having a quiet intense conversation with Annabeth.

“He knows I didn’t ask for this, right?” Leo looks back at them.

“He does,” he replies.

“It’s so surreal finding out I have a sibling I knew nothing about,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“Try finding out you have seven,” he laughs, shaking his head at the memory.

“Seven?!” your head snaps up to him.

“Oh yeah,” he tells you the story of when he first came to camp, and you feel so much better already. Leo has such a comforting presence, the pain from all your problems softens a little just hearing him talk. You have a feeling you’re going to get a lot closer.

Little did you know, the feeling was mutual - and correct.

#leo x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #Heroes of Olympus #Leo Valdez #percy jackson #leo valdez x reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon

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spartanguard · 4 years ago

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even death won’t part us now (5/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

A/N: Brace yourself for some feelz, friends; that’s all I can say about this chapter. (There’s just...a LOT of emotion. You’ll see ;) ) Eternal thanks, as always, to @optomisticgirl for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair for her amazing art (LOOK AT THAT AHHHHHHH); and to @kmomof4 and @cssns for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

if you’ve ever seen AVPM/S, I’d like you to imagine Draco Malfoy singing the Anita part and that’s what my high school’s production of West Side Story was like

part five: tonight, there will be no morning star

The skyscraper was a wonderful invention; a marvel of modern engineering. The ability to construct a building all the way into the clouds was one of the many things Gold was glad he had lived long enough to see. He’d been impressed enough when the Equitable Life Building opened in 1870; the balcony he stood on now was at least five times higher in the sky.

It was a good thing his sense of vertigo was long-dead, else he might not be able to spend as much time out here, looking down on the city, as he did. It made him feel like some modern monarch, surveying his kingdom from on high. In reality, it was much more complicated than that, though he’d spent long enough building his empire that it wasn’t far-fetched to call it a dynasty.

He sometimes lamented that his efforts would never be documented in history books; how he’d spent centuries working away right under the noses of the mortals, and they remained oblivious. Maybe he’d make that his next project. Surely there was some suffering, underappreciated writer he could bribe with immortality...ah, but not tonight. There’d be time for that later. First, he had to weather whatever was coming.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something in the air was different tonight; a sense of anticipation was floating on the wind, carried along by the brine of the ocean. He tapped his fingers on the rail of the balcony but was unable to tap down on what it was precisely.

“Hello, Rumple,” a voice he’d never be able to forget said from somewhere above.

Ah, perhaps that was it then; he always had a sense for when she was around. “I thought I smelled betrayal and cheap wine on the breeze. Good evening, Cora.”

The woman dropped from the roof above, landing gracefully on the terrace without even wrinkling her pantsuit. Her style had always edged on sharp, though this seemed surprisingly simple for her; he recalled bigger shoulder pads the last time he’d seen her—what was it, ‘85?

“You seem awfully calm considering what’s about to happen tonight,” she said, ignoring the jibe. Ah well, it was worth a shot; he hadn’t been able to get a rise out of her since 1621, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

He scoffed. “What, a minor scuffle? Two lads having it out over a couple blocks of territory? Seems to me it’s far more personal than anything that would actually mean something.” He’d had to restrain himself from chuckling when Jones told him about the fight; they had no idea.

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown so dense that you don’t realize what this means,” she preened.

He wanted to call her bluff, but if there was one thing he’d learned in over 400 years of dealing with Cora, is that she rarely did. “Enlighten me.”

“It means your underlings are growing restless and tired of this. Mine too. And I’d rather not have this end the way it did last time that happened.” ‘Last time’ being a bloody war; they were able to hide it from the mortals within the confines of the American Revolution but it was a near miss. He’d began rebuilding his ranks immediately; she’d taken her time. And here they were now.

“Chaos has always been my friend, dearie; I can’t say I’d be too upset if it broke out now.”

“While I wouldn't mind it either, I’d be watching your back a bit more closely. Didn’t Jones bring up something...rather interesting earlier?”

Somehow, a chill ran down his unfeeling spine—not just at what Jones had asked about, but the fact that she seemed to know about it as well. “It’s nothing; just a myth. It’s not possible.”

“Please. Think of everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve been through together. Nothing is impossible.”

“I’ve made sure of it.”

“Have you?”

She was always good at poking his buttons. And he was done with it.

“Go. And never come back.”

She had to obey, at least, and he took a small thrill in the way she involuntarily started to climb over the balcony’s railing. “Fine. I just thought I was doing you a favor, but I see it’s not wanted. See you in another 30 years, Rumple.”

She let go and fell back; he didn’t watch to see what happened when she hit the ground. He wouldn’t put it past her to frame him for murder, but she had a different angle this time.

Even though she’d left, that sense of apprehension lingered. Something was indeed coming, something that would change things in his world—but what?

And why did he get the sense Jones was involved?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The sun wasn’t even below the horizon before Emma left home, shouting a quick “goodbye and good luck” over her shoulder as she headed out into the evening. If she were in her normal skip-tracing clothes (aka her normal clothes), she’d be running across rooftops to get to Granny’s in no time flat. But no, this was a honeypot, so she had to walk, lest she break the only pair of heels she could actually move in without pain. (That was one thing she’d been dismayed to discover: heels still hurt, even if she recovered faster.)

Still, she powerwalked to Granny’s in record time. “Evening, Emma,” the old wolf called out. “The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, slipping onto her normal stool at the fairly empty counter. It was weird—for a place known to so many, it always seemed to be fairly empty. She had to guess that last night’s meeting was the most crowded it had been in ages. Or maybe that was just part of the magic of the diner.

If she had to guess, the guy at the booth on the other side of the room was a werewolf, based on scent alone; and there was what looked like a fairy bachelorette party at the large booth in the corner. (Not to be confused with fae—she made that mistake once and only once.) Being the only vampire, it was kind of nice to feel like the odd person out for a change. Though she hoped that changed soon.

“Order up!” Granny was suddenly in front of her with a plate of one of the few things on the menu Emma could eat: onion rings. (Onions that had been soaked in blood overnight, mind you, but that was enough for her to be able to stomach them.)

“Thank you so much, Granny,” she effused, and then moaned as she bit into one. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius?”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice. When does lover boy get here?”

As incredible as it was, Emma almost spat out the bite. “Excuse me?”

“Girl, you think I didn’t smell you all over him last night? He covered it up well enough for the others not to notice, but I know better.”

First Zelena, now Granny; they were both going to have to invest in industrial-strength body spray if they were going to keep this under wraps for the time being.

“Calm down; I won’t tell.” But she leaned in across the counter and lowered her voice. “But if you need a place to meet in secret, you know I have rooms upstairs. And I promise not to listen too close.”

“Thanks; I’ll, uh, keep it in mind,” Emma stammered, then hid her embarrassment in another bloody onion ring. Granny, unsurprisingly, cackled and walked away.

It would take more than a voyeuristic wolf to keep her from enjoying fried deliciousness, though, and she savored every bite—being glad she was wearing a red dress in case of drips (Deadpool totally stole that from her, as far as she was concerned)—until there were just two left: the most perfect, juicy, crispiest ones of the bunch. But suddenly, there was only one. And she also wasn’t alone at the counter anymore.

Two seats away, Killian sat with one of her onion rings, taking a slow bite that had her mouth watering in other ways; the way his tongue swiped away the bit of blood that escaped his lips was almost arousing enough to overlook the theft. Almost.

“All those manners and no one taught you to ask nicely?”

“I told you I was a pirate,” he tossed back, taking another bite. “Not a whole lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ going on there.”

“I highly doubt you ever pillaged anything as precious as those, though.” She started to stand up to close the distance between them, but he threw her a warning look out of the corner of his eye that made her pause.

“We’re in public,” he muttered with his mouth full. Damn, he was right; even if no one from either coven was here now, that could easily change. Which was really annoying because as good as his rum-flavored kisses tasted last night, she liked onion rings even more. And, you know, they probably had some business to discuss—like whatever Zelena had been talking about.

As if on cue, Granny slipped past again, but this time tossing a key (with a rather ostentatious keyring) onto the counter in front of her as she went to address her new customer. There was a room number written on it in Sharpie; Emma memorized the number and slipped the key into her lap as she sat back down. (While also making a mental note to try to find some sexy dresses with pockets.)

The appeal of her last onion ring waned given that there was something far more delicious-smelling a few feet away, so she scarfed it down, threw some cash on the counter, and then headed to the hallway that led upstairs. Granny definitely did better business in the diner than her inn, and it wasn’t anything special, but it was clean, which Emma couldn’t say about a lot of other places she’d been; her skps really loved the city’s roach motels. (Something told Emma the very nature of her host kept most vermin far from the premises.)

Room 305 was simple, sparse, but had a decent-sized mattress with a sturdy frame, and a clean bathroom. All she needed was the privacy, though.

She’d hardly tossed her purse and the key on the room’s table when a soft knock fell on the door; she wouldn’t have heard it if she was still human. She turned back and, out of habit, glanced through the room’s peephole; she was already getting a whiff of spicy and salty air through the door, but this was still the city and you couldn’t be too careful. But of course it was Killian on the other side, peering up at the door through his crazy long lashes.

She didn’t wait any longer to pull it open, and nearly as soon as she had, he was on top of her, claiming her lips with his and damn, she was right—onion rings tasted as good on his lips as they did on her tongue. (But his tongue tasted even better.)

Somehow, the door was shut behind them and while she wasn’t quite sure who was leading, they pressed together from tip to toe until they fell against the plush—and noisy—mattress, sinking in with a loud squeak of ancient steel.

“Should have known Granny would want to hear something like that,” he chuckled. “Saucy old wolf.”

“Eh, let her listen.” Emma’s own arousal was climbing too fast for her to care, and she pounced on Killian again, wrapping a leg around him and pressing her core against his. He was definitely eager, too, she could tell; it was kind of funny how, out of all the bodily functions that ended when a person transitioned to a vampire, arousal was the one that remained unchanged. She’d had her fair share of flings in her afterlife, but no one had her as keyed up as Killian did with so little effort.

His hand wandered down her side, squeezing her waist and then pulling her rear impossibly closer, before toying with the hem of her dress. “I thought last night’s dress was rather demure for you,” he said between kisses, “but this one is positively sinful.”

“Good. Means work will go fast tonight. Horny bond skips usually fall for it pretty fast.”

“I can see why. I’d tell you to be careful, but I feel like it would be better to warn your prey.”

“Emma Swan always gets her man.”

“What a lovely motto.”

“True so far. And that includes right now.” She sucked a line of kisses down his sharp jaw to the juncture of his neck, drawing a delicious moan from him. “Do you have one?”

“Aye,” he breathed, eyes squinted shut as if trying to regain his thoughts. “A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

“And what is it you want?”

He opened his eyes—clear blue even in the dingy yellow light. “You, love. Just you.”

How could she do anything but kiss him within an inch of his afterlife?

Everything that followed was a rush of sensation rather than any coherent thought:

The brush of his beard against her neck, the firmness of his chest beneath her hands (as well as that of his ass), each graze of his fingers against her thigh as they moved her dress up.

The way his weight settled above her in a way that was both oppressive and comforting, the dance of fingers as they undid his fly (she wasn’t even sure whose all were involved in that), the bob of his cock as it sprang free from denim confines.

How something so hard could feel so soft in her hand—nearly enough to make him come undone on touch alone, but she’d be damned if she let that happen. (Or, well, damned more than she probably already was going to be.) How, for the first time in 15 years, she genuinely felt flushed.

It was all she could do to shove her lace panties aside and guide him home, and oh—she didn’t have the words for what that felt like: to be filled so perfectly it could have brought tears to her eyes (you know, if her tear ducts still worked).

And then he moved and—holy shit. Her fangs dropped down on their own accord again but she couldn’t be bothered to care this time; hell, all she wanted to do was sink her teeth into him, but she’d have to settle with using a heel to press him back in.

“You feel incredible, darling,” he murmured, slightly lisping—his fangs had dropped too. Maybe she hadn’t learned all there was to know about vampire biology. But that could be dealt with later; right now, she just needed him, and to find the release that was inching closer painfully slowly.

“So do you,” she whispered. “But it feels amazing when you move.”

“As you wish,” he said into her ear, his breath somehow feeling hot on it, and he complied. They started slow, careful presses in and out to find their rhythm, then picking up speed and power. She really hoped the bed frame would hold up (Twilight did get that part right) and was sure Granny was getting a good show, but she put any other wonderings into finding his lips again, the play of teeth and tongues and lips coinciding with the meeting of other body parts.

It felt like a slow climb—something she was used to in post-mortem relations—but then the precipice came out of nowhere and she was suddenly falling, gasping into Killian’s mouth as her release carried her away, though she held his shoulders with an iron grip to keep from floating too far.

He wasn’t far behind, she felt, and his fingers would have left imprints on her side were they still capable of being bruised. She felt his release spill inside her as his movements stuttered until he was done, slipping out and falling next to her on his back.

It was probably some long-buried instinct that left them feeling out of breath after sex, but Emma was pretty sure she was sweating. Dead or alive, that had been one of the greatest orgasms of her life—and, honestly, sex was so much easier while undead, what with the whole not needing birth control or being worried about STIs. But this—this was something else.

“I do have to admit, that wasn’t my initial aim in following you up here,” Killian said, pulling her into his side. “But I’m not complaining.”

“I think we’d have some issues if you were. You seemed very enthusiastic about it.”

“And how could I not be?” he smirked, turning to look at her. But then his smile fell, and he pressed his thumb against her lips; it came back red. “Apologies, love; did I hurt you?”

She licked her lips and tasted the copper. “No; I hadn’t even noticed. It might have been self-inflicted,” she said, pressing her tongue against her own still-exposed canines. “I wish I knew why that kept happening.”

“It’s just the effect I have on you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Her normal MO when flirting was to refute a statement like that, but...why lie? “I’ve been waiting to see you all day.”

“I can tell.” She lightly slapped his shoulder, and he chuckled at the reaction. “I felt the same way; I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“A day is a lot less than 15 years. It dragged but I managed. Thank you for not murdering my dad last night.”

“That wouldn’t have been very gentlemanly. And if anyone was going to do any assassination last night, it would have been Graham killing me.”

Ugh, of course he would; she groaned. “Sorry; he can’t take a hint. You make out with a guy once twelve years ago and apparently he keeps a flame lit for the next decade.”

“I can hardly blame him, especially knowing how you kiss.” His thumb again traced her lips, which had healed by now, and god, the reverence in that gentle gesture was nearly as overwhelming as her orgasm. But then his brow furrowed. “You don’t suppose true love’s kiss is real, do you?”

Emma blinked, confused; where had that come from? “No, probably not, though I wouldn't dare say that around my mom—she most likely believes in it. Why?”

“Granny mentioned something to me last night after the meeting, and I did some research today...were you also aware the prophecies were real?”

“No, I was not.” Though surprised, she listened as Killian told her about Gold and his powers—actual, honest-to-god, dark magical powers—and the prophecy that spelled his end. She wasn’t too surprised that it was kept under wraps, especially given what she’d learned from Zelena last night (which Killian somehow did not know, which made her feel like less of a newb for once).

But most shocking was the fact that Kililan thought she was the one the prophecy talked about. “Fuck.”

“That’s a succinct way of putting it.”

“I don’t word good, so the fewer, the better.” Quips aside, she was having a hard time wrapping her head around the whole thing. “So I might be the only person that can kill Gold and end this whole feud? That’s….a lot.”

“I know, but I want you to know it’s not a burden you carry alone.”

And then the other half hit her: true love. Did that mean…? “So...that’s us? That means we’re—”

“Maybe,” he said softly, probably sensing her panic. She couldn’t deny that she had deep feelings for Killian, but true love? That was...that was her parents, that was fairy tales; that didn’t happen to her.

“I don’t want all that,” she whispered. “I just want to be with you; I don’t want to be responsible for ending some centuries-long feud.”

“I know, love,” he murmured, and pulled her close; she was nestled into the crook of his neck and other than her dad’s patented hugs, she’s never felt so safe. “It’s not for certain; just a theory, and you’re under no obligation to act on it. But if you choose to, know that I’m here beside you each step of the way.”

“Or we can just run off; go hide in the woods upstate or something. Or Maine—or even Canada; they’d never find us there.”

“Not likely, no,” he chuckled; she could feel the vibration of it through his collarbone onto her cheek. “Maybe a cottage by the seaside somewhere? Some remote little beach?”

“Mm, sounds perfect.” Her parents would understand, right? And even if they didn’t….well, they could deal. “Let’s just do that right now. Let me go catch this skip, and then I’ll pack my bags and we can go.”

She felt more than saw his smile. “As much as I’d love that, I’m afraid I have some other things to attend to this evening.”

Oh right, the fight—how could she forget? “I guess that brawl is kind of pointless then, isn’t it?”

“Aye; perhaps why Gold seemed unperturbed by the idea.”

“Then what’s the point in letting it happen? Do you think you can stop it?” It was probably because she was fairly young and hadn’t been fully indoctrinated to the cause, but the thought of an inconsequential fight that had even a slight chance of becoming something worse—because, with the way tensions ran, that was alway a possibility—made her really nervous.

“I’ll certainly try; I agree, I don’t like the thought of unnecessary fighting, either.” And he’d probably seen more than his fair share of it. “Whatever happens, I’ll come find you when it’s all done—I promise.”

“I will hunt you down if you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.”

She kissed him again, slower and sweeter than before. “Ugh, I don’t want to go, but this skip will pay rent for a month.”

“I don’t want you to go, but it’d be ungentlemanly to make you late for work.”

“Do you always have to be one?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

Thankfully, they had enough time for one more make out, and she was already making a mental note to hit a drug store later for some perfume; his scent was probably embedded in her pores at this point. (She also mentioned he might want to do the same; he said he’d stop by his apartment before heading to the fight.)

Eventually, they righted themselves and made their way out of the room, pausing for one last, slow kiss in the hallway after locking the door.

“Not a moment will go by I don’t think of you,” Killian murmured, but he may as well have shouted it for as hard as it hit her.

“Good,” she replied, hoping he heard how much she meant the same thing back.

With one final peck, she dashed out the back door and into the night, off to whatever seedy bar she was finding the scumbag-of-the-week. Hopefully, this would be a quick one—she already missed Killian.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

For a moment after Emma left, Killian stood stock still in the hallway, Emma’s scent lingering around him as his fingers traced the feel of her lips on his. That was not at all how he anticipated this encounter to go—he was fairly old fashioned in some senses, especially when it came to someone he wanted to court properly—but any complaint had died before he could give it voice. In a way, they were just making up for lost time, he supposed.

And he would see to it that they weren’t limited in that regard ahead.

Granny gave a lascivious wink when he placed the key on the counter in the diner, and he was sure she’d have more to say were the evening crowd (as it were) not filling up the place. He used that to his advantage and took his leave, even though he still had a few hours until he was due anywhere.

He spent a bit of time at the docks, mulling over how they’d changed over the years (and eyeing the ships for sale; he’d had to sell his last one and was in the market for something new, especially if a quick getaway might be needed at some point), before keeping his promise to Emma and stopping at his apartment for some fresh cologne to cover her scent. How no one had noticed it the night before was a mild miracle, but adrenaline would be running strong tonight and senses would be on high alert.

(He so loathed to erase the evidence of her on his person, though.)

There was still time to kill, so he walked slowly (well, for him) in the direction of the lot, even patiently waiting for crossing lights to indicate the all clear rather than dart out early like most New Yorkers did. He should probably find a snack, since he didn’t get to finish his drink at Granny’s; a hunger-like pang was stirring within, but there wasn’t enough time for that now.

The lot was mostly empty when he arrived, and the street oddly quiet; at least that boded well for this rendezvous—and perhaps he’d be able to maintain the peace.

As he got closer, a pinprick of light burned out of the darkness; it took but a millisecond for his eyes to adjust and see that Robin was waiting, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“You’ll smoke yourself into an early grave,” Killian scolded lightly, as he’d done many times before.

“Tis a pity I never got the chance, then, aye?” Robin tossed back. He and his wife had been emigrating to America in the mid-1800s when scarlet fever broke out on their ship; his wife and unborn child didn’t make it, but somehow, Gold had been aboard, and turned Robin before the disease claimed him as well.

In life, Robin had never had the money to maintain a tobacco habit, but once he found himself with unlimited time—and lungs that would never damage—he’d taken it up with gusto.

“Just don’t let me catch you vaporizing, or whatever it is,” Killian teased.

“Vaping, and no, never.”

They waited in companionable silence as Robin finished his cigarette and started on another. That caught Killian’s interest; while smoking might be a favored hobby for Robin, he’d never been known to indulge in chain smoking—unless he was nervous.

Footsteps on the other end of the lot drew their attention; David, Graham, and the others (though thankfully not Zelena) stepped from the shadows. At the sight, the twisting in his gut coiled again, and an ancient feeling washed over him: trepidation. He hadn’t felt that since...god, not since Yorktown.

And that clearly ended well. (He thought to himself, sarcastically.)

He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his sense of dread; it was certainly not the first time the two teams had gone head-to-head (even if he hoped it might be the last). He couldn’t count the number of lives lost to the feud over the centuries—thankfully few innocent ones, but the number of siblings-in-arms sacrificed to the cause was far too high.

He’d never been nervous before any of those encounters. So why was this one giving him anxiety?

(Because so much was riding on this. Because he didn’t want to let Emma down.)

Will and Henry appeared out of nowhere, suddenly behind them, and if it was possible for the scene to get even more silent, it did. The men were lined up shoulder to shoulder in two opposing lines; it was like the standoff in a terrible spaghetti western, but without the benefit of a Morricone score.

The tension was palpable as they all stood stone-still, waiting for the other side to make any sort of move. It would have been the perfect time for Killian to intervene—convince them all to back down—but he was too worried that even so much as a pin drop would make waves.

In the end, it turned out to be the drop of cigarette ash that sent things into motion; Robin’s burnt end had barely hit the ground before he and Graham were on top of each other, snarling and slashing in the middle of the carpark.

An outsider would have thought it was some strange dance, or possibly performance art, with the way they clamored at each other but never seemed to land any blows. But Killian’s keen eyes could see each dodge of a body from a clawing limb, their extended fangs thirsting for blood, and the way Graham curled inward when Robin landed a first, firm punch on the other man’s stomach; that finally drew Killian from his stupor.

“No; that’s enough!” he shouted, then put himself between them. “We don’t need to do this.”

Despite his advanced age, he didn’t have as much an advantage over the two of them as he thought he did; they simply jumped away and continued. Before he could step in again, a firm hand had him by the shoulder.

“Hey, this was your idea; what kind of power grab is this?” David growled; his other hand was curled into a fist. Should have known he’d be itching for a fight, too.

“You really think this will solve anything?” Killian spat. “Our bosses don’t care; this goes way beyond us, mate.”

Killian threw him off and made for the other two, who were now wrapped in what he guessed was some sort of wrestling move, arms gripped on the other’s shoulders. But before he got all the way there, David jumped in front of him.

“I’m not your mate.” David was glaring and trying to use his height advantage to intimidate, but Killian wouldn’t dare hurt the father of his love, even if he was his opponent at the moment.

“Fine, but I’m not your enemy either; you don’t even know what you’re fighting for.”

“You think I don’t know?” Now he was moving toward Killian—though, over his shoulder, he could see that Robin had landed another punch, this time on Graham’s chest. “Aurum turned me and my wife against our will. Aurum made our daughter grow up without her parents. You just take and take, and do whatever you want without facing the consequences. And now, what—you think you can get out of them because you might lose?” The irony in that statement, of course, being that Robin had now hit Graham in the jaw, who had paused to cradle his sore chin.

“But you have her now; doesn’t that count for anything?” Killian pleaded.

He realized as soon as he said it that he’d made a grave error. David stopped, taken aback. “How did you know that?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Killian didn’t take the time to answer; with any luck, that would be explained later. He jumped on the opportunity presented and dashed toward Robin and Graham again, pushing Robin away as he was about to make what would likely be the winning blow.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Robin sputtered, and Killian was about to reply, except he was suddenly face down on the pavement after something that felt vaguely like a foot hit him in the back.

“What game are you playing, Jones?” David yelled from above, giving Killian a good idea of who had attacked him. He was back on his feet in an instant, and so were the rest of the gangs, all around them. Fuck; so much for not bringing anyone else in.

It was Robin’s turn to step in front of Killian. “Are you trying to start a rumble, Nolan?”

“I didn’t start anything, but I will if that’s what you want.” Next to him, Graham pulled a suspiciously long, slender object from a pocket, and the subsequent swish of the weapon confirmed: he had a switchblade.

And a second later, Robin had pulled his own out.

They were immediately back on top of each other, with the others egging them on— “Right in the heart, Robin!” “Go for the neck, Graham!”

Killian’s lone attempt to pull Graham back (he was the closest to him at the time) ended with him also being pulled away by Jefferson; he and David restrained Killian and while he might have been able to shake off one of them, the two of them together were too much. He had to watch helplessly as the two in the center continued to swipe at each other, blades glinting dangerously in the murky streetlights.

It was still only until first blood, right? And that was bound to happen faster now that sharp edges were involved.

Almost in slow motion, he watched as the tip of Robin’s blade sliced at Graham’s cheek, leaving behind a thin line of red. He sighed in relief, little as he needed that breath; that was it—it was done.

David and Jefferson loosened their grip on him and he shook them off, not withholding a glare in David’s direction. He then turned to face Robin, to get him—all of them—out of there as quickly as possible, but his voice got stuck in his throat.

While Robin had barely relaxed, let down his guard for the briefest of seconds, Graham lunged at him and sank his blade into Robin’s chest.

Into Robin’s heart.

The world stood still for a moment as everyone stared in shock, and the reality of what just happened washed over Killian. It wasn’t until Graham jerked the blade free, dripping blood—Robin’s blood—on the ground, that he was jolted enough from his stupor to move.

“No!” Killian screamed, then ran to his friend just as he collapsed. “No, no, no,” he muttered, pressing a hand against Robin’s wound, but there was no use for it—a vampire was just as susceptible to that kind of stabbing as a mortal was.

Robin was gasping for air, useless as it was, as his lifeblood spilled out onto the asphalt below him, quite literally draining the life from him; little would be left in a few moments but ash and memories. If Killian could cry, he’d have been sobbing.

“Tell—tell ‘gina—” Robin stammered, but was quickly losing energy.

He knew what he was asking, anyways. “I’ll tell Regina,” he promised.

With his last bit of strength, Robin wrapped his hand around Killian’s and squeezed, smiling, as death finally came for him. It was fast—too fast, but wounds like that always led to a quick death. It wasn’t the first time Killian had held another person as they disintegrated in his hold, but it was by far the most painful. And the most unwarranted.

The dust that had been Robin settled in the air around him, landing on his hand where blood was still fresh. In more ways than one, Killian began to see red.

Without thinking, he grabbed Robin’s abandoned switchblade and in one swift moment, stood and shoved it at Graham, instinctively finding his most vulnerable spot.

Graham stammered back, pulling the weapon out—and hastening his own demise. All too quickly, he collapsed on his knees, his team gathering around him, and a moment later, he too was ash.

A sharp wind off the ocean blew Graham’s remains toward Killian, bringing with them the realization of what he had done:

He’d killed a member of Emma’s coven—practically her family.

And he’d done nothing to end the feud; if anything, he escalated it.

Bloody fuck, what had he done?

And what could he do now?

He stared in horror at the blood around him, trying to formulate a plan, when Will blessedly broke the fragile silence.

“Rozzers!” he shouted, then began to run, only to see no one else move. “Cops?” he translated into American English, which got the reaction he was looking for; everyone hopped to their feet and ran. No one wanted to explain this scene to mortal police.

Everyone but Killian. He wondered if his feet had become concrete, he was so rooted in place. It wasn’t until Will was in his face, urging him to move, that he did.

“Do you have somewhere to lay low? I don’t think Coroza is gonna let this one go,” he asked as they dashed from the lot.

His thoughts immediately turned to Emma, suicidal as that likely was. Could he drag her into this? Or would that be the least likely place they’d look?

He’d have to risk it. “Aye, I do.”

“Alright, then go; the less I know the better. Good luck, mate,” Will told him, then ran in another direction; belatedly, Killian realized, headed toward where Belle lived.

There was no time to dwell on that, though, and he changed course to head uptown. He had no idea what lay ahead, but he knew one thing: whatever it was, he wanted Emma at his side.

(Assuming, that is, she forgave him.)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading, friends! let me know if you want/don’t want a tag! @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda

#cssns20 #cssns 2020 #cs ff #cs vampire au #cs smut #even death won't part us now #my ff

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

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Fic: What kind of Man (Keanu x Reader x Tom)

Summary: Tom was kind and funny and sweet. He was perfect for you. But he wasn’t what you wanted.

Paring: Keanu x F!Reader; One sided Tom Hiddleston x F!Reader

Author’s notes: This oneshot was written based on these two asks: ould you please write a smut fic where Keanu is a friend of the reader (he actually loves her) and he visits her at home but there’s a British man in his mid-30s that is friend of the girl but he also seems interested in her and Keanu notices it and once the British man leaves Keanu seduces reader and both end up having sex? | An A/U smut fanfic of Keanu in love with the reader and Tom Hiddleston loving her too (both are friends of hers) but Keanu gets jealous in Tom’s presence and when he’s away, K seduces reader and has the most incredible sex with her to prove he’s better than Tom. I’m never very good at writing love triangles, but I hope you like it, nonnies.

Wordcount: 3395

Warnings: mention or alcohol; smut

You brushed off inexistent lint from your dress as you surveyed the last details of the small gathering you’d be having for your friends. You didn’t know why you were so nervous; it was just a late celebration for your birthday since you hadn’t been able to enjoy the actual date due to working.

You didn’t really mind because you loved your work. Getting to be a coloring technician and offering your contribution to so many amazing movies and shows wasn’t something you ever expected to do in your life, but you definitely happy that you trailed that path. You got to meet so many amazing people but without the hassle of being famous. It was quite perfect really.

Surveying the catering table, you fixed one of the napkins that were slightly out of place and chuckled at yourself. Why were you so nervous? It was just some of your closest friends. They had been here when you hadn’t cleaned in weeks. They wouldn’t mind if something wasn’t perfect. They would even notice really. Still, you could never manage to settle, not until everything was perfect. One of the last remains of your mother’s strict education, you were sure. Some things were harder to shake it off.

When you were satisfied that everything was exactly how you envisioned, you went into your room to finish getting ready, knowing your guests would be arriving soon. You chose a comfortable, wrap dress. Thin and loose to help you through the summer heatwave, but still beautiful and elegant for the events of the night. You slipped your feet in the kitty heels you’d be wearing just as the doorbell rang signaling the arrival of your first guest.

Soon enough your living room was filled with people, talking and chuckling together, each with a glass of sparkling wine in their hands. Soft mood music played in the background while you traveled through groups, talking with everyone, making sure their glasses were filled and aperitives were available before you sneaked out to the kitchen. You loved to have people over, but this hostess thing could be very exhausting.

Leaning against the counter, you sipped your wine, the first glass you managed for the night and popped an hors d’oeuvre in your mouth, suddenly aware of how hungry you were.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Tom said made you look over with a wide smile as you moved closer, letting him draw you into a hug.

“Tom! I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!”

“And miss a chance to see you? Never.” He grinned at you, those baby blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he held you close, hands in your waist. “You look gorgeous as always.”

His words made you giggle like a schoolgirl and you hated. Tom was the only one who could do that. It had to do with the smooth, almost velvety quality of his baritone that never failed to make your knees weak.

The two of you met a few years ago when you worked with Guillermo del Toro in Crimson Peak. You usually didn’t meet actors and actresses in a production, but Guillermo asked you to be close by during shooting to consult with the DP. He was searching for a very specific look for his movie and he wanted your eye for color. Since you were around set a lot, you ended up meeting all the cast and crew. You and Tom quickly struck a friendship that remained long after the movie was done.

“Now, tell me, darling, what have you been up to?” he leaned against the counter, wine glass in hands as he peered at your through his long dark blonde lashes. His hair slicked back, curls perfectly controlled for once and you mimicked his stand, your body facing his as you described the latest movie that you just finished coloring.

You got entailed in conversation with Tom, unabashedly neglecting all of your other guests in favor of him, unable to ignore the subtle attraction you felt. As far as you could tell, however, it wasn’t like any of them seemed to mind. They had each other to keep themselves occupied and plenty of food and drinks.

It wasn’t until the party was winding down, when most guests had left, leaving only yourself, Tom and a handful of other people that you heard a familiar deep voice saying your name that let your gaze wander away from Tom.

You weren’t expecting to see Keanu here. Sure, you invited him, but you knew he was filming a new project and would probably be exhausted. It was most of a hopeful thing and as the night went on without a sign of him, you just assumed he wouldn’t make it. But here he was and as your eyes met, you felt that familiar flutter in your belly.

How he looked so dashing in a simple t-shirt topped with a well-fitted blazer and jeans you didn’t know, but as he approached you and Tom, steps sure, hands in his pocket, you have to fight the urge to picture him without anything.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” you commented, hugging him tightly. Enjoying the wood scent of his cologne and the heat of his body.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, his mouth right next to your ear and you shuddered slightly. And if the hug lingered a little longer than necessary, no one would mention it. “I’m just sorry I’m so late.”

“It’s fine,” you said, finally letting go of him. Keanu already knew most of your friends. You had worked together during post-production for Man of Tai Chi and grew quite close, but you were almost sure he didn’t know Tom. Not in person at least.

“Hello,” Keanu greeted as his gaze met Tom’s.

“It’s an honor.” Tom shook his hand, but his smile seemed strangely cool.

“Likewise,” the other man said with that a serene look as he took a seat next to you and you were suddenly sandwiched between two very handsome men. Not a bad birthday present.

“Wine, Ke?”

“No, thank you, I’m driving tonight.”

Keanu took a glass of water, his gaze lingering on you a moment and you shifted slightly under his gaze until you felt Tom’s arm coming around your shoulders, warm and comforting and you smiled in thanks at his accommodation before you let your attention drift back to the conversation.

However, it was quite hard to focus on what was being said when on one hand, you could feel the heat of Tom’s body against you. His long, elegant fingers drawing patterns on your shoulder. On the other, Keanu’s mere presence seemed to radiate through you. His scent still on your nose, your body responding every time he spoke.

It felt like ages until everyone else left, leaving only you, Keanu and Tom behind. You didn’t know if that was for the worst or better, because now the attention of both of these gorgeous men was solemnly on you and you felt like squirming, your brain struggling to process why you felt like it everything was so weird.

The three of you cleaned up most of the mess and as you stood in the kitchen with them, you noticed they were just looking at each other and the air felt tense and thick around you. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was it, but you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“I should get going,” Tom said, surprising you. He was always the last one to leave. More often than not he would even stay in your guest bedroom.

“Sure?” you asked, and Tom smiled at you, though a little sadly as he nodded.

“Yes.” His gaze shifted to Keanu. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’ll walk you,” you said once the tension set again. The two of you made your way to the front door in silence. “I had the guest room ready for you.”

“Thank you, darling,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I have a feeling you’ll be needing your privacy.”

Tom pulled back from you, his gaze moving past your shoulder and when you looked behind yourself, Keanu was watching the two of you.

“It’s not…” you started, embarrassed. “We’re just friends.”

“He doesn’t want to be just friends,” Tom said, his gaze returning to you. “Neither do you.”

“Tom…” his name came out of your lips in a low, soft tone. You didn’t know why you felt this guilty. It wasn’t like you and Tom had anything going on. Maybe there could have been once, but not anymore. You were just great friends.

“Good night, darling.” There it was again, the little sad smile and with one final kiss to your cheek, he walked away.

You remained there for a moment longer, your hand pressed against the smooth wood of your front door as Tom’s words kept running through your head. Was he right? Turning slowly, you found Keanu standing right behind you and the sight made you jump a small laugh bubbling from your chest.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s ok.” You smiled at him, hand in your chest, your heart thundering. “Just make some noise, will you? Maybe I should tie a bell on your wrist or something.”

“Maybe,” he chuckled, covering his mouth slightly and your heart swoon. How was he this adorable?

“Ke…” you hesitated, wringing your hands together nervously as you looked at him. “I, uh…. Are you going?”

“If you want me to,” he replied softly, meeting your eyes and you smiled.

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

He stared at you for a long time and you fought the urge to squirm. There was something in his eyes like he was looking deep inside you, unraveling your deepest secrets and you felt exhilarated and terrified. What could he see there? Could he see how much you wanted him? Did you want him to see it?

“He loves you, you know?” Keanu said finally breaking the quiet and started a little. “Tom.”

Your first impulse was to say no. To laugh it off because that was what you always did. You loved Tom and everyone knew that. You just didn’t love him like that. And he couldn’t love you like that. But right now, under Keanu’s heavy gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny it.

“I know,” you sighed. “But I don’t.”

“Why not?”

You’ve asked yourself that same question more times you could count. Tom was funny and charming, the perfect gentleman. He adored you and was closer in age to you, but something was missing there. That spark. As cheesy as it sounded.

Your heart didn’t leap in your chest when you saw Tom. Not like it did as soon as your eyes laid on Keanu. You were excited to see him of course, he was a dear friend, but you counted the seconds to see Keanu, eager to be close to him and talk to him. To feel his arms around you, cradling you close, surrounding you with his scent and warmth…

“He’s not you,” you confessed quietly, and Keanu smiled. It was just a quick tilt of lips, before his mouth descended over yours, soft and gentle, but full of promises.

You anchored yourself with your hands on his shoulders as you felt your legs suddenly weak, boneless. Your entire world reduced to the feel of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the feel of his beard against your skin. Everything you craved for so long.

You backed away, tugging Keanu with you, until your back was at the door, supporting you as much as his hands on your hips. His thumb rubbed circles against the soft fabric over your hipbone and desperation burned in your guts. You wanted to feel his hands on your bare skin.

Pulling away from his lips so you could meet Keanu’s eyes, you noticed the rings of brown usually so warm were darkened by his need for you. Your shaky fingers moved to the knot of your dress, undoing it quickly and letting the dress fall open, framing your body and the purple lingerie you had on.

His gaze devoured you as he very gently pushed the edges of the dress aside until it slipped from your shoulders and pooled on the floor behind you. You wished he would do anything besides just looking. His intense eyes made you feel beautiful, but it also allowed insecurity to grow in your chest. What if he didn’t like what he saw?

Keanu’s hands finally returned to you, rough callouses from a lifetime of motorcycles, basses, and guns catching on the silkiness of your skin, making goosebumps rise on your arms as he caressed them gently, moving down to your hips and thighs. His lips met your neck for wet kisses and teasing nips that had your arching towards him, soft little gasps filtering through your mouth.

You brought your own hands under his shirt, exploring the broad, strong back, nails scratching slightly, making him hiss. His grip tightened a little in response, his mouth sucking harder on your collarbone, sparking pleasure and making wetness gather between your legs.

“Ke…” your voice was needy as he sucked your nipple through the lace of your bra. You arched towards his mouth, fingers threading through his hair. “Maybe we should take this to the bedroom,” you suggested. “Or at least the couch.”

“Yeah.” His voice was almost rumble and with a final kiss to your breast, Keanu straightened up, looking at you. “Lead the way.”

You made a path to your bedroom, walking a couple of steps in front of him, making sure to put an extra sway in your step so Keanu could enjoy the view of your ass.

The second the two of you crossed the threshold, you felt him arms surrounding you, his bare chest warm against your back and you had no idea when he took his shirt off, but you were very glad he did.

His lips connected to your neck again, his hands cupping and massaging your breasts and you pushed back against his erection, still confined in his jeans, pressing against your lower back. Hot arousal spread through your body and you turned around in his arms, finding his mouth again while your hands worked on the button of his pants.

“You’re sure?” Keanu whispered as you kissed down his neck. “We can slow down. We can…”

“No,” you said firmly, lowering yourself to your knees in front of him as you pulled his zipper down and pulled his cock free. “I want you right now.”

Licking your lips, you moved closer, letting your tongue taste him and feel the smooth and hot skin. Keanu moaned softly above you, his hand coming to your hair, pushing it away from your face and when you glanced up, his eyes were on you.

You made sure to put on a show for him, taking him deeper into your mouth, lips wrapping tightly around his thick length, tongue flat against the underside vein as you bobbed your head, pushing as much of him you could take, before pulling away with a small pop and starting all over again. Tongue swirling the tip of his cock, gathering the precum hungrily so you could taste the salty bitterness of him.

“Fuck! Stop,” Keanu asked, tugging on your hair softly until you pulled away and smirked at him, at his hooded eyes and heaving chest. “Come here.”

He pulled you up, catching your lips again, this time his kiss was rougher, almost bruising and you loved it. Just like you loved the way his hands touched all over, teasing and toying with you, keeping you on edge.

Keanu guided you to lay on your back, his lips trailing down your body, tongue hot and teeth sharp as he explored and discovered all the spots that made you writhe and moan for him until you were lost in ecstasy and begging him to touch you where you needed him the most.

When he finally reached his destination, you nearly shouted at the way he sucked you through the lace of your panties, the fabric offering a very welcome texture to his wicked tongue that licked and pressed against your clit.

Only when your panties were completely soaked Keanu pulled them off, exposing you to the cool air of the room and you shivered, until his mouth connected to your clit again, two of his fingers pressing inside you, crocking up as he rubbed your g-spot and making you moan at the shot of pleasure.

“You’re so responsive,” he marveled. “I love it.”

“Not more than I do.” Your chuckle turned into a moan as he hummed against you, the vibrations making you arch, hands coming to his hair to pull him closer. “Right there. Don’t stop. I’m gonna…”

You whined when he did stop and looked at you with a lazy smirk.

“I wanna feel you coming around my cock,” Keanu declared, standing up and yanking his pants off, along with his boxers. He caught your legs and pulled you towards him until half of your ass was out of bed, your feet behind his back, heels on his ass.

He rubbed the tip of his cock over your folds teasingly before he pushed inside you so slowly that you felt the urge to try and move to speed things along, but you had no leverage to do so. You were at Keanu’s mercy and it was exciting and strange. You rarely gave up control during sex.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he grunted breathlessly, his hair curtaining his eyes for a moment. “It feels perfect.”

“Yeah.” You focused on the sweet burn of him stretching you, the texture of his cock rubbing your walls, making that knot of pleasure increase inside you.

Keanu only stopped when he was fully sheathed in you, resting his forehead against your chest as both of you adjusted to how your union felt.

“Ke, I need you to move,” you asked, desperate to feel more of him. “Fuck me.”

He grinned at you, large hands tightening around your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he started to move, slowly at first, grinding into you. But eventually picking up speed, his thrusts getting harder, making you grab at the edge of the mattress so as not to slide upwards on the bed, your breasts bouncing with the force of his movements.

Desperate cries fell from your lips as pleasure overtook you and all you could focus on was the sensations in your body. The deep heat spreading from your center to the rest of your body, making all of your nerve-ends tingle. The smell of your sweat mingled with Keanu’s. The taste of yourself on his lips as he bent over to kiss you, tongue plundering into your mouth as hard as his cock was doing to your cunt.

Soon, you were reaching between your bodies, rubbing your clit, chasing the peek of your pleasure, feeling Keanu losing his own rhythm as his thrusts became sloppy, his groans louder until he stilled above you, fingers digging almost painfully on your thighs as he came inside you.

He took only a couple of seconds to breathe before he was pushing your hand away, taking charge of working your clit, his other hand coming to play with your nipple, pinching lightly and making you buckle and mewl.

“Come on, baby, I wanna see you coming all over my cock,” he coaxed, this thumb applying the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing hard and fast and your orgasm took you by surprise, making you cry out and claw at his strong biceps, body shaking as you squeezed around him. “That’s it. Fuck! You feel so good.”

Keanu kissed your belly and chest, whispering sweet nothings against your skin until you calmed down, your body finally sated, mind dazed with pleasure.

“That was amazing,” you grinned sleepily at him and Keanu smiled back, kissing you softly.

“It was perfect. You’re perfect,” he said, pushing your hair away from your face. “Can I stay?”

“I wasn’t planning on letting you leave,” you replied, smiling at him. Knowing you made the right choice tonight.

xxx

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

Text

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka 'The Tournament')

special notes:

the vibe i chose for this imaginary fair/holiday is a mashup of pieces from medieval christmas and new year's eve celebrations. ofc as I mentioned before most of those were Christianity-based, but some of them had a distintly pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan flavor. now my source material here is from 1827, but the author makes sure to let us know which traditions (he thinks) are older than Christianity. the book (books actually, there's 3 of them total) itself is also kind of a fun read, it's sort of a combo of an almanac/calendar/reference guide/gossip column.

a n y w a y, so, specifically i want to mention (b/c i stole them for this story and i don't want to do that without letting ppl know these are or were real traditions that real people observed) serving a boars' head on christmas day (Essex, England, observed "from time immemorial"), the wassail bowl/toast (a new year custom very definitely from before Christianity and apparently present in various parts of Europe altho I don't have the specific expertise to explain why), and an interesting/weird/gruesome Christmas parade (Kent) which the book describes: "A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise." This is called a Hodening and whether or not ppl still do it I don't know but, uh, i hope so b/c awesome.

also theres only 1 chapter left if u stuck with it this whole time or, idk, it's 2024 and u read the whole thing at once thanks for bothering love u

----

“Yes, hello,” Gascon said, pretending not to notice Meve’s displeasure. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he added, as the Baroness and Giselle turned to look curiously down at where he stood in the shadows. The Baroness frowned and pursed her lips judiciously; Giselle considered him and glanced uncertainly at the older women.

“Anyway,” he continued, an edge of urgency buried in his easy tone, “Do you have a minute to spare?”

“No,” the Queen said stiffly, turning back toward the empty lists. “I’m busy; whatever it is will have to wait until later.”

“Oh,” he replied, growing very faintly annoyed, “Because it’s about that thing you wanted last night; just thought you’d be interested t’ know I’ve done it.”

She hesitated, ignoring the Baroness’s raised eyebrow and Giselle’s uncomfortable confusion, struggled momentarily between curiosity and base pettiness, and finally said, “Yes, fine; I have a few minutes, I suppose.”

“Fifteen minutes,” the Baroness said, pointedly.

“No time to waste, then,” said Gascon; he winked at Giselle, who took her cue from the Baroness and frowned disapprovingly back at him, and they hurried off.

“So, what is it, then?” Meve asked bluntly, as they turned into the town’s streets at a rapid stroll. “I assume you’ve caught the saboteur, else you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Well, I caught Gaheris; he may be the saboteur, or may not,” Gascon said, disregarding her tone. “Gaspar thinks he is, though, and he’s th’ only one who saw th’ intruder close up last night, so odds are good he’s your man.”

“Really?” She abandoned her moodiness in favor of mild surprise, and then asked, “When did this happen?”

“Oh, only about an hour ago. Less, even. Seemed like there was no real need for a public scene, so I just had him snatched off the street and, you know - stashed somewhere convenient,” Gascon explained, leading the way down an alley and into a butcher. The owner nodded and smiled to him as he passed through the door and headed toward the back, spotted the Queen, and instantly looked away at nothing in particular. Pug and Gaspar waited in the yard behind the shop, standing guard over a man with a bag on his head and a bandage around his left ankle. Gascon nodded at Pug and she yanked the bag away; Gaheris squinted in the light and surveyed his surroundings - two large, brightly interested pigs in a pen, his sinister pair of captors, and, finally, Meve and Gascon. He sighed.

“Got ‘im in one piece, as you wanted,” Pug announced in her gruff voice; a dubious claim, as Gaheris had a black eye and a split lip, but Gascon nodded approvingly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the shop.

“Wait inside for a bit,” he said; Pug and Gaspar departed, leaving their captive to his deserved fate.

“Now, sir,” Meve said briskly to Gaheris; if she had any doubts about his culpability, she kept them firmly to herself. “Let’s not waste time with falsehoods or denials.”

“No,” he said, resignedly, “Doesn’t seem to be much point in trying.”

“Quite. So, explain what it is you’ve been up to, then.”

“Start with last night,” Gascon added, as the squire took a few too many seconds to think it over. “Hurry up.”

“Ah, well. I was trying to get hold of a piece of equipment I knew was among Sir Odo’s things in the barn,” he said. “The girth from a saddle.”

“Continue,” the Queen said, as he paused, clearly thinking the question answered.

“Well, obviously I didn’t get it, since that - that thug sliced my ankle t’ the bone when I tried. Seems the girth held up, though, regardless, through today; probably because Sir Odo don’t take many hits, luckily for him.”

“No, it’s because I found it last night and changed it out for a new one,” Gascon said, angrily. “You’re the one who cut it, are you?”

Gaheris nodded.

“I knew it,” the Duke muttered; Meve waved his self-congratulatory comment away, scowling.

“When did you do it?”

“Oh, a month ago, or more,” he said. “Just before the duel against Sir Holt.”

“Why?”

He blinked at the question and said, as if it was obvious, “Because Sir Holt told me to, in hopes he’d win.”

“You did a bad job, then,” Gascon snapped; Gaheris looked mildly offended.

“No,” he said. “No, I didn’t. The girth held, did it not? Sir Odo won - or, well he could have, if he’d wanted to.”

He looked at his interrogators’ baffled stares, and then explained, patiently, “Look - I cut through the leather, left just enough to hold a strain for a good while, glued it so it’d look like nothing, and told Holt I’d done what he wanted. Simple. I just didn’t have the chance to get it back, after the fight; too many people hanging around who might’ve seen me. If I had done, nobody would have been the wiser.”

Meve stared at him, torn between confusion and anger, opened her mouth, and closed it again as an echo of distant horns bounced off the buildings.

“Damn,” she said. “I have to go. Gascon, find Sir Holt.”

“What should I do with him?” he asked, as she turned to leave; she hesitated, considered her options, and came to a hasty decision.

“Just keep tabs on him, don’t let him leave town, and - and we’ll sort this mess out, later.”

“You’ll find him in the tavern, no doubt,” Gaheris said wearily to Gascon, as she quickly departed.

She nearly ran back through the streets, but she was still late; she returned to the lists to find the Baroness had started the final round without her. However, she she was in time to see Nolda avoid an immediate defeat by the same method she had used on Sir Eres, but Reynard survived her trick, when his fellow knight hadn’t. She nodded in satisfaction at the display.

“Your man is a quick study, as he’s always been,” said the Baroness, as if Meve had never been away. The next pass involved no deceptions from either side, nor any displays of brilliance; Nolda blocked an ordinary sort of attack on her shield, and never touched Sir Odo.

“He’s testing the waters,” Meve said, slightly bored with her favorite’s typically cautious tactics. “How long have they been at it?”

“You only missed one pass; the foreigner’s better at this than I expected.”

“She’s tricky,” Giselle noted, appreciatively. “What’s the Count doing, there?”

There was a short pause; Meve glanced downfield and answered, “Oh, he wants a different lance, I imagine.”

The delay took a full half minute, due to some confusion on Ethan’s part; the Baroness mumbled a displeased remark about the squire’s ineptitude, and then the combat began again.

“He wants to make up for Nolda’s left-handedness,” the Baroness explained, louder, “That’s what the long spear is for. Most people don’t learn to fight the way she does -”

She broke off; Reynard’s change of weapon had answered, and he had dealt a strike that had nearly unseated his opponent; she managed to stay in the saddle by luck or skill and they lined up again.

“He has her figured out; this’ll be th’ end of it,” said Meve. The Baroness nodded agreement. Giselle looked unconvinced, but, in the end, Reynard landed a direct attack to his opponent’s helm and Nolda crashed to earth at long last.

“A devilishly difficult play,” the Baroness said, in the silence that followed. “Dangerous, too.”

Reynard had turned to look behind himself, before his horse had even reached the end of the barricade; Nolda lay still on the ground for a few moments, and then, as her husband vaulted the fence and came running toward her, stirred and sat up. She waved an irritated hand at Bohault and Reynard, who had trotted back and dropped from his horse as soon as he was rid of his lance, but neither paid attention to her gestures or her repeated insistence that she was perfectly fine. The crowd’s general din returned, drowning out their conversation; Meve breathed a relieved sigh and reluctantly turned her thoughts back to Gaheris and Sir Holt, and then - she frowned slightly - Gascon’s mysterious absence during the day.

“Pity you can’t make her a knight,” Giselle said, of Nolda, interrupting her consideration; Meve’s frown grew thoughtful.

“A knight,” she repeated to herself, under her breath, watching the muddle on the field break up - Reynard back to his horse, Bohault and Nolda to hers - a vague connection, or suspicion, growing in the back of her mind. She turned abruptly to the Baroness, interrupted an ongoing reminisce on the handful of times she’d seen another knight employ a tactic similar to Reynard’s winning strike, and said, “Listen, Hilde - the black knight; do you know who he is?”

The Baroness hesitated, slightly confused, and replied, choosing her words carefully, “I believe so, but - wasn’t that what you and the Duke spoke about?”

“No,” the Queen said, disgruntled. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Ah,” she said, looking away toward the approaching victors, “Well, perhaps you should. Count Odo, congratulations on another victory; well fought, Nolda. My lord, you’ve won quite a fine horse, I believe, and you, madam, a sword. They’ll be bringing them along shortly.”

Any personal urgency she felt to finally sort out her ongoing affairs was wasted; the prizes took very little time to hand out, but a number of unrelated problems were brought to her individual attention as soon as the victors rode away. She sent Giselle back to her tavern with genuine gratitude for her service, dealt out various solutions, and then at last she and the Baroness set off toward the castle. The streets of the city were packed, twilight was setting in, and there was no way to hurry their progress no matter how their guard tried. A wagon that had lost a wheel blocked the way, first, and then a succession of other disruptions: a traveling comedic play about a sorcerer and some maidens, some cows wandering loose in the street, a troupe of drunken minstrels playing festive tunes, a strange procession led by a solemn youth holding a freshly cut horse’s head mounted on a pole as a banner, a group of offended clerics in its wake, handcarts selling buns and ale, and, finally, on the bridge over the castle moat, an armored knight still on his charger, who would not be shifted by man or beast until Meve stepped out of the torchlit crowd and threatened to remove him herself.

Then there was yet another feast, this time held in the hall and attended by more of the usual crowd - but, of course, with the horde of knights and sundry that had participated in the jousts, somewhat more of them than normal. There were the typical, expected customs - a boar’s head served, bowls of spiced ale passed around, a number of favors and pardons bestowed, gifts received (and given; Count Odo, for one, courteously gave the warhorse he’d won earlier in the day to Nolda, who accepted it in a fiercely embarrassed but otherwise gracious fashion) - and various other ancient rituals observed.

“I would’ve asked if you thought giving her the horse was a good idea,” Reynard said privately to the Queen, during the Mayor’s inevitable remarks, “But I didn’t catch you in time. If I’m honest it’s less a gift and more a bribe, of a sort; Ethan’s left-handed, same as her, and I thought it might make it easier to convince her to teach him.”

“There were some delays getting back,” she replied, also in an undertone, her eyes resolutely fixed on the speaker as he recited a hopeful list of future developments for the upcoming year. “This whole afternoon’s been nothing but delays, in fact.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she added, quickly, as the speech ended, aimed a quick but pointed glance at the distant Gascon, who immediately slipped out a side door, and then dismissed the court in the exact words she’d recited for ten years, and, before her, her late husband, and his father, and their distant grandfathers, for all of remembered history.

Finally getting rid of her guests took much longer than the traditional close to the winter solstice did. As a result, it was past midnight before she made the solitary climb up the stairs to her office, looking forward to finally having a quiet minute to think. However, Reynard and Gascon - and Gaheris - were within, despite the late hour; the squire stopped in the middle of a sentence and all three men automatically turned her way when she stepped through the door. She waved an impatient hand at him to continue and leaned against her own desk, hiding her weariness behind a cold stare. Gaheris returned to repeating his confession; Reynard listened in silence, his expression drifting subtly between offense and genuine confusion. At the end, he frowned and asked, “You - pretended to sabotage my equipment? Why? Why not do it properly, I mean?”

The squire shrugged.

“It’s - listen; before I go on, you should know Holt’s an ass, and a stubborn one at that. Yes, I see you’ve all noticed. Well, I couldn’t dissuade him when th’ idea came into his fool head, but I’d no wish t’ see him win a fight by such a trick, against such an obviously superior opponent. It’s not right, and, also, would be easily seen through. What I did seemed the simplest solution.”

“You could have refused,” Reynard pointed out; Gaheris smiled pityingly at him and shook his head. His response drew an exasperated comment from Meve.

“You could have done nothing at all, and told him otherwise.”

He frowned, again mildly offended.

“I’m no liar,” he said. “If I can find any other solution, I mean. They say a half-truth’s better than a lie, don’t they?”

Reynard blinked, considered, and then shook his head. Gascon shrugged his shoulders, grudgingly.

“You’re clearly a capable man,” Meve said. “Why do you serve someone you know isn’t?”

Gaheris shook his head again, helplessly.

“Holt’s always been like this,” he explained, “Ever since he was a boy. He’s a decent fighter, but he’s too competitive for his own good, and he’s still not learned t’ pick his battles. However, he is my little brother - well, half-brother; my mother married Sir Ulrich after my father died. He was a stonemason,” he explained, seeing the Queen raise a questioning eyebrow, a gleam of challenge in his dark eyes. “His name was Gors.”

When she failed to react to his admission, he continued:

“Anyway, she wanted me t’ look after Holt, best I can. He isn’t a bad person, really, he just -”

He shrugged.

“He can’t help how he is, when he’s in a mood, and when he isn’t he’s not the worst of men, or the worst of nobles, for that matter. He’s never struck a knight who’s yielded, for one, and he’s not one to steal or run villainous among th’ yeomen. And, he’s all the family I got left,” he finally finished. Meve nodded and said nothing for a long moment; she noticed that he couldn’t have been any older than herself, but he briefly appeared gray and worn down. She was, to her mild irritation, somewhat sympathetic to his troubles. Gascon glanced from her icy frown to Gaheris’s tired stare, curiously. Reynard watched her carefully.

“Keep him under guard,” she said to Gascon. “I’m not sure what to do with him or his brother, just yet. Wait - leave him on the landing; the guards there will look after him for the moment. I’ve another matter to discuss, before you go.”

“He’s the black knight,” she said to Reynard, as Gascon stepped back in without his captive. “Did you know?”

“No, of course not,” the Count said, frowning slightly. “Although, in truth, th’ idea has crossed my mind, but I found it - unlikely.”

Gascon hesitated, then shrugged, grinned broadly, and said, “You caught me at last, m’lady; how’d you figure it?”

“The Baroness it was that discovered you, not me,” Meve said, crossing her arms stubbornly; she attempted to appear angry, but in the end managed only mild, slightly amused, annoyance. “Also, she appears to have found me out, as well, incidentally. In fact, there seems to be very little she doesn’t know.”

“She’s uncommonly sharp, no doubt about it,” Gascon agreed, readily.

“So,” she continued, “Is there anything at all to be gained by asking you what you were doing, today?”

“Won’t tell you unless you first promise not t’ bite my head off,” he said promptly.

“Yes, very well, as it’s the solstice, but don’t expect any more favors from me before the summer, at earliest. I mean it, Gascon.”

Reynard sat down, shaking his head at them; Gascon nodded and said, “Fair’s fair. Well, then, it’s a short tale: I won that fight against Sir Holt, then I saw Gaheris come limping ‘round to scrape him up off the turf, and it all came together clear as mud, so I decided it was time t’ stop playing at knights for the day and do some real work.”

“You could have appeared in the joust as yourself,” Reynard remarked, almost idly, “And not as -”

“As me,” Meve interrupted, a hint of her previous ire returning.

“Yes, well - the black knight’s more interesting than I am,” he explained, with a broad shrug. “People have heard of his prowess, or what have you; the dangerous reputation’s an advantage, of sorts.”

“Yes, we’ve heard, in fact,” Meve said, coldly. “Slew a werewolf, did you?”

“Sure did,” Gascon replied. “Or, I helped, anyhow. There was a witcher involved. Like Gaheris said: half a truth’s better than a lie, so I let the former take precedence.”

“That’s not the saying, as you know perfectly well. It’s worse,” Reynard said, rolling his eyes. “Half a truth is worse than a lie.”

Gascon shrugged at him, grinning slightly. Meve interrupted their tangent, impatiently.

“And you killed a dragon, they say?”

“Not I,” the Duke said, quickly, eyeing the Queen’s scowl. “Th’ only dragonslayer here is yourself - although, I did kill a pretty big snake in a roadside inn. The landlady was most impressed. So was some minstrel who happened t’ be around, it appears; he has, uh, embellished th’ incident, somewhat.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Reynard noted, “But how’d he know it was the black knight who did the deed and not merely one Gascon Brossard?”

At last, Gascon turned uncomfortably self-conscious and clammed up; Meve watched him squirm for a long moment and decided, after a glance at the amused gleam in Reynard’s eye, to not to press the issue further.

“And you gave poor Sir Orlac a dunking,” she remarked, finally; Gascon looked relieved and seized on the change in subject.

“Yes, that story’s true,” he admitted. “He’s not a bad fighter, at all, thought he don’t seem to enjoy it much. It took some convincing t’ even get him to go against me, actually, but it was worth the time, in th’ end, to get th’ extra practice.”

“You have improved, somewhat,” Reynard observed, casually. He shot a quick look at Meve; she spotted it and broke off her intended response, frowning. Gascon either missed or ignored their exchange and said, brightly, “Why thank you, sir.”

“Although,” the knight continued, “It remains to be seen if you can beat me just yet; Meve, of course, has already unhorsed you once, so no there’s burning question to be answered on that account.”

“By a trick,” Gascon said, and then, as Reynard shrugged unconcernedly, added, “Look, I only really wanted t’ fight Sir Holt and beat him, again, to prove I could, like. I had no notion of much else.”

“Yes, very likely,” Meve muttered, rolling her eyes; Reynard continued, despite her:

“Not afraid to lose, are you?”

“Of course not; it happens all the time,” Gascon said, mildly indignant.

“Well, then, tomorrow, if you’ve no other plans, let’s see how good you’ve really become, shall we? Without your intimidating disguise, I mean.”

“Well, all right,” the Duke said, doubtfully, clearly wary about what exactly he was agreeing to. “I suppose I’m not busy, but - “

“Good. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, then,” Reynard said, a suggestion of finality in his voice; Gascon still looked uncertain, but nodded and then made a tactical retreat to “see to those other matters.”

“What the devil are you at, Reynard?” Meve asked, the instant he was gone. He stood up, strode across the room with a self-satisfied smile, and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said, “Let me worry about it.”

“Ugh. Fine, then; do what you want,” she said, ingraciously, leaned her forehead against his chest, and continued with a muffled sigh, “What do you think I should do with Holt? I can’t very well banish him for trying to cheat in a duel, much as I’d like to - he is the sole legal heir to Sir Ulrich, who has been a relatively loyal supporter of the crown - nor can I demote him, since he isn’t one of my own knights.”

“Just ban him from your tournaments, and the rest of the realm will follow,” he said, as if it was obvious, “It’s the worst thing that could happen to a young knight.”

“You’d know better than I,” she remarked, unfolded her arms, slid them around his waist, and added, “What about Gaheris?”

“I don’t know,” Reynard said, “He’s not so easy to deal with.”

“The trouble is,” Meve said, darkly, “- the trouble is that, in his circumstances, he’s done nothing worse than you or I have in the past, which makes me feel something of a hypocrite if I consider having him arrested for treason - as I certainly could, given your indispensable position and high rank.”

“Yes, a - a similar thought crossed my own mind, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, raising her head and frowning up at him. “Isn’t it? Reginald -”

“He wasn’t quite so bad as Holt.”

“Because he was older, and the King, and no other reason. Well, and he had you around to clean up after his worst decisions. And, his sons - my sons - are the same, or worse, than Sir Holt. Or were, I mean. Anseis certainly is, in any case.”

“Perhaps,” Reynard said, thoughtfully, “There’s no need to do anything to Gaheris, at all.”

“As you’re th’ one he wronged, in th’ end I think what happens to him should really be your decision,” Meve said, shrugging.

“Well, then, speaking from experience, the man’s trials in keeping control of his brother are worse than anything you might think up.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve no wish to see him hang or rot in prison, but banishment would be no curse to him, and we’d have to contend with Holt still, regardless, but without a convenient manager. What a waste; were he noble-born, I’d have some use for a man of his talents, and I could more easily secure his future loyalty. A shame, to have Holt be th’ one who inherits old Ulrich’s lands and titles, and Gaheris remain a squire still.”

“I agree,” Reynard said. “However, that problem only you can solve.”

She looked into his eyes, thoughtfully, and nodded.

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #sports #romance

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #327

starting to run outta steam... haha.

What design is on your shower curtain? It doesn't have one. Did you get in trouble for cussing on accident when you were a kid? Ha ha yeah, for yelling "HOLY SHIT!" once, lmao. Ever made a snow angel? Yeah. Do you laugh at racial jokes? Absolutley not. What’s the highest you can count in a different language? 999, in German. How’s your flirting skills? I wouldn't know, ask those I've flirted with. Have you ever cried over a breakup? For a whole year and then some. I still have episodes. What does your dream life look like? Living isolated in the woods by a river and waterfall with a fantastic spouse, me being a very successful photographer and at least somewhat above *just* financially "stable," maybe having at least one poem published, lots of pets (mostly snakes), plenty of travel opportunities (mostly for photography), being free of my social anxiety and actually being reasonably confident, back in great physical shape... I'm really daydreaming now. What’s something you wish would happen, but know won’t? bleh Where did you meet your current or last significant other? YouTube, back when it was a much more social platform. Do you enjoy wine? No, it's way too bitter. What did you last ask your parents permission for? I asked Mom if I could snack on some chocolate chips she was saving for fudge (since Christmastime...). She was fine with it. Periods are fun. Do you get annoyed when you hear babies crying? I shouldn't, but I do. Me and babies just don't mix. Why were you in a waiting room the last time? I was at a doctor's appointment. What’s your lawyer’s name? I don’t have one. Do you own a lot of scarves? I don't think I own any... Would you ever get a face tattoo? I doubt it, but maybe something very small and subtle. Are your expecting anything in the mail? No. What would you like to see out of your window everyday instead of what you see now? Nature. The woods. Would you rather have a house exterior made from wood, brick, or stucco? Aesthetically, wood, but I don't support the continuation of wood housing in a society where we have many other options that don't harm the environment as much. So, realistically, brick. What is your favorite breakfast? Cinnamon rolls. Do you own a diamond ring? No. Have you ever stripped? No. Do you remember the last movie you saw while on a date? IT with Girt. Whose house did you last sleep over at? Sara's. Yes or no: foreplay? Lmao who the fuck does it w/o foreplay first. Would you ever record you having sex? No fucking way. Something nobody’d ever guess about you? I used to be in great shape. Would you like to be a journalist? I actually wouldn't mind it. It was almost my minor the last time I was in college, actually, but the required courses were a no-no for me. Last year for school, we had an assignment where we had to choose a popular song to write a story based on. What song would you’ve picked? I don't know popular songs, so I'm picking any song. Off the top of my head, given my love for dark and morbid shit, maybe "Voyeur" by Otep. That song is messed up as fuck. No, it's actually not about sex, 'cuz I ain't interested in writing about that. Did the vacuum scare you as a child? I don't think it did. Do you have a long driveway? No, it's actually very short. Have you ever begged someone to stay with you? Oh yes. Are you friends with anyone missing one of their five senses? Not to my knowledge. Are you good at Pac Man? I'm no better than anyone else. Do you have an embarrassing period story? If so, what is it? No. Have you ever gotten high off a prescription medication? No. Do you prefer tampons or pads? Tampons. Pads are mega uncomf. How old were you when your parents talked to you about puberty? I don't know, actually. What stereotype do you fit the most? Geek, maybe? Emo? Idk. If you’re a worshipper, how do you worship? I don't worship anything. What’s your favorite pain reliever? Advil. Do you have a lot of people blocked on Facebook? Not a lot, no. Does your father have facial hair? Yes. Have you ever had a hamster? Yeah, we went through a few. All of 'em were evil. Grape or strawberry jelly? Absolutely grape. What language would you most like to know fluently? German. Do you remember the last song you slow danced to? "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. Do you plan on having alcohol at your wedding? I don't know. Do you have an idea of who you might kiss next? I know who I WANT to kiss next, but that doesn't mean it'll happen. I hate psychic questions. Who’s the most controlling person you know? She's not in my life anymore. Do you own a microphone? No. Do you enjoy trailers at the cinema? I do. Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. A centipede, to name one. I've gotten more into the idea of owning invertebrates, and centipedes are in that hobby, but they creep me the fuck out. They're cool to watch, but I don't want one in my house. Do you have a picture of you throwing up the peace sign? Yeah, it's actually one of my favorite pictures of me without makeup. Has a very "me" vibe. Do you enjoy romantic movies, even when they’re cliche? Ha, yeah. Can you tell the difference between a Scottish and an Irish accent? Nope. Can you read music? Probably not anymore. Ever sang someone to sleep? No. What is the movie that you have waited the longest for/which film do you remember anticipating the most/are still anticipating? Finding Dory takes the cake. What is something that an interested guy/girl could comment about you, that would make you instantly open to them (e.g., “That book you’re reading is from my favorite author”)? If you compliment my Markiplier tattoo because you get it, we are immediately family. Out of all your usernames for websites, which one is your favorite? Do you use it for more than one site? Ozzkat. I use it essentially everywhere. Have you ever spent the whole day (or multiple days) just looking up one thing on the internet (e.g., videos of your favorite band, how-to videos, quizzes, etc.)? HA, way more than once. Hyperfixation is a friend of mine. Bow ties on guys, dorky or adorable? C U T E ! ! ! What are your thoughts on mini-skirts or mini-dresses? ALSO C U T E ! ! ! Have you ever died in one of your dreams? Yes. What appliance in your kitchen do you use the most often? The microwave. Do you use Skype to talk to your friends? Sara, yes. And Sam once in a blue moon if we're playing WoW together. Are you allergic to any animals? No. Have you ever had to go to the police department? No. Have you ever been called bipolar? Well yes, because I am. Have you ever made fun of a handicapped person? Hell no, and fuck you if you ever have. If a necklace/ring gives you green marks, do you still wear it? No. Have you ever had food poisoning? I don't think so, no. Favorite emoticon? Probably c: Do any emoticons annoy you? No, but an excessive amount of them I find disruptive to whatever I'm reading. Do you think there will be a WWIII? Yup, someday. Has anyone ever asked you if you were emo? Yeah, back in high school. The most interesting thing that’s ever happened to you at a grocery store? I dunno. Probably running into someone unexpected. Do you have any good book ideas? Having written RP since I was 10 years old... I could by now write a dozen dictionary-sized novels encompassing what I think are the greatest storylines. I genuinely do believe there's some fantastic stuff we've got, but there's just too many horribly dark and twisted parts in the evil mobs that I am not comfortable publishing. Are you gonna see Cars 2? Well, this is old. I never even saw the first one. In all honesty, can a person be too nice? Yep. *points at Weed from GDW* Have you ever posted a video onto YouTube? Yeah, mostly "meerkat music videos," I guess you could say. Some tributes to certain MM characters, others just music with meerkat clips. How often do you compliment other people? I try to any time I have a sincere one. I am very much for complimenting people openly and often. The Legend of Zelda series: Twilight Princess or Ocarina of Time? I'm not a fan of the franchise, honestly. Never got the hype. Do you even game at all? Most certainly, but not nearly as much as I used to... You can only replay old games but so many times before you just can't anymore. And the "newest" console I have is the original Wii, so... I definitely don't have the modern equipment. Would you give Zumba dance lessons a try if presented the opportunity? Probably not. Definitely not while my legs are in such bad shape; the dancing is pretty intense and would seriously hurt. I could easily imagine myself fainting. Do you own a rosary? No, but I did in my Catholic-raised childhood. Do you like Adult Swim? No. Sorry excuses for humor everywhere. What’s the first thing you do when you get on the computer? Do a quick check on KM just to ensure everything's in order. What’s one thing that you just wish you could do all of your life? Not have to pay bills, haha. If someone asks for your honest opinion, do you give it? Yes, if they emphasize they really want honesty. When was the last time you felt uninformed or out of the loop? Apparently some politician (I think) died recently and people practically rejoiced on Facebook. I knew zip about him. When in a car, where do you like to sit? Passenger seat/shotgun. Have you ever fought with a good friend over something completely stupid? Oh, absolutely. There have been plenty of RP-related arguments with multiple people... In the big picture, it's laughable to fight over a game, but when you're so invested in your own creations, in the moment, it can seem like a big issue. Those drama days are long behind me now. Would you ever visit a third-world country? I don't think so, no. It would shatter my heart, especially seeing children in poverty. Are you the type that’s too ashamed to ask for or use directions? No. You overhear two people gossiping about you; what do you do? Probably call over something like, "I'm not deaf, you know." I highly doubt I'd sit there with my mouth shut. Have you ever felt manipulated? Yes. If you were homeless, how would you cope? If I was truly, entirely homeless, quite honestly, I'm almost positive I'd kill myself. Have you ever done something just to fit in? Yeah. When was the last time you tried to impress someone, for whatever reason? I'm not sure, but I've certainly done it at one point or another. Do you think that the world could function in a state of anarchy? Definitely not. How well do you know your U.S. [or your country’s] history? I mean, I know the bare bones of it, but I'm far from well-versed in history. It was one of my weak subjects in school. Would you ever wish to move to another country? I'm not kidding when I say if it weren't for family, I would probably move to Canada. What is something that you do that others might consider “nerdy”? The way I write, particularly for academic purposes. I'm very descriptive and have an exceptionally large vocabulary. Have you ever had anything expensive stolen from you? Not from me specifically, but our basketball hoop was stolen from my childhood home. I doubt it was very cheap. Do you understand/notice when someone’s using sarcasm? Usually, anyway. When was the last time you were fooled? HAHA there was this drama video suggested to me on YouTube that involved Mark in the title, and I was mega confused and inevitably clicked. Now it's basically a YouTube meme just how "perfect" Mark is, so there was no real drama; apparently some newer fans are just upset at him for playing the sequel to HuniePop, a very sexual puzzle/dating game that's honestly entertaining and can be really funny. Like... he's played the original and despite the discomfort of some scenes (which are censored, mind you), he still had fun, and it was a big hit on his channel. So him playing the sequel isn't surprising, but apparently some people got shit to say. What first Impression do you hope you make with other people? Something along the lines of "wow, she's very nice." Have you ever thought about how you make other people feel/think? Well of course. I think everyone should take time to consider this. What is your stance on getting revenge? A petty waste of time. Any wise/truthful/witty quotes that you live by? Ha, another Mark answer. He once gave the casual innuendo of, "Life's hard; shouldn't you be, too?" (this might have actually been in a HuniePop video!), but when you take the... uh... sexual theme out of it, it's a good way to look at life???? Have tough skin, unmoving willpower, y'know, that stuff. Who was the last person you sat beside at a restaurant? My sister Ashley. Spongebob or Patrick? Patrick is a whole-ass mood. Would you rather watch little kid’s cartoons, older kid’s cartoons, or adult cartoons? Hm. Probably little kid's, given my love for Pokemon. How about watching regular cartoons or anime? Anime. Who is the last person you spent money on? Myself. Do you own a copy of Roller Coaster Tycoon? No; I had SeaWold Tycoon instead. I loved that game. Do you have any birth marks in embarrassing places? No. Have you used Limewire before? Of course. Free music for the low price of a catastrophic virus. :^) When was the last time you required a band-aid? I think when I cut one of my toenails way too short. Are you afraid of snakes? Oh no! I adore them so, so very much. Not saying I'm gonna go scoop up the first copperhead I find herping or something, but I love and respect them so very much. They are such fascinating animals. If you believe in reincarnation, what animal would you want to become? I don't think I believe in reincarnation, but hypothetically, maybe a lioness. Who do you tell everything to? Pretty much whoever reads these surveys, haha. Did you have candles on your birthday cake? Not my most recent one. Exactly, how old are you? I just turned 25 years and one month old. Have you ever been bitten by anything? Besides bugs, I don't think so. I've had cats and dogs playfight with me, but none have ever seriously bitten me with actual effort. Do you wear hats? No. What was the last song you sang along to? "Lunchbox" by Marilyn Manson. Do you think you’ll be married in 5 years time? I'd like to be, but idk if it's realistic.

#survey #surveys #questions

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batboysandgirls · 5 years ago

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Jason Todd x Reader - What a Night

Title: What a Night Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: Your commute home turns into a kidnapping, but at least you’re not alone tied up in this warehouse… The Red Hood got kidnapped too. Words: 4k

When you come to, you stopped yourself from panicking. You were tied to a chair in what appeared to be a pretty empty warehouse, and you were 80% sure that the Red Hood was sitting next to you.

The last thing you remembered was walking into the metro station at about seven in the evening, and a huge explosion. One would think this was a totally new and shocking experience, but you lived in Gotham. This was the third metro stop explosion you’d wandered into in your twenty-one years in Gotham. (Public transit was just too appealing, apparently. The bad guys either like dramatic encounters on trains or just revel in messing up the commutes of a few thousand citizens.). Now, both the previous times, you’d woken up in an ER, and watched on the TV above hospital bed your as some of the bat vigilantes stopped whoever was behind the attack.

So, the whole being tied to a chair was a new, unpleasant development. Also, the Red Hood. Your chair was angled in a way so that you could only see the guy through your peripheral vision, but the mask was pretty recognizable to anybody. His head was slumped down, though. He must have gotten knocked out, too. Good to know the only guy who’s probably been in this situation before was KO’d.

Well, time to get to work then. You wriggled your fingers… Rope. Okay. Workable. Maybe you could shimmy out of them. But your wrists were tied together separately from your body behind the chair. Not great. You made your muscles tense then relaxed them a few times, opening and closing your hands. You felt one of the loops around your left wrist shift a little, and you tried to slide your hand out a bit. Your left hand was just about free when you heard a grunt next to you.

“Ouch. This is a doozy.”

Did the Red Hood just describe this situation as a doozy?

“Um,” you said, “I’ve got one hand free. I should be untied in a couple minutes.”

“It’s always nice when hostages taken initiative,” Red Hood replied. “Sometimes you guys just flounder. I respect the hustle.” He was trying to break free of his own ropes, it seemed. Flexing and wiggling around to find some slack.

Your left hand was free, so you started on the ropes around your chest. You were merely done when you heard a snapping sound and turned to see Red Hood had literally broke his hands free from strength alone. That was kind of impressive, alarming, and attractive all at once.

“Wow,” you said, slightly in awe, not realizing you were even speaking aloud.

“Don’t be too impressed yet. This was the easy part,” Red Hood said as he came over to your chair, but he stopped to stare at you. “Wait, I know you.”

You grimaced. “I’m kind of a famous gymnast. I was in the last-last summer Olympics, not the one last month, but the one over four years ago now, uh. I was in some advertisemen—”

“Oh, so you’re ____ _____, then?” Red Hood said, helping untie you. “Cool.”

(There was something odd in his voice. Your name came too easily to him. Like he had recognized you as soon as he saw you, but wanted to pretend he didn’t. Something like that. File that under “weird” and “vigilante fan of my gymnastics trying to play it cool?”.)

“So,” Red Hood said as the ropes fell away, shaking out your sore wrists, “Like I was saying, that was the easy part. The hard part is getting out of here, and figuring out why we’re here.”

You frowned. “Did you see the explosion? Or did whoever did this get you some other way?”

“An explosion?”

“At the Gotham U East Metro. It was pretty empty as I walked up, and then halfway down the stairs everything exploded and I woke up here.”

“I was attacked by a group of mobsters a few blocks from there. Seems like Two-Face’s guys. One injected me with some kind of strong sedative, and I passed out.”

You furrowed your brow. “Two-Face?”

Red Hood sighed. “Yup. Just need to figure out his stupid plan for this time.”

Stupid plan… You made a little ‘oh’ as a thought occurred to you. “Do you think the attacked the Gotham U East Metro, but not the West one? Or maybe the East Metros across the city? As part of his half thing?”

Red Hood was staring at you again.

“What?” you asked, immediately feeling foolish. “Is that dumb? I haven’t—”

“No, no,” Red Hood… chuckled? He seemed to find it amusing. “It’s pretty smart, actually. You just remind me of my—my associate Red Robin.”

“Associate?” you repeated, feeling yourself smiling. What an odd way to phrase that. “Or is he a more of colleague? A comrade? Is Nightwing an associate? He seems more like a wingman, you know.”

“I—“ Red Hood begins, before clearing this throat. He turned away and seemed to be surveying the space. “First off, that pun was very bad, and I’m not begrudgingly smiling under my helmet about it. Secondly, it’s—associate is just cause—look, honestly you don’t need to know this, but I’ve got a kind of complicated relationship with the other Robins, current, former, whatever.”

He paused and glanced at you as if to gauge your reaction. You were still standing and listening to him. He took a breath and continued, “We’re almost like brothers. The rest of them are, but I don’t fit so nicely in their little family.”

It seemed he was finished, so you spoke, slightly hesitantly. “Have you talked to them about it? Either the Robins or Nightwing? I—I mean, we don’t have to talk about it if you want. We probably should be focused on getting out of here. But, if you—”

Shkk. You were cut off by Red Hood suddenly pulling out a grapple gun from his belt and coming up next to you. Okay. Strictly business then. No more oversharing.

“Mind if I…?” Red Hood’s arm was hovering next to you. Oh, this was cute. Very cute.

You shook your head, and Red Hood wrapped an arm around your waist, firing off the grapple gun into the rafters with his other hand. Your heart sped up as you landed in the support beams of the building. That was scary in an exciting way.

Red Hood put away the grapple gun, and started to fiddle with something on the side of his mask, opening up a panel and pulling at wires.

“Mask’s communication got fried somehow. Hoping I can fix that. Better signal up here.” You nodded, and there was a pause before he spoke again. “I haven’t talked to them about it. I’m not as buddy-buddy with the other bats like Nightwing is. My M.O. is too different…” (You resisted the urge to look at the now empty gun holsters at his sides, which when full of pistols distinguished him from any other Gotham hero.) “…so we’ve had our ups and downs. But I like the Robins. They’re good kids. And I do like Nightwing, even if he’s an ass a lot of the time. So I’m trying to be a better…”

He trailed off, fiddling with the helmet absentmindedly.

“A better associate?” you offered. You couldn’t tell if the Red Hood was smiling behind his mask, but you hoped he was.

“Exactly.” Then he added quietly, as if to himself, “And maybe at some point I’ll be a better brother, too.”

It was kind of odd he felt comfortable talking about this with you, but maybe because he knew you as an athlete, or maybe because he just really needed to say it aloud. Either way, you felt like maybe you helped him, which made this whole affair feel better. The eyes of his helmet lit up, and Red Hood let out a satisfying “Aha!” as he shut the little panel.

“Oracle? Nightwing? Anyone hear me?”

Sitting right next to him, you can hear the faint sounds of someone talking to Red Hood through an earpiece in his helmet, but only his side of the conversation is clear. You weren’t sure who Oracle was either, but it was probably a woman based on the pitch of the voice you heard.

“It’s Two-Face. His guys got me. He attacked Gotham U East Metro. The hostage I was with thought maybe he was going after the East metro stops across town.” He turned to you, and you gave a nervous shrug. Twenty second pass before you saw him freeze up. “Okay. That’s bad, but okay. Can you track our location?”

He paused, listening to something from the other end, before he turned to you.

“So, you’re right. They hadn’t realized the pattern before but Gotham U East blew up, then the Wayne Tower station too, except—”

“Except the Wayne Tower station is technically Old Gotham East, right? No one ever calls it ‘Old Gotham East’ unless you work for GCTA.”

“Right. But after checking other East stations, there’s definitely bombs set up at Fashion District East and Robinson East. Probably more they haven’t found yet.”

You frowned. “So, that’s bad, but where are we? And why did they just leave us here?”

“Radio came through but location tracker is still down. Still working on theories for the why question,” Red Hood said, standing up and scanning the roof above for an exit. He darted up some of the beams and started slamming different places with his fist to see if one was loose. After thirty seconds, he found a loose section and Red Hood was able to bend a panel to the side, exposing a little panel of night sky.

He returned to you and helped you climb out onto what seemed to be a fairly innocuous warehouse roof. To your left you could see what looked like the Vincefinkel Bridge. Behind you was the water, so you must be not far from Chinatown. Huh.

“Why did Two-Face take us half-way across town?” Red Hood asked, echoing your own thoughts. Your eyes widened in realization.

“Red Hood, Chinatown East Station is just a fe—”

He was already moving, holding you to his side as you fly from the warehouse roof into the city itself. Grappling up to the rafters of a warehouse was one thing. Hurtling through the air several stories high was another. It was exhilarating, but you also felt yourself cling a little tighter to Red Hood when you glanced down.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he said quietly, as he felt your body tense. Your heart fluttered at how gentle his voice was. Agh. Why did superheroes have to be so attractive and noble?

Soon he dropped you down about a block from the station. A barricade had been put by the entrance, but unhappy (and slightly bored looking) commuters stood dangerously close to the entrance, waiting for it to reopen. You didn’t blame them. This was Gotham City. Metro attacks were a favorite of supervillains. Whenever one station was attacked, the whole system got shut down, which was an annoyance. Most of the time, if something happened to one metro stop across down, you’d probably be fine waiting next to another station. Key phrase being “most of the time.”

“I need to find the bomb,” Red Hood said, “But tell everyone to get away from the station.”

You didn’t have a chance to say “okay” before he was gone, swinging around the block and vanishing behind the station.

The next five minutes were a blur. You ran up to the station and, calmly, explained that the East metro stations were being targeted in a series of attacks and everyone commuting need to give the entrance a wide berth. Most people raised an eyebrow and quickly hurried away. A few people asked how you knew this or waved off your warning, but you (quickly) explained that you’d discovered this with the Red Hood when you were both kidnapped by Two-Face. You didn’t know whether the name drop of Red Hood or Two-Face was more persuasive, but everyone backed off.

When the police arrived a few minutes later to barricade off the whole block, you were the only person even remotely close to the station from where you stood across the street. One of the bats must have tipped them off. You waited at the barricade as seconds passed by agonizingly slowly.

You didn’t want the station to explode, but you really didn’t want the Red Hood to explode either. At the very edge of the explosion, you’d been knocked unconscious. At the center of it, after failing to defuse it…. You inhaled and exhaled. You’d lived in Gotham your whole life. You didn’t want to see another vigilante die thanks to this crazy city.

Maybe ten minutes passed when a police officer near you leaned their ear to their radio and let out a sigh of relief.

“Bomb defused!” she shouted into the ground behind the barricade. There were a few sighs, some cheers, and a couple of grumbles about “this goddamn city.” The metro was going to be closed for the rest of the evening, so pretty much everyone cleared out except you and the people who lived on the block. The police said the barricade would be up for another half hour or so as they secured the area.

You stayed, and you didn’t know why. Well, you did; it was more like you didn’t know why you bothered. For some reason, you thought maybe the Red Hood would be back. You wanted to thank him, or just see yourself that in fact he did not get blown up.

When the barricade lifted and he still didn’t appear, you gave up. You were actually closer to your apartment from Chinatown than Gotham U. It was still about a half hour’s walk at night in Gotham City, but cabs weren’t an option—you didn’t have money. Your bag must have been taken by Two-Face’s guys or lost in the explosion. You hoped maybe the cops would find it in the next couple days. Thankfully you’d stuck a key underneath the potted plant in your apartment’s hall, so at least you wouldn’t be locked out.

You had been walking for about ten minutes, staying pretty on edge from the night’s events, when a familiar voice came from behind you.

“Headed home? The night’s still young for some of us. It’s not even three yet.”

You turned around to see Red Hood leaning against a street lamp.

“It’s been a long day,” you replied, “And it’s a long walk home.”

“Would you mind some company, then?”

You smiled as Red Hood moved beside you.

“Not at all.”

You were walking for a while in silence, but it was the peaceful kind. You weren’t as afraid now since you 1) weren’t alone and 2) had a crime-fighting walking companion. Red Hood was whistling as you walked, which was kind of wild. Tough gun-wielding vigilante whistling for fun? Sure. Honestly not the weirdest thing that’s happened in the last few hours.

“The cops said you did a good job getting people away from the station before they blocked it off,” Red Hood said. “Thanks for that.”

“Oh, no problem,” you said, “I’m just glad everyone was safe. Especially you.”

“Especially me?” Red Hood repeated, “You’ll make me blush.”

“You saved my life basically, and saved all those people,” you explained, “Not to mention how many people you probably on a nightly basis.”

“I think you might want to consider that you saved all those people,” Red Hood said. “Batman, Oracle, or Red Robin probably would have figured out the East metro thing sooner or later. Their brains work like that. But you made that connection before all of them did, and getting it that quickly saved a lot of people.” You shook your head, feeling your cheeks color a bit at the compliment, but Red Hood didn’t let you off the hook. “I’m serious, _____. You impressed the ‘world’s greatest detective,’ if you believe that.”

“I’m just glad to have been a help,” you said, positive your face was flushed at this point.

When you arrived at your apartment building, the Red Hood nodded his head at you.

“Enjoy the rest of your night. Oh—” He seemed like he was about to leave but paused as he reached to grab something near the back of his belt. He held out a small blue bag… Wait, that was your bag!

“Oh my gosh,” you said, taking it. You looked in. Your wallet, phone, keys, metro card (important), and headphones were all safe and sound. “Thank you! Where did you find it?”

Red Hood shrugged. “After we took care of all the bombs, I went back and found all of Two-Face’s guys. In police custody now. They had meant to kill us, but there were troubles with some of the bombs so they just left us alone for later. I figured they might have taken your stuff, so I checked and they had your bag in one of their desk drawers.”

He had actually looked for things? Just to be nice? Wow, the Red Hood really did get a too bad a rep. He had been a pleasure all evening.

“I can’t thank you enough, Red Hood,” you said. “For this and for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, pulling out his grapple once more. “Later.” You stood outside your apartment until his figure moved into the darkness of the rooftops above.

What a night.

✹ ✹

“OH! Damian, you’ll never guess what happened to me yesterday,” you said near the end of your most promising student’s private gymnastics lessons. “I got kidnapped by Two-Face’s goons, but I worked with the Red Hood and kind of helped stop those metro bombs.”

Damian launched off from the uneven bars into a slightly messy landing onto the mat in front of you. Oof. That looked awkward.

“Hey, make sure when you let go that your body is s—”

“_____, pardon my bad form. I’m trying to understand why you spent the entire warm up monologuing about how you want to bake more but you hate getting your kitchen messy, and you didn’t lead with your kidnapping?”

You shrugged, gesturing at Damian to follow you as you did a handstand.

“Honestly, I still think I’m processing it all, but it was surprisingly lowkey for a kidnapping. I was barely harmed, and I didn’t really interact with my kidnappers. Red Hood helped me get out. I don’t know. I was debating making pancakes this morning as a treat for yesterday evening, so I guess that was more actively on my mind earlier.” Damian grunted in response, and you let your legs fall forward and resumed standing. Damian followed suit.

“I’d appreciate hearing about any attempts on your life immediately,” Damian said.

“Run your routines twice through, and I promise I will tell you upfront about any dangerous encounters I’ve experienced between lessons. Then we can call it a day.”

Damian nodded and started his routine: without complaint. That was slightly miraculous! About three months into your lessons, Damian began to have some semblance of respect for you. Before then it has been an uphill battle with the young teen to get him to listen to your instructions. It just took constant effort and patience, and him discovering your former Olympic glory, to form a productive relationship.

Though Damian seemed to be mocking about you burying the lede, you knew his tumble from the bars meant he was genuinely concerned. He could see it in his eyes, too. Damian was a good kid, even if he was a bit full of himself.

As Damian went through his routine, you alternated between watching and doing his moves yourself to pass the time. He had the routines down pat other than a couple of his more complicated dismounts.

You were finishing a series of two flips, landing right on the edge of the mat in front of you, when you find yourself face to face with Jason Todd. Like, faces just a few inches apart. You were reminded how, of all Damian’s ridiculously attractive brothers who’d come to pick him up from gymnastics lessons, Jason always managed to disarm your the most. Something in those stunning green eyes peered into your soul. And you always wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked…

You immediately took a step back as Jason clapped. “Ten out of ten from this judge, although I don’t think they score it like that anymore.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Not quite, but I appreciate it nonetheless. You’re sneaky, I didn’t even hear you come in. Your turn to pick up the little Wayne?”

“Unfortunately. I was going to tell him to just take the metro to my apartment, but that got screwed up,” Jason said, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, I know. I actually was there when the station exploded last night. I had just finished coaching the women’s team’s night practice when it exploded just as I walked in. It was a long night,” you replied.

From across the room, mid-flip, Damian shouted, “She got kidnapped by Two-Face’s guys, then saved by the Red Hood! Can you believe it, Todd?”

Jason had a slightly funny look on his face but looked at you intently.

“Really? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. It was nothing. Red Hood was nice, and the goons didn’t even hurt me. Just tied me up. I even helped Red Hood figure out that Two-Face was targeting East metro stops.”

“He must have been pretty impressed, it sounds like,” Jason said with a still slightly funny smirk. What was that about?

“Uh, well, it’s kind of hard to see his face behind the mask, so I don’t really know. But he seemed happy enough with me. He actually recognized me right away, I think. He was weird about it. Maybe he was a fan back in the day. Was really nice to me, though. Polite, and honestly kind.”

Damian finished his routines and did an extra flip to land right next to you.

“I’m sure he was more than impressed. Enamored by your Olympic and intellectual prowess, I’d wager. Probably why he was so weird.”

Uh. What? Where did that come from? You looked at Damian quizzically.

“Damian, what—”

“_____, how are you getting home tonight since the metro is down here?” Jason asked, glaring at Damian. He looked almost…embarrassed? It was a weird enough remark to create some second hand embarrassment. You decided to let the topic slide for now. Maybe you’d pry Damian more about it next lesson.

“Um, I don’t have a car or anything, so I was just going to walk.”

Damian frowned. “But you don’t live near here.”

“It’s about 40 minutes. But I don’t min—”

“Woah, woah. It’s almost eight o’clock, and it’s already dark. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at night. That’s good practice everywhere, but we live in Gotham City. It’s basically a necessity.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jason held up his hands.

“You did manage to get yourself out of a kidnapping situation with some help, but, at least for tonight, let me drop you off at your apartment on the way home with Damian. It’ll be easy.”

“I’m out of your way, Jason, you really don’t hav—”

“I want to. Alright?” He was smiling. Damn. How could you resist that?

“…Alright.”

As you got into the car a few minutes later, Damian asked you loudly if you thought you’d see the Red Hood again. Jason was glaring at him again, this time via rear view mirror. You were in the passenger seat next to Jason and turned to face Damian in the back.

“Well, I’d hope I’m never in another situation where I’d need his help again. But maybe I’ve ‘enamored’ him like you said, and he just won’t be able to stay away,” you said, narrowing your eyes at the young teen.

Damian scoffed. “Look, all I meant was that Red Hood has a reputation for not being very friendly. So if he was so nice to you, it probably means he found you attractive.” You scoffed back, mimicking the sound, enjoying Damian’s slightly offended face at the mockery.

“Okay, well, a couple of counter-theories. First, maybe he’s just not as mean as people say. Second, even if he is meaner, maybe he was just in an overly friendly mood yesterday. Third, maybe he was a fan of mine, so he was extra nice. None of those scenarios involve him finding me attractive.”

Damian opened his mouth to protest, but Jason spoke before he could.

“Let’s let _____ not relive what was probably an unpleasant evening, okay, demon brat?”

What affectionate names the Wayne brothers called one another.

You turned and smiled at Jason, who smiled back. A warm feeling in your chest blossomed as you did, and it didn’t vanish long after you were safely laying in bed at your apartment. You were trying to picture something other than the soft smile of Jason Todd or the brilliant green of his eyes…

Man. What a night.

#jason todd #red hood #dc comics #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #mine #my writing #fic

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heavenly-roman · 5 years ago

Text

Bait

Plot: Remus has a plan. He just needs the perfect bait - Logan seems to be the answer

Warnings: kidnapping (and everything that comes along with that), unsympathetic remus, feelings of worthlessness, feelings of abandonment and inadequacy, one (1) ‘swear’, one (1) kiss

Pairing(s): logince, platonic dlamp

Word Count: 1955

if you like this, consider buying me a coffee?

inspired by this gorgeous artwork by @sandy-sides !!! thank u for letting me write this story based on your work!!!

(ao3 link!!)

+++

It’s late. Logan knows it’s late. Does that stop him from hunching over his desk to finish his work that could very well be done in the morning? Absolutely not.

The thumping footsteps in the hallway alert him to someone’s presence, calling, “come in!” before they could even knock.

“You’re no fun,” Remus pouts, opening and closing the door rather quietly for the chaotic side. Logan looks him over once, the rope in his hand not alarming him as much as it should - classic Remus to have some sort of unsettling item in his hand. What does alarm him, however, is the sinister grin on Remus’ face.

Attempting to overlook it, Logan asks, “Is there something you needed, Remus?”

The grin on his face grows, as does his grip on the rope. Logan’s eyes widen, something unfamiliar panging in his chest - fear.

“Bait.”

+++

Logan awakes, his head spinning and muscles aching. He tries to adjust his glasses but finds he is unable to. His shoulders scream in protest of his movements, and Logan connects the dots. That must be what the rope Remus was carrying was for. Surveying the area, albeit slightly blurry, the logical side quickly assumes he is in a basement of some sort - whether it was created in the imagination or is attached to the mindscape, he is unaware.

He hears the thumping footsteps again, and feels his body freeze in fear. He concludes he doesn’t quite like this new feeling.

The chair he is sat on creaks as he tries to examine his area a bit more, as well as find the source of the footsteps. Before he can get a good look behind him, a cold hand jerks his head to face forward, sending his glasses further down his nose. Another hand adjusts his glasses to their rightful spot, and a sickly sweet voice whispers in his ear, “can’t have you too incapacitated, now can we darling?”

“Where are we, Remus? And why am I here? I have work to do and-” Logan’s questioning is cut off by Remus’ hand slapping over his mouth, the other one still holding his chin.

“That’s quite enough from you, Logic,” he spits the title like it’s poison on his tongue, throwing Logan’s head to the side. ”Keep it up and I might have to put that pretty little tie to better use.”

Remus circles Logan’s chair, and Logan briefly considers sticking his leg out to trip his captor - his better judgement and his incapacitated leg decide otherwise. The creative side stops his pacing directly in front of the chair and leans down, coming face to face with his prisoner.

Remus tugs on Logan’s tie, pulling him uncomfortably closer and causing the rope to bite into his skin some more. “You’ll make the perfect bait for everyone, little Logic.”

Logan scoffs, “you honestly believe anyone will come looking for me?”

Remus’ smirk falters slightly, and Logan almost, almost, believes the look on his face could be mistaken for pity, sympathy, understanding. But he plasters it back on and leans impossibly closer, practically touching noses now, and whispers, “you’d better hope so.”

+++

Logan doesn’t know how long it’s been since Remus left him before his thoughts start running wild.

They’re not looking for you.

The feeling of the rope grows familiar.

They would’ve found you by now, if they really cared.

He notices the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He never took Remus for a lover of cliches.

They’re better off without you.

He starts to believe his thoughts.

You’re useless.

He’s useless.

+++

The next time he hears footsteps, they’re softer. He knows it’s still Remus, the tell-tale sound of his clunky boots are always there, no matter how quiet Remus tries to be. Despite his best efforts, Logan still hopes it’s one of the others coming for him.

“Poor Logan.”

Despite his best efforts, Logan is still disappointed.

“Still expecting your friends, are we?” Remus’ pout is fake, taunting Logan. “Or can we still call them friends?”

When he doesn’t respond, Remus continues, “You know, my original plan was to lure them all here to save you, but this? Breaking down sweet little Logic into realising that he really isn’t one of them? That they don’t truly love him? That they’re better off without him? This is much better than the original plan.”

“Unfortunately for you, your secondary plan is not working, as I do not believe any of the things you mentioned,” Logan replies, looking forward and avoiding eye contact. Maybe if he lies enough, Deceit will appear and he’ll be saved.

Please, he’s probably just as happy as the rest of them that you’re gone. Remus did them all a favour.

“Whatever you say, Logi Bear.” Remus begins walking out again, footsteps resuming their heaviness. He flicks the light switch off, leaving Logan in complete darkness. “Whatever you say.”

+++

Logan awakes to his tie being shoved in his mouth, and shouting echoing from outside the door.

“It seems my plan has worked, albeit a little late,” Remus whispers in his ear. “If you so much as make a sound, I will tear off your fingers and make you eat them. Got it?”

Logan nods, whimpering when Remus pulls his hair for good measure. “Good boy.” Remus pats Logan’s cheek and crouches near the door.

The shouting and banging is getting louder, when the door bursts open. A flash of purple blurs passed Logan before he shuts his eyes, the bright light from the hallway a sharp contrast to the dim lighting he has grown accustomed to in the time he has been here.

His eyes open when hands gently cup his face and Roman, horrified, whispers, “Logan?”

Logan tries to respond, forgetting Remus’ threat and the tie in his mouth, when he spots Remus rising from his crouched position and brandishing his morning star. He curses his inability to warn Roman, when someone - Deceit? It can’t be - yells, ‘Roman, look out!”

Roman startles and unsheathes his sword, swiftly moving and blocking his brother’s strike from now hitting Logan. The clanging of the metal causes Logan to close his eyes again, and he feels deft fingers carefully untying his wrists. Another pair of hands tug on the ropes around his ankles, cursing when they won’t come undone. Logan hears a victorious cheer and winces as he hears heavy footsteps move towards him.

“Logan? It’s just me, you’re okay,” Roman speaks softly, trying his best as to not scare the other. Logan slowly opens his eyes and watches Roman’s worried expression turn into a small smile. He looks down and sees Deceit finally free one leg, just as Virgil comes to assist with the other, and his hands fall to his side. Patton rubs up and down Logan’s arms, presumably trying to get feeling back into them. Roman gently pulls the gag from Logan’s mouth and the latter gasps in a full breath, earning sympathetic looks from his friends. Logan glances around Roman and sees Remus on the ground, knocked out cold.

Roman crouches to his eye level and wipes his cheek, swiping away the tears he didn’t know were falling. They silently agree to talk about that some other time, and Roman pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. It’s not something Logan would’ve usually appreciated, but he squeezes back, and if Roman sheds a tear or two at that, Logan doesn’t need to know.

“Did-” Logan speaks as he reluctantly pulls away from Roman. His voice is hoarse, he clears his throat before he continues. “Did you guys seriously use Virgil as a door ram?”

Logan smiles as he hears his friends laugh, a sound he so dearly missed. Patton rounds the chair and nudges Roman out of his way, helping Logan stand and acting as a support. “Are you okay, kiddo?” Logan pauses to think for a moment.

Are you okay? Well, that’s a loaded question. Physically, yes, you are okay. Mentally? How does one tell their friends that they thought they didn’t care about you, and left you tied to a chair with one of their deranged brothers? How can you-

“I’m fine, I suppose,” Logan cuts off his thoughts after a few seconds, sick of those words being the only ones he has heard for a while. “However, I really have to piss.”

+++

It’s late. Logan knows it’s late. Does that stop him from reading over the abandoned work on his desk that he very well could have done in the morning? Absolutely not.

There are thumping footsteps in the hallway again, and Logan feels his blood run cold. He cautiously locks the door and grabs the closest thing to him to use as a weapon, which happens to be a letter opener. It won’t match against Remus’ onslaught of weapons, but he hopes that the element of surprise will be in his favour. Still, the knock on the door startles him.

“Logan?” His shoulders slump at the voice. “Can I come in?

Logan lowers his makeshift defence, but doesn’t put it away just yet - after all, he could be tricked. He unlocks the door and opens it a crack, peeking out to see Roman’s features scrunched up in concern. Letting out a breath, Logan fully opens the door and lets Roman in.

“Talk to me.”

They sit beside each other on the bed, Logan leaning on Roman’s shoulder as the creative side holds him in a side hug. Logan visibly relaxes into Roman’s embrace. “I don’t know how to express my feelings, Roman.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking, then. I’m here to listen.”

“I’m scared, Roman. I’m so… I can’t sleep, did you know that? I can’t sleep because everytime I close my eyes I’m afraid that I’ll open them and he’ll be staring at me and this will have all been a cruel dream and you still haven’t found me because you don’t want to. It’s illogical, I know, but I can't help but just be so damn afraid.” Logan doesn’t mean to blurt it all out, but he does, and he ignores the tears rolling down his face.

“Not everything you do has to be completely logical,” Roman tilts Logan’s chin up so they’re looking into each others eyes. He smiles sadly and wipes a tear from Logan’s cheek. “You went through something traumatic, Logan, and that’s okay.”

Roman takes a deep breath before continuing, “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t find you sooner. We were searching everywhere, I promise. Patton even went down into the basement, you know how much he hates it down there and - and I’m sorry. About everything. About Remus.”

“You don’t have to apologize for him,” Logan sniffles and inches his face closer to his companion’s. His voice quiets to a whisper. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you- Roman you saved me. You’re… my hero.”

Roman leans down ever so slightly, lips barely brushing Logan’s. “Is this okay?” he asks, moving his hand to hold the back of Logan’s neck. The latter nods, and Roman connects their lips in a gentle kiss. Logan’s hands move to hold Roman’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs.

Logan pulls away and smiles, the first real smile Roman has seen since they found him. Roman returns the smile, and Logan feels metaphorical butterflies in his stomach.

“As your hero,” Roman starts, “It is my sworn duty to protect you, from monsters and evil twin brothers alike. So I’ll be here, I’ll be your hero, whenever you need me to be.”

“Do you think you could start by being my hero tonight?” Logan asks. He adds, sheepishly, “Stay?”

Roman smiles, and kisses Logan on the top of the head. “It would be my honour.”

#logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #unsympathetic remus #virgil sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #logince #might be missing some italics #tumblr doesnt copy them from google docs #sanders sides #sanders side fic #bennie’s books

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retroateez · 4 years ago

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Prophecy - Chapter Four

okay i’m gonna leave it here for now and post the other four chapters i have in the drafts when i get home from work,,, hope u enjoy!! (pls let me know if u do)

Prophecy Masterlist

wc; 2532

He strolled through the woods calmly, as he did almost everyday. The route was so familiar to him that he could walk the grassy path with his eyes closed. Not that he would do that, of course. It would be foolish, leaving oneself so vulnerable in the open. The tide splashed angrily against the sand a handful of metres away. He sighed deeply; the recent storm had wrecked the forest surrounding his secluded home. He just hoped the natural resources he needed hadn't been destroyed by those dangerous winds. Above him, the usual canopy of green had almost all disappeared, torn away by the harsh hands of the rain. He wrinkled his nose at being so exposed to the sunlight.

Eventually he passed through the alley of trees and stepped out onto the grey beach. Despite the sun, the sand was not glittering as it usually would. The waters were murky, disgruntled from the rage of the storm. His walnut coloured eyes sparkled softly as he surveyed his surroundings. His hair, soft and daffodil hued sat both messily and neat in gentle curls. It parted in the middle, allowing his piercing eyes to glare at people he didn't like.

Which was almost everybody.

Living alone on the outskirts of the most powerful kingdom sounded better than it actually was. He preferred to be alone, that way he could do his work without being distracted. But being a mage was exhausting work, and having someone cook his dinner when he was exhausted would be quite nice. Nevertheless, the magician was disliked purely out of fear. He was powerful. All mages were.

Living inside the kingdom was too risky for both himself and the citizens of the kingdom, so the king gave him a sizable amount of land roughly a mile away from the kingdom walls. He couldn't complain really. The mage's land consisted of mainly woods, which backed out directly onto the coastline. Luckily for him it was dense in herbs and creatures he needed for his work, so it worked out well for him in the end.

That's exactly what he was doing this gloomy morning. The sun was there, but barely. Hidden behind the clouds, clearly the sun was in no mood today. The ocean wasn't particularly happy either, like it had been drinking ale for 3 days straight and was currently trying not to explode from the hangover.

The mage had no idea what that was like.

Squinting at the sand, he began his search. He hated this part of being a mage. Skills in magic often required a basic knowledge in alchemy, and collecting the ingredients was the bane of his existence. Unfortunately for him, the only local source of this particular substance could only be harvested from sand mandrakes. The most annoying little bastards he had ever had the displeasure of coming across. Typical mandrakes were easy enough to come across, as if you accidentally stepped on one during a stroll in the woods they would scream bloody murder and possibly attempt to poison you.

But these ones would bury themselves underneath the sand and wait to attack you on purpose. He hated them.

No, he loathed them.

However, he really did need that specific ingredient, so he took a deep breath, pushed his golden hair back and prepared himself.

Yet, what he discovered on the beach was not what he needed, nor what he had expected.

A body lay, face-down, flat out just beyond the reach of the tide. He could tell by the darkness of the clothing that the person was soaked to the bone. Whether or not they were alive was a different matter, though. He sighed and approached the body cautiously, in case it was some kind of dead-alive, drowned hybrid-thing that would try and bite him when he got a little too close.

"Hello?" he called out quietly. "Are you dead?"

No answer.

"Excuse me," he tried again. "are you sunbathing?"

He rolled the body over so they were laying on their back. The mage inspected the body with his eyes and internally groaned.

Great. A human. A woman too.

He had nothing against women, but it meant that he couldn't just leave her on the beach. It he had found a random man, he probably would have done exactly that. But he was a polite mage, he had manners.

He also didn't want to be charged with murder if the guard patrol found a dead woman close to the mage's home. Most authorities would use anything to throw a magic wielder in jail. The only reason he was able to walk free was that he helped the king at his request. The king had a fascination for magic. The mage felt rather uncomfortable knowing that was the only reason he was alive, but he supposed it was better than being dead.

With a groan, he scooped the woman up into his arms.

"Talk about dead weight, holy shit"

He huffed as he began his hike back to his shack. As he walked, he glanced down at the unconscious figure he was carrying.

Her hair was wild, as if she had been dragged through an entire thicket of bushes a minimum of one hundred times. Her skin was covered in dirt, dried sand and honestly only god knows what else. He could feel her breathing shallowly, so that was a relief. At least now he wouldn't be responsible for her death.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and cursed.

"Fuck sake!" He shot an angry glare at the woman he was carrying. "I didn't get the fucking mandrakes!"

-----

A warm, soothing scent washes over you, and you crack your eyes open the tiniest bit. First, you notice the pounding inside your skull, reasonating like a drum in a huge, empty hall, the bass bouncing off every wall. It's a dull ache but it's there. Your sight is still blurred from sleep, but above you, you can make out something vaguely wooden. Most likely a roof.

A roof?

You're inside?

Forgetting all your pain, you bolt upright, panicked.

"Where am I?" you blurt aloud.

Surveying your surroundings, you realise you're most definitely inside somebodies house. Despite having never been here before, it has a very welcoming feel to it. A lit brick hearth was directly opposite you, exuding a comfortable warmth as the wood inside it crackled. The room you were in was fairly large, with a single window and arrays of plants adorning every surface and crawling up the walls. The room smelt earthy and fresh too, like the roots of the flowers and emerald leaves made up part of the structure of the house itself. You wouldn't be surprised if it did.

Slowly, you pull yourself up off the bed and pace over to the window. The round, oak table just below it is cluttered with petals, pencils and other various objects you couldn't even attempt to identify. Multiple pots line the windowsill, each one filled with flowers the shade of bumblebees. You run your fingers gently over the honey coloured petals, gasping quietly when they radiate a yellow shine onto your hand.

"Ficaria verna," a deep voice startles you from the threshold of the door. "pretty, aren't they?"

You nod silently in response, staring at him blankly.

"Celandine?" He tries again, approaching both you and the flowers carefully. Again, you have zero idea what he was talking about.

With a sharp sigh, he plucks one of the flowers from the cluster of plants and holds it gently underneath your chin. You couldn't see it, but you assume the skin grazing the little yellow bud was glowing gold.

"Buttercups," he murmurs. "if they shine under your chin, that means you like butter"

You nod meekly, deciding that pretending to know what this mysterious man is talking about is the best course of action. Instead, your confused brain has other plans.

"Who are you?" you burst out. "Why am I here?"

His hand falls from your face, discarding the buttercup onto the table and turning back to you with a sour scowl.

"Is that any way to address somebody who just saved your life?" He snaps at you.

"I-" He moves closer to you, forcing you to back up.

"Is that any way to address somebody who welcomed you into his house? Completely ruining his plans for the day?"

You stand frozen, back pressed against the tough wood of the wall. Why was he suddenly being cold towards you? Naturally you wouldn't expect a stranger to be warm and welcoming off the bat but inititally he had seemed quite friendly. Did you annoy him by not knowing about plants? You didn't want to be rude but the average human being didn't possess an extensive knowledge about multitudes of vegetation.

"Human being?" he mused playfully. Your eyebrows shoot up in shock.

Did you say that out loud?

He stares down at you for what seems like millenia, his sandy hair falling forward the slightest bit as he towers over you. His silence is daunting and honestly, you have no idea what to do except just stand there. After all, you're a guest in this unknown person's house. And he did save your life, so the least you could do was just be quiet.

He reclines abruptly and sticks his large, calloused hand out to shake your own. You reciprocate the greeting shyly, your much smaller hand completely engulfed in his. Much like how the ocean totally swallowed you up.

"I'm Yeosang," he smiles. "I found you knocked out on the beach this morning. Any idea how you got there?"

"The storm," you explain. "I got caught in the middle of it and it threw me about like a ragdoll"

Yeosang steps away from you, leaving his bedroom into the main room of his shack and prompting you to follow him with a nod of his head.

The central room to the house is breathtakingly beautiful. Circular in shape, a collosal maple trunk stands proudly in the center, supporting the rest of the building like a pillar. Surrounded by open space and natural light, you have a hard time believing that you hadn't stepped into another dimension. The body of the trunk run straight up through the middle of the room, leaving you wondering where both the base and peak of the maple actually were.

The sunlight filters through the windows and also beams down between the branches of viridescent leaves above you, making you feel like you were in a fairytale. You half expected a fawn to come barrelling through, tripping over his spindly little legs but still determined nonetheless.

Still stood in the threshold of the bedroom, you stand statue-like, gaping at the view.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Yeosang smirks, stirring a pot which sat above a crimson brick stove over to your right. "It requires a lot of maintanance but it's worth it."

"It's so beautiful... It doesn't look real!"

Yeosang ladles the liquid from the pot into some bowls, and walks to the opposite side of the giant maple trunk. He places your bowl on a small, rickety looking table then he sits down in an equally rickety looking chair on the other side.

You politely sit down and eye your meal. You don't want to be picky but... it doesn't look very appetising.

"What-what exactly is this?" You ask in the kindest way possible.

He raises an eyebrow at you from across the table, and you pray to the heavens you haven't royally pissed him off. In a panic, you attempt to change the subject.

"How do you keep everything from burning in here? It's literally all wood! And there's no way it can be so naturally beaut-"

"Magic." Yeosang cuts you off, his voice cold and hard. "I didn't have to bring you back here, you know. I could've left you on the beach to die. I know the mandrakes get hungry quickly this time of year"

You gulp, his gaze on you now dark and polar opposite to the welcoming demeanor he had before.

"But I helped you anyway," he continued. "Better I found you anyway than the Ateez guards, they probably would've killed you right there on the sand."

Is he really this mad over a bowl of (what looks like) soup?

"I'm sorry!" You argue back. You don't really care who this Yeosang thinks he is right now. You have no home, literally nothing to your name and he's being a dick for no reason? This isn't fair.

"I'm sorry for inconvieniencing you by washing up on that beach. Maybe you should've let me die! I don't know who you are or why you're getting angry with me so if you're quite finished, I'd like to leave!"

You glare at each other angrily over the table. The both of you stay silent for a few moments, until Yeosang suddenly starts spooning soup into his mouth. You look at him incredulously; what is with this guys mood?

Deciding to play along and also knowing that if you did leave, you'd have nowhere to go, you also begin sipping the bubbling soup. You discover it is actually very delicious, and now you feel like a fool for insulting both the food and the confusing blonde man who you technically were indebted to now.

"I don't expect anything in return for saving your life," he says matter-of-factly. "I can see that you possess nothing of value to me on your person. However I may be willing to help you out, on a few conditions"

He lays his spoon back in the bowl and folds his arms, leaning back into his chair and waiting for your reply.

"And what are these conditions?" You ask, continuing to eat.

"You help me out when I need it, and I'll let you stay with me. Because you evidently are not from around here, and frankly, going up to the Ateez territory looking like that wouldn't do you any favours"

Offended, you look down at your mud-caked clothes, stiff from being soaked and drying awkwardly on your body. You realise too your hair is a complete wreck, sticking up in so many directions a compass would have a hard time figuring it out. It's matted and clumped together and you already know it'll be painful to fix. So maybe Yeosang does have a point, albeit a rude one.

You ponder his invitation, glancing around his stunning, fairy-tale home. Really, you have no reason to decline; you have no home, no job, and it could be an opportunity for you to start fresh, forget about your past as a lonely thief on the streets.

"Okay," you nod, peering straight into Yeosang's icy blue eyes. "I do what you ask, you let me stay."

He nods back, satisfied.

You finish the remainder of your soup (pottage, he tells you) and you turn to him as he washes the bowls.

"What now?"

He turns to you with a grin, one you haven't seen from him yet and it fills you with dread immediately.

"Fancy a trip to the beach?"

He was definitely going to kill you.

Chapter Five

#ateez #ateez au #medieval!ateez #hongjoong #yeosang #yunho #seonghwa #wooyoung #san #jongho #mingi #im whipped for this yeosang help #i rlly love him

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