#but it became a tender gesture instead lol

[adorethedistance]

I Don’t Just Like You - Trevor Zegras x Hughes!Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, tension/fighting, jealousy, Dixie lmao

Words: 2161

Summary: Tension builds with Trevor over his new partnership until the two of you confess your feelings.

A/n: Y'all I am so not doing well rn. I am processing a break up and questioning my social circle and im so lonely that I needed to write some angst to cope with it all. Hope yall like this one and maybe it'll get a smut part two depending on whether or not I can handle writing that rn lol. Enjoy!

Moose: call me ASAP

Me: sorry Luke. can’t rn

Moose: Awesome 😎

My hands quake with anxiety as I fiddle with the tarnished silver ring adorning my pointer finger. The moisture of my skin eases the movement of turning the ring around my finger. I hiss when the gemstone catches on the skin of my middle finger and immediately drop my hands. 

Currently, I’m staring down at the risky text I just sent Trevor. About an hour ago he had messaged me:

Trev: hey sorry can’t swing tn after all 

Trev: rain check?

My jaw tightens with contempt and I huff out a sigh as my bottom lip trembles. I feel pathetic for just how impacted I am by his every word. I angrily hit the digital keys of my phone’s keyboard as I type my reply.

Me: really? 

Me: again??

Trev: don’t be like that

I’m not the most confrontational person. On any given day some might say I’m the furthest thing from confrontational. To put it rather plainly, I just don’t like it. I hate the way I get anxiety butterflies in my stomach. I hate absorbing the emotions of the other person, especially when rejection is involved. I hate what projections I’m opening myself up to receiving from the other person. There are too many pitfalls and not enough landing pads. Which is why it’s so out of character for me to press him on this.

Me: like what Trev?

This is the third time in a row Trevor has cancelled plans on me. I don’t know if he’s aware of that. I don’t even know what he’s been up to lately. He’s refused to tell me what he’s been doing instead, which didn’t raise my suspicions by any means until mom sent me an article. She knows about how my crush on Trevor has had roots in our childhoods. 

Trev: you know what I’m talking about

After I stopped playing hockey with my brothers, I was still always around to notice Trevor’s presence in our home. When I moved to California for college, I wanted to chase my music dreams but I didn’t realize it would come at the expense of my support system. Being long distance with my family put me in a hard spot, but having a familiar face to rely on made the adjustment easier. As we spent more time together independent of my brothers, Trevor and I became close friends. The problem was my crush has been growing ever since we became friends, hence why mom sent me an article called, “Did Dixie D’Amelio admit to dating Trevor Zegras?”.

Me: at least say it with your chest

Sent. Delivered. I wait. Trevor’s response bubble appears for a second. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. I’m about ready to toss my phone across the room when his message delivers.

Trev: call me

I groan out in frustration and this time actually end up chucking my phone onto my bed. I run my hands through my hair, along the warm expanse of my scalp. A self-soothing gesture by all means. I pace to one side of my room before using the momentum of my steps to start back towards my phone. Just as I have it in my hand, Trevor’s contact picture covers the screen and illuminates in my grasp. I scoff out a sort of half groan and then answer.

“What, Trevor?”

“Hey, Y/n I’m great. Thanks for asking! How are you?” He responds sardonically to my cold greeting. I bite my tongue, torn between tearing into him and the stronger desire to laugh through my rage. He takes my exhale as a cue to continue. “What’s going on, Hughesy?”

In a single moment, my anger dissolves. The tenderness of that nickname, which was once reserved solely for my brothers, now belongs to me. In this moment, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Trevor was there for me as I transitioned into college. But the looming threat of a smile quickly vanishes as I remember how that care is nullified by Trevor’s abundantly active dating life.

“Y/nnnn?” Trevor hums into the phone.

“What?” I respond dryly.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you cancelling on me for the third time in a row.”

“Is it really the third time in a row?” He asks under his breath, indicating he may not have intended to say it out loud at all. I roll my eyes, still actively fighting the urge to just lay into him.

“Yes, Trevor, it is!” I can practically hear him wince through the phone at the fact that I’m calling him Trevor instead of the default nickname permanently programmed into my phone. 

“Who’s that?” I hear softly over the phone. My heart flutters like a coal mine parakeet in a cage and I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry if it turns out Dixie is on the other side. Trevor whispers back,

“It’s Y/n.”

“Hey, Y/n!” Mason’s on the other end. 

“Not a good time,” Trevor tells him. Mason curses and then apologizes before retreating from Trevor’s general area. “Sorry, you were saying?” Trevor tells me at regular volume.

“You were cancelling on me again.”

“Oh. Right. I…” he switches the phone to the other ear, “I…don’t know what you want me to say.” Hello?! Could he be any more oblivious?!

“I want you to tell me what is going on!” I whine into the phone, “What is it you’re so busy with doing that you can’t see me for a week, huh? I get that you’re a professional athlete and you have a busy schedule. But I know your schedule and I know you still have a decent amount of free time. So what have you been doing?” Trevor breathes, in, then out and says,

“I’ve been seeing someone lately…” I feel my heart shatter into the tiniest fractals of what it once was and I cover my mouth to choke back the growing lump in my throat.

“I can’t do this right now,” I say with the utmost hurt lacing my voice, pulling the phone away from my ear to abruptly hang up on Trevor. I toss my phone on my bed once more, ignoring how the screen lights up with Trevor’s contact picture. It’s a new breed of psychological torture to sit here and ignore the calls, so I leave my phone in my bedroom as I go to splash cold water on my face. 

When I reenter my bedroom, I ignore the buzzing device to put on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He’s called once, twice, a fourth, and a fifth before finally giving up. Despite my phone being silent, I don’t trust it enough to take it with me and leave it to charge on my bed. I settle on the couch to open my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s, putting on my favorite show in the hopes of laughing through the pain. 

Somewhere between first and second episode, I had dozed off after returning the ice cream to the freezer. I’m not sure what it is about crying that knocks me on my ass like that, all I know is that it works. 

I’m abruptly pulled from my sleep when I hear the harsh banging on my front door. I jump up from the couch, the spike in adrenaline carrying me out of my sleepy haze. When I get to the front door, some of the tiredness catches up with me again and I groggily open the front door. Behind it stands Trevor, with sad puppy eyes and a sheepish expression. I can’t help the scowl that comes to rest on my face when I see him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pushes past me to come into the apartment and sits on the couch expectantly. Since there’s no way to physically remove him from my space, I bargain, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Trevor as I can manage. He doesn’t let the cold gesture phase him, and scooches obliviously into the center of the couch.

“What’s going on Hughsey?” I scoff at the nickname and Trevor cringes in frustration. “What is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Why are you icing me out all of a sudden?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, spiteful, with malice. 

“Clearly not since I’m here spending time with you.”

“Was that so hard for you to do? I mean, with your busy schedule and all?”

“What are you-” Trevor pauses for a split second. “Wait, are you… jealous? Y/n?”

I want to protest. I want to scream and rant and bite back, how he could be so conceited to think I’d be jealous of a relationship that I previously thought was rumored? But I can’t. 

Because he’s right.

I bite my tongue. There’s nothing else I can do. Not unless I want to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.

“Oh my god, that’s totally it. You’re jealous.” Trevor says, complete with a laugh and a sigh. The shame of actually being jealous of a girl I’ve never met, the disappointment of finding out Trevor is dating someone, and the exhaustion from already having cried earlier comes collapsing down on me at once. Hot tears well on the lining of my lashes and I stare at the ground, afraid to draw attention to myself. Upon seeing me cry, Trevor’s smile immediately vanishes and he scoots closer once more.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He envelops me in a hug that I’m too overwhelmed to reciprocate. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” 

I merely shake my head, unaware of what I could even say in this moment.

“I was… I was just laughing ‘cause I should’ve known.”

“Should’ve known what?”

“That you’d be jealous.” I wriggle out of the hug and look at Trevor sincerely.

“How would you have known?”

“You know, for as long as I can remember, your brothers have talked about you having a crush on me.” I cower in humiliation, my face glowing hotter than the surface of the sun.

“I wish they wouldn’t have.”

“No?” Trevor asks, genuinely.

“It’s embarrassing,” I confess, fully recoiling from the physical contact he had initiated before. 

“It’s cute.” Trevor earnestly admits as he takes my hand in his. I scoff instinctively but don’t pull my hand away again.

“I don’t need your pity, Trev.” I say so softly he nearly misses the sentiment. Once he processes my worlds, I feel him physically relax next to me at the sound of his familiar nickname.

“Well, what do you need? I’m here now.”

“I honestly don’t know.” I finally dare to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me so sweetly, earnestly. As if I hadn’t just chewed him out two minutes earlier. Then, I look away before I can say what I’m about to say next. “I don’t just like you.” Trevor’s face lifts ever so slightly. The extent of which, one might miss had they not known him a lifetime the way I have.

 “You know… the only reason I started seeing her was to get over you.”

“What?” I ask, sharply whipping my head to stare at Trevor, as if awaiting the reveal that this was just some elaborate prank from the start.

“Yeah. I started dating Dixie because I thought dating someone different would distract me. You know, it’s not a good look to have a crush on your best friend’s little sister.”

My heartrate picks up with his confession. This feels too good to be true. As if real life is waiting for us right outside the front door. The real life that doesn’t see me and Trevor together ever in our lifetimes. Terrified of the change that would occur from letting him walk away, I reach up and hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. Trevor wraps his hand around my wrist and kisses me back with twice as much fervor. 

We break apart, out of breath and full of smiles. Trevor looks at me for guidance and we fizzle into a nervous laughter. I reach up and brush my thumb tenderly across his cheekbone. He grabs my hand and turns his head, placing a sweet kiss on my palm. I then reach up and break the moment by ruffling my hand through his hair to mess it up.

“Hey!” He yells, grabbing waist to dig his hands into my sides. I screech with laughter as I try to escape. Trevor eventually yields and slips his hands from my sides to interlace with one another and pull me closer. I scoot in to sit against him, sitting half on top of him as our breathing falls in sync.

“I don’t just like you, too, Hughesy.” I smile.

“...You should probably call Dixie.”

“Oh shit.”

***

A/N: not my best work but not my worst either!

[riddle-me-ri]

Perhaps also BTAS! Mad Hatter (Receiving heeheehoohoo) with - 🩹 - kissing them better after they get hurt - Or - 🎬 - making out on the sofa instead of watching the movie. Ty :3c

a/n: oohhh I'm a sucker for sweet delicate healing kisses lol so I'm gonna go with the kisses after they get hurt. I know I'm sorry it hurts me to hurt the golden mad lad but I PROMISE he'll be taken cared of. These prompts btw are from my good friendo finnie here

Content Warning: brief non explicit mentions of injuries

Word Count: 470

BTAS Mad Hatter x Reader - Kiss It Better

"Darling, I assure you I'm all right!" Jervis assured, he placed a hand on your shoulder to slow your movements. 

Jervis has managed to get back to you after an encounter with Batman. He had a black eye and a bleeding gash across his right arm. 

As soon as he sat on the couch you instantly scurried for your first aid kit. 

You were snatching gauze, wraps, and bandaids when Jervis tried to calm you down. 

“B-But you’re hurt!” You argued, as you gestured to his arm that had bled through his green dress shirt sleeve. 

“I know, but it’s okay, I’m here and safe with you.” He cupped the hand that was on your shoulder to your cheek. 

You sighed feeling the adrenaline slowly fade away. When your breath evened out, you began collecting the proper materials to tend to his wounded arm. 

As you finished wrapping up his arm in gauze, you didn’t fail to notice Jervis warmly and lovingly staring at you. 

Once the final strip of gauze was on, you lifted his arm and kissed the middle of the bandage. 

“All right…Now onto-oh…” You looked up at him and took full notice of his swollen and bruised eye.

Jervis’ unafflicted eye darted away from yours shamefully. 

You gave him a reassuring smile before leaning in and gently kissing the tip of his nose. 

The redness from his face soon reddened even more, but this time it wasn’t from the pain. 

You got up and grabbed an ice pack and softly pressed it to his eye. Jervis lifted his hand and concealed your hand with his before squeezing it gratefully. 

"Thank you, my beloved." 

"Don't mention it." You whispered softly, worried if you spoke too loud it may ruin the tender moment. 

You slowly, albeit reluctantly, slid your hand out from under his. Only to bring it back up to cup his cheek as your other hand came up to cup his other cheek. 

You brought his face closer to yours as you brought his lips to meet yours in a sweet warm kiss. 

A kiss full of love and gratitude. Grateful that he made it, he was there, and you were there to heal him. 

You pulled back when the need for air became too great. You still smiled adoringly at him. 

You began fixing his hair slightly so it would stay out of his face as he adjusted the ice pack back on his eye. 

"Is there anything else you need, Jervy?" 

Jervis hummed in a moment of pondering. Before a cheeky grin grew on his face. 

"Perhaps…one more thing…" 

You listened intently. 

"May I ask for one more kiss? I think I'm starting to feel better already." 

You giggled softly before reaching out to hold his face again. "I thought you would never ask."

[danddymaro]

Aftermath | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

After the fight with Illuso, so i guess that’s the title lol

I need abba fluff 

Overly sweet abba I.E [SIMP]

word count: 1100

Aftermath

A little kiss to the temple makes you slightly recoil, the gentle affection responded with a wince that showed how uncomfortable you still were. 

It wasn't because you were trying to get away from the long haired man's touch, but instead, it was an instinct you had upon the contact that still stung.

the discolored spot is greeted with a soft press, and while such a gesture is sweet, it does little to soothe the pain. 

It aches, however, you would admit that the tenderness he shows you makes your heart melt, and forces a little smile to form. 

As you close your eyes for a moment while you reach one of your hands to your darling's arm as your own form of reassurance. 

Coincidentally, it'd been the arm that had ended in a bloody stump a few moments prior, and you couldn't stop thinking about how it was now back in place. 

- like it never happened.

It's only briefly that your eyes find their way to the golden-haired teen within your group.

He's silent, even while standing next to Fugo, and it seems that he doesn't pay any mind to you and your curious peek. 

But you're certain he knows. After all, you can feel his gaze every now and then, and during one of those glances, he must have seen you.  

Before, you'd caught him staring like he had his own questions, but it was only at that moment that you actually paid him any mind.

Even while introduced to you, you hadn't really bothered to speak to him aside from the initial, pleasant 'hello'. 

But now, his entire demeanor and what lay beyond his gaze became interesting.

you actually found yourself curious as to what he didn't say and wanted to voice to you.

You then released a thoughtful hum, thinking over how all things considered, Giorno Giovanna was a valuable asset; a lucky card in your deck.

At the end of the day, he'd somehow managed to tame purple haze; doing the unthinkable and coming out alive from the stand's exposure. 

it was remarkable, even admirable how much fearlessness it took for him to do what he did, because while you considered fugo a friend, family even, his stand was another story.

"- Are you okay?" Leone then speaks as he moves his arm so he can hold your reaching hand, and you stop thinking about all the analytical parts of life in that moment.

Instead, you try to focus on Leone instead.

You don't say a word, rather, you purse your lips, barely nodding, your attention still elsewhere even if you bring your eyes to your loved one.

All because you can’t stop thinking about how much of a difference your new member meant.

You owed Giorno, you owed him your life, and it's not because he'd fixed up your messed up shoulder, but because after how nasty your dear Abbacchio had been, he'd still offered his help. 

Kindly, without a shred of malice. 

And if there was a way into your heart, it was through Abbacchio.

 "Mia Amata," Leone then whispers gently, and he sounds a little pouty as he knows he's ignored. 

Your mind is elsewhere, and he doesn’t know if you’re too stunned by everything that had happened, or in a sudden spell, thinking about something else entirely.

 His lips brush over your knuckles before he gives each a small peck, and after he's done there he holds his position, looking up at you with expectancy, hoping that's enough to get your full attention.

 He sounds terribly lovesick, and that's enough to rouse the gentlest chuckle from you, fully snapping you back to reality. 

"I'm alright, " you say, guaranteeing him that that mirror jerk hadn't done anything worse than to disorient you enough to slam your head into a brick wall.

All things considered, you could have ended up much worse.

 he stares at the bruise on your forehead, and he chews on his lower lip in a way that lets you know he has more to say, but he's biting back.

 His eyebrows furrow before he shakes his head slowly, nearly tutting at you.

"I though I told you not to do anything stupid," he mutters seconds before his forehead gently presses against yours, and you don’t mind as it doesn’t touch the sore spot on the side of your head. 

There's a mix of frustration and mirth in his tone, and any fool could catch onto it. 

- like he's annoyed with you, but all the same amused.

"If it were the other way around..." you start with just a bit of sass in your voice, and he knows well what you mean. 

You don’t even have to finish up on what you’re gonna say.

He has no room to say anything because he'd give his life for you.

Easily, and without question.

"...you're going to be the death of me," he breathes with a single airy chuckle of his warming your heart.

he detests the thought of you being hurt, but he's touched by how you'd risk your life for him too. 

"Are you saying I'm no good for you?" You say with a little pout of your own, looking away with playful melancholy he scoffs at. 

"You're the best damn thing to ever happen to me," he admits without a doubtful eyebat, but you already know that.

- you just wanted to hear it again. 

Little scares like these bring out the part of him that's just a bit too sweet and is usually reserved for alone time, and you can’t get enough of that side of him.

"What I'm saying is that I can't live without you, you hardheaded idiot," he says with only an inch between your lips.

"You already know that..." he huffs, knowing your game, aware you're just being a little jerk at that point. 

By then he's done with words, going in for another kiss and you smile back, waiting.

You even stretch out your arms so they slide over his shoulders and dangle there as he gives you your smooch. 

And you aren’t thinking about it, but one of your legs kicks back creating a cheesy image of a doting couple in the midst of a passionate exchange.

Your fingers tangle in his hair and just when you start to feel warmer, forgetting that you’re not alone, he pulls back slowly, just enough to press your foreheads against each other again.

He breathes just a bit heavier, matching your own exhales, and it makes you laugh when you notice how much color suddenly warms his face.

Before you part, you look into his eyes, and you can’t imagine living in a world without him.

> Diavolo enters the chat

[noa-ciharu]

“I just wish that we both had the same feeling back then” with Seisub (all of the prompts fits them lol 😭)

I finally had idea for this prompt this morning hence: 850 words of TRC!seisub angst and feels :'D I aimed for bittersweet atmosphere

Angst prompt - "I just wish we both had the same feelings back then"

Warmth.

Despite standing in middle of heavy pour, Subaru didn’t register the coldness and sharp wind; he was getting soaked to the bone but numbly registered the sensation. Seishirou’s embrace was warm enough to shove discomfort aside. Like he forgot what warmth truly felt like all these decades they’ve been separated. Heaviest rain could lash down on him, Subaru won’t let go. Seeing as Seishirou hasn’t complained about discomfort either, Subaru concluded he felt the same.

Finally you’ve caught me. Finally you want me.

Yet why do I feel so torn inside?

He should be ecstatic, be giddy with excitement, be over the moon – after all, it wasn’t everyday wish of a lifetime comes true. Instead all Subaru could feel was exhaustion. Like weight of decades and decades of tire fell onto shoulders all at once. All the conflicts, the agonies, the afflictions and sleepless nights spent crying silently as he tried to recall face of a long lost loved one and failing to. All the loneliness and doubts if he’d ever get to see Seishirou again or if he’s doomed to live (more survive) hundreds and hundreds years longer; more dead than alive.

Subaru wondered if Seishirou shared the sentiment, even if it was concealed behind the mask. If he too was worn down by dejection worth years and years of fruitless hunt for one that managed to elude him.

“You’re never escaping me again”, Seishirou murmured into his hair, tone firm yet had undeniable ring of emotionalism attached to it.

Thunder roared somewhere in the distance; they paid it no mind. Seishirou tightened the hold and embraced him as close as humanly possible; as if dreading Subaru would disappear again. Strangely, touch definitely felt rough but in Subaru’s heart struck as gentle. Perhaps desperate would be best way to describe it. Nonetheless sensations overwhelmed; after years of being deadened to world around him, every emotion felt stuck to the very core. All adrenaline rush left his body at alarming speed, Subaru barely had strength to reciprocate the hold.

“I won’t ever let you” – tone soft, words oh so possessive. Nothing was ever unequivocal about Seishirou, his words and actions tended to be diametrical opposites. Nothing ever straightforward, every gesture soothing and afflicting in same breath. He hasn't changed one bit, Subaru reflected somewhat conflicted.

No, you did change, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.

No direct confession needed, Subaru intuitively knew Seishirou finally wanted him back. All sort of turmoils and emotions clashed within him, Subaru felt his chest tightening, throat hurting; sniffle, he wasn’t sure if droplets sliding down face were tears or rain. Subaru entangled fingers into cassock and lowered forehead against Seishirou’s chest; but Seishirou wasn’t having that. He loosened the hold just enough to raise his chin up and coax Subaru into gazing up. Of course Seishirou won’t let him hide for even a heartbeat, not after they’ve been separated for agonizingly long.

Mismatched eyes; one still striking amber, other dead silver. Yes, he’s known in advance but that barely did anything to lessen the rue. Pang of guilt, sharp metaphorical stab through stomach – Subaru felt his heart drop. All because of me…

“You’re awfully quiet Subaru-kun, are you not happy to see me?”, Seishirou asked somewhat coldly, eyes never leaving his; but Subaru could detect underlining unease in tone.

Subaru frowned and shook head immediately. “It’s not that Seishirou-san”, he murmured and glanced downwards for a heartbeat, expression despondent.

Grip under chin gradually became tender caress over cheek; touch so gentle that it hurt. As if hypnotized Subaru raised gaze up to Seishirou’s face again; such yearning expression on someone who could murder in a heartbeat without ounce of regret. Subaru couldn’t loo away. Rain poured all around them, yet all he hear was beating of own heart.

“I just…”

Wish we weren’t separated for so long.

Wish I knew you were safe and sound even when you weren’t by my side.

Wish you realized I love you before it was too late.

Wish you admitted some things to yourself earlier.

Wish you didn’t pay such hefty price for chasing after me.

Wish I never ran away from you.

Wish you never let me go in the first place.

"Wish we felt the same back then”, Subaru heard himself choose at last; encapsulate all incoherent messages and intangible feelings that roamed within his broken heart. Too many things were left unsaid between them, and by all indications will be for some time; until the ice melted between two of them.

Seishirou didn’t say a thing, but somber expression spoke in his stead. Second later Subaru was being pulled back into tightest embrace; instinct kicked in, he hugged back with all strength left in his frazzled body. You don’t need to say a thing, I know regret is mutual. Something finally snapped inside of him. Subaru whimpered and began crying for real. Caresses over back and gentle strokes through hair were his only comfort for Seishirou surely knew words won’t heal old wounds overnight.

But it was alright. This turn around they finally had time.

[touchmycoat]

kinktober: day 10

day 10: flogging

the sub!Marco saga continues...

(CW: the flogging is done with a metal chain, which is absolutely a thing irl! Bike chains!)

//

//

“Good,” Ace said primly, before blowing a stream of cool air over Marco's chest. The sound Marco made was inhuman. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I have,” Sabo muttered, attention fixed on Ace's lips, the corners of which turned up into a smug little grin when Ace noticed, “a fantastic idea.”

Ace—beautiful, generous Ace—straightened and gave Sabo the kiss that he craved, right there next to Marco's cheek. Sabo stroked the arch of Marco's neck along with the strokes of Ace's tongue, and pressed their bodies even closer together.

“Marco,” Sabo husked into Ace's mouth, “I'm gonna fuck you. But before that, I'm gonna beat you until you beg for mercy. Would you like that?”

“Yes.” The answer came immediately, guttural and groaning. Marco's hips were stuttering like he didn't know whether it was better to arch forward into Ace or back into Sabo. “Anything you want yoi.”

“Anything?” Sabo's critical tone was paired with a scolding rake of nails across Marco's Adam's apple, and Ace turned his head to watch, blinking with the indolent satiation of big cats facing cornered prey.

“Anything,” Marco promised. The sheer amount of power he was trusting Sabo with was as heady as it was aggravating. This was probably slightly different from what Ace was feeling, Sabo reflected. For Ace, the sharp edges were a weapon, wielded and worn to damage but ultimately home in a scabbard or stored away in a chest. For Sabo, the edges were underneath—if he just unfolded his fingers like peeling away skin, he could show Marco the metal belt buckle inside. What pretty bruises it would make.

But—

“This would be too easy for you.”

Sabo stepped back with a wink and a loud, mean slap to Marco's flank. As he crouched to pull out the box underneath the bed, Ace draped himself over Marco from the front, lazily grinding his hips.

“What, the flogger?” Ace asked dubiously. “Haven't we used it on you already?”

“I'm just an average, breakable human with fragile skin and nothing to prove. That nice soft flogger is mine,” Sabo replied absently, sliding the big heavy box aside as he reached past it. The nature of a ship—no matter how large—was that space was limited and sometimes, the corners underneath your bed ended up stuffed with sailing material.

Sabo grabbed a large fistful of the metal rigging chain coiled beneath the mattress, and yanked it out into the light.

Marco didn't even see it, but the sound was enough. The noise he made in response—Ace didn't even bother asking for mercy.

“Oh.” Fingers clawing into the welts on Marco's back, Ace's eyes went dark and vicious. “Can I do it?”

“Um, yes.” As if Sabo's ever wanted anything else. Haki in his fingers, it was a simple matter to cut off a suitable length of the chain, about as long as his belt. A bottle of medical-grade alcohol from Marco's shelf emptied into a wooden basin, and Sabo was watching the minute, anticipatory shivers of Marco's back as he loudly dipped the chain in and out of the sterilizing bath. “I think I'll get his dick in my mouth.”

How much more, Sabo wondered as he approached, would it take to drive Marco fully insane? Like some smooth courtship dance, Ace backed away as Sabo got closer, cocked his head in vivid consideration as Sabo draped the chain first over Marco's shoulders. Marco flinched at the touch, then at the cool burn of the alcohol dripping down his torso.

And Sabo was about to make this so much harder for him.

“The rules are simple,” Sabo declared. He glided a hand down Marco's left arm to the elbow, then guiding the whole limb up until Marco's upturned palm was about shoulder-level. There was a hardcover book on the desk, which he placed in Marco's hand. There was also a drinking glass (one of three), which he placed on top of the book.

There was a pitcher of drinking water, which Sabo slowly tipped, until the glass balanced on the book was filled to the brim.

“One,” he told Marco, “you don't have to say mercy if you don't want to. If the water spills, we stop. Easy as that.”

Which was the punishment and which was the reward?

“Two.” With a nonchalant crack of his neck, Sabo dropped to his knees in front of Marco. He glanced up with a flash of teeth. “Try not to move your hips too much, yeah? You know I have that sensitive gag reflex.”

Sabo didn't think there was a more intoxicating sight than Marco's expression at that moment, telegraphing so clearly, I don't think I can do this.

...He was proven wrong just a second later, when Marco's met his gaze, eyes all hazing and trusting, pledging, but I will since you asked me to.

All, thank you for asking me to.

Ace took up the chain, and Sabo took Marco's cock between his teeth.

//

The chain was brutal on his back.

Pain, Marco thought, was pain. There was nothing unclear about it. It wasn't pleasure, not like a warm lap of tongue against sensitive flesh, nor was it the ecstasy of friction and accelerating tempos. Pain was pain, was thudding where the weight of the metal slammed into his flesh, was stinging where the tail-end chain link licked into his skin. Pain was the enamel edges designed to rend meat scraping up the length of his cock as Ace guided his hips forward then back, in and out of Sabo's mouth. Pain was the strain in both his arms, but particularly the left one, outstretched without support and weighted so precariously on his shaking palm.

Pain was pain, and Marco loved every fucking second of it.

How could he not? There was the bone-deep quivering shame of not being the one on his knees, the one in service and of use. But with that came the allaying recognition that all this was punishment and righteous. This was what Marco, when he wanted to be at the center of attention, deserved. This was him taking and taking and taking what the two most beautiful boys in the world wanted to give him. This was them trusting him with their darkness and their blood.

It was the least Marco could do, giving his in return.

There really wasn't that much blood; the part of Marco's mind doused in phoenix fire was certain, absolutely clear on the extent of his wounds even as Marco held it back. His back though, felt dripping with it. It must be the alcohol, cold then burning against the breaks of skin, trickling down a swathe of muscle before catching in another welt right underneath. It felt like Ace was flaying him open, and Marco wanted nothing more than to bare his ribs.

And Sabo—that wicked, brilliant brain. He who designed this particular round of torture, he who announced the rules. The cup of water stood tall and trembling, but not a single drop has spilled over its edge (onto Marco's accounting book, Sabo that bastard). How the hell had Sabo found the exact perimeters of what Marco was capable of, then gotten his fingers in, then stretched Marco open to accommodate him and Ace? How the hell was Sabo grinning slyly up at Marco, all white teeth and hot breath, promising to ruin Marco if he broke and to ruin Marco if he didn't?

The next lick of Ace's chain struck so perfectly into a previous welt that Marco had to scream. The glass didn't tip. The next lick of Sabo's tongue lapped insistently under Marco's foreskin and into his slit. The glass didn't tip.

Fuck. I can die like this.

The game, Marco knew, was no fun if he held out for too long. He knew the role he was meant to take, going boneless and trembling with exhaustion as he finally let the water glass fall, shatter on the floor portending Marco's own fate. He knew he could take hold of the mercy so readily offered and be helped to the bed. Be gently stretched opened and then thoroughly filled.

But—the arm stayed up, stayed steady, shot through with rigid iron and a determined shout of No! You can take this! You can take it all. It was a mantra preaching selflessness. Take everything they want to give you. It was the most selfish shock of thrill. This is what I want. They are hurting you because you asked for it. This is all for me.

Sabo, jaw probably sore, allowed his lips to draw back over his teeth, encasing Marco in a silky wet warmth. His hands gave Marco's pants a firm downward tug, and obligingly, the material fell puddled at Marco's feet. When Marco shifted to lift his legs, Sabo stopped him.

Leave it, Sabo's gestures, the demeaning arch of his eyebrow said. Marco felt his ears going hot with shame, and at once he felt so itchingly compelled to kick his pants away, to stand totally nude instead of as this humiliating, obvious object of undress. Which was the intended reaction. So Marco hissed through his teeth and forced all his attention onto keeping the glass steady and water unspilled.

And that's when Ace decided to switch his aim, bringing the whip of the chain down to the flesh of Marco's ass.

An arch of water jolted over the rim, splashing soft on the worn leather of the notebook. Both Ace and Sabo froze in all their motions.

“Sorry,” Marco choked, a terrible fear beginning to eat into his skin. “Sorry yoi, I—Sorry—”

“Sorry's not the word I want to hear,” Ace said from behind him, so low and steady that Marco felt instantly like grounded lightning. “So do you have something else to say, or can I continue?”

He wants to continue.

He wants to do this for you.

“No,” Marco said, the most pious man in the world. “Please continue.”

And then, when the next stroke came: “thank you.”

Sabo, beneath him, was just letting Marco's cock sit in his mouth. It was a gift. It was torture. Ever cognizant of Sabo's request not to choke him, Marco ached with the effort of not letting his hips so much as twitch. A drop of water fell onto Sabo's cheek, and for a moment Marco feared the worst, that this was all over because of his stupid mistake tipping the glass—but then he realized it was his sweat, dripping off the tip of his nose. So Marco pulled his head upright, focused on the glass again. Focused on keeping it tall at every whip of metal across his ass. Focused on keeping it safe on the strikes that licked into the insides of his thighs. Focused on keeping it unbroken as Sabo just kept breathing, doing very little else, around the tip of Marco's cock.

Tears as well as sweat ran down Marco's cheeks, but he didn't notice.

His attention was tunneling, everything whittled away except for the thud-sting of the chain in a rapidly steadying rhythm and the inadequate clasp of almost-suction around his dick. Marco could hear nothing, see nothing beside the shaking arm and the tendons of the wrist and the book and the glass and the trembling water. Had lost all concept of things like breath and time and motion. Just knew that one thing, then the other, stopped, and there was nothing else but the water and feeling so profoundly lost that he wanted to collapse sobbing—and then there was a hand—a hand on the glass with the water—the hand tipping the glass with the water over—

Marco shook back into himself with an awful gasp. The loud smash of the glass against their cabin floor followed immediately after, Sabo standing upright now before Marco with one hand still unapologetically outstretched over the space where the glass had once been placed.

“Oops,” he said, his casual shrug so catastrophically mismatched with the intent expression on his face. “Oh well. We've had quite enough of that anyways, haven't we?”

“I'm gonna bring your arm down now,” Ace said quietly. He was so close and warm next to Marco's ear that Marco started. There was, indistinctly, sensation in some faraway part of Marco's body—his fingers, he realized. Both sets, gone numb and cold that Marco could clearly imagine just cutting them away with little pain. Ace was gently prying his right hand loose from the grip on his restraint (restraint—hah! As if such a self-imposed thing could truly be called a restraint), and Sabo had removed the leather-bound book, massaging feeling gently back into Marco's left hand.

When Ace grabbed firm hold of Marco's entire right arm and pulled it down, a soft, agonized cry escaped Marco's throat. Sabo took the same moment to lower Marco's left arm as well. Marco squeezed his eyes shut so tightly against the pain that he didn't know whose thumb came up to gently wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

“You're one stubborn bastard, aren't you?” Marco didn't know how much of the grudging admiration in his tone Sabo meant to let him hear. “That was good, wasn't it? That was everything you wanted. Just say that's enough, that's all you needed, and we'll let you rest.”

“You said,” Marco slurred, listing forward and backward into warm arms. Oh, how he longed to do as Sabo suggested. Just relax, and let everything come to a stop. Get a nice hand from Ace, or maybe Sabo was feeling generous enough to finish the blowjob. But there was still a gnawing unrest, deep inside his core. An emptiness that begged to be thoroughly claimed, and filled. “You said you'd fuck me.”

The moment of silence that followed was so excruciating, that the sudden, vicious grip of Sabo's hands digging into his ass was bliss by comparison.

“Got it,” Sabo said, voice gone so perfectly savage as he lifted Marco, all the weight on the freshly whipped, burning flesh of Marco's backside, and Marco screamed—

“No mercy. We finish the scene.”

[wallgirl]

One thing I find interesting about the Poseidon and Hades brothers is that they both use their wives' names as techniques. Hades was probably the one who started this, as he is a simp of Persephone, and Poseidon only wanted to emulate his older brother. Now imagine Posei's new wife, S/o, looking with pokerface Poseidon using the "Amphitrite" move I wonder if he would update the name of the technique, or would he prefer to create one.

Well, the mangakas have made it clear in small details that Poseidon isn't really interested in romance, and probably never had a lover... So in my mind, it went like this. (this turned into a fanfic, lol)

---

Teenage Poseidon watched silently as Hades sparred with Ares. It wasn't much of a match; Hades held the upper hand effortlessly, despite Ares' rowdy efforts. Barely a minute had passed before Ares lay on the ground, exhausted and defeated, while Hades grinned at Poseidon. "...And that would be my latest move. I've decided to call it 'Persephone.'"

"After your lover?" Poseidon looked down at his trident. The idea of naming one of his own moves was intriguing, if for no other reason that to strike further terror into the heart of his opponent. The only problem was that Poseidon had no lover, and didn't want one. "Hmph."

Hades knew what his younger brother was thinking. "Well, it doesn't need to be after a lover, I suppose. Any name or word with meaning would be suitable."

Poseidon mulled this over. Being completely inexperienced and uninterested in romance, some of the meaning of Hades' words went over his head. Who was the woman most fearsome to him, whose name could work as a battle-cry? Not his mother; she was too tender. He suddenly thought of a nymph that had been giving him some rather... unexpected trouble, as of late. Amphitrite was her name, and her aim was to win over his heart. His thorny, iced-over, completely uninterested heart.

Hm. Poseidon stared into the distance as he contemplated the nymph's name. She was surely a girl who inconvenienced him more than anyone else, with an imposing-sounding name... "Amphitrite."

There was a beat as Hades registered this. "...How unexpected."

---

Thousands of years later, Amphitrite's name was little more than a cry for his onslaught; he had nearly forgotten the rejected nymph whose name he used.

But it hadn't escaped his lover's notice. As she was a previous contender for Poseidon's affections, they were all too familiar with Amphitrite's name and failed efforts. So it was inevitable, one otherwise-calm afternoon after they'd officially became a couple, that they addressed it.

"Poseidon," they began slowly, setting down their teacup. "There's something that's been weighing on my mind."

"Speak it, then."

"It's about... Amphitrite. Why do you still use her name in battle, even when you never loved her? Surely you could use a different name now." They batted their eyes at Poseidon in a not-so-subtle gesture.

Ah, Amphitrite. He'd all but forgotten about her. Poseidon regarded the tea dregs in his own cup for a moment of contemplation before explaining.

"Because, at one point, she was the most terrifying woman I knew," he said flatly. Not that that was saying much, coming from someone as unwavering as him.

His lover blinked in shock; that was not the response they were expecting. Then again, this was Poseidon, so maybe it wasn't entirely unexpected. "...Ah, yes. I see." It was quickly clear that his use of the name was not out of affection.

"...Did you want me to use your name, instead?"

"Um, no. No, I understand now. Thank you for explaining." It was all clear to them, now.

The two continued to sip their tea in comfortable silence.

[kenmaskitten10]

The Little Things

Midoriya Izuku x GN!Reader

warnings: fluff, self indulgent writing, not proofread

a/n: I haven't written in a while and this was just a little exercise to warm up to it again. It isn't my best work by any means, I'm super rusty and honestly I don't like how this turned out but it did get some creative juices flowing so it served it's purpose I guess. Izuku is my fav so I always like writing about him lol.

w/c: 1,185

His eyes always followed you. Your presence was intoxicating to him, and he found himself entirely drawn to you, pulled by invisible strings. He watched, while you walked down the hallway, hips swishing; he watched, while you both trained outside, wiping sweat from your brow; he watched, while you bit your lip in class, focusing intently on the paper in front of you. Your mannerisms fascinated him, and he found that you were his favorite person to study. Every time you used your quirk in a new way, something he hadn’t seen before, he would jot it down before he could forget, smiling to himself because he thought you were so brilliant.

It didn’t take you long to notice. It was hard to ignore, his vivd green eyes trained to your figure. It wasn’t long before you started meeting his gaze. He would always turn varying shades of red, turn to look at something else, pretending to be occupied.

Until he didn’t, eyes burning into yours and yours burning right back. Suddenly his little game gained another player, and he loved it. The unspoken intimacy set his heart racing and he wanted to do more than look - he wanted you, all of you, close enough to breathe in your honeyed scent and trace his fingers along your collarbone… and you wanted it too, but for now, both of you too preoccupied with insecurity and hesitation, he kept his distance, and you kept yours. Every interaction was friendly, light, unassuming, but he knew in his gut that your little dance wouldn’t last forever.

It was subtle, at first. You slid past him in class, your fingertips brushing the edge of his sleeve. He almost thought he’d imagined it, but the way you glanced back at him and smiled softly told him otherwise. He returned your little gesture the next day, holding the door open for you and grazing your shoulder as he followed you into the building, skirting past you to wave hello to Todoroki. But he snuck a little peek at your face and held your gaze a moment too long.

Your little touches progressed, becoming more intentional. Brushing fingertips when he lent you a pencil, gripping his wrist to show him some new merch you thought he might like, poking his cheek to get his attention. He grew flustered every time, momentarily losing focus each time your hands were on him. He loved and hated the effect you had on him, and each lingering touch burned in his mind for minutes, hours, days afterwards. He found himself doing the same thing back to you, no longer a game for him, but a necessity. Being around you, close to you, the need filled his lungs and veins and dictated his actions.

Eventually, it became obvious to those around you. Todoroki soon noticed how he was by your side more than anyone else’s. Ochako caught every lingering look and sneaky glance. It was obvious, with the way you teasingly tousled his hair, or tucked his tag into his shirt when it stuck out. More obvious still, the way he picked fallen eyelashes from your cheeks and held them out for you to make a wish, or placed his hand on your back when you walked through a crowded place, never wanting to lose sight of you. The way you bounded over to his desk every morning with a beaming smile, or the way Mina found you both listening to a playlist with one shared pair of earbuds in the common room, talking softly and so focused on each other you didn’t even notice her. You seemed intertwined, and the closer you got, the more he longed for you. Every touch was too brief, too soft. He wanted more, for the distance between you to close until there wasn’t any left. And you wanted it too, the butterflies in your stomach reminding you each and every time you felt his eyes on you.

He knew he wanted to kiss you more than anything in the world. Your sweet, soft lips caught his attention every time, and he couldn’t stop himself from tracing them with his eyes, wanting to feel them against his own. And his confidence soared when your glimmering eyes trailed lower than his eye line one evening walking back to the dorms, and your fingers brushed against his so briefly he thought he imagined it. You glanced at him shyly, and he felt a swell in his chest. He tried to say your name but it died in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. You looked down at your hands swinging in tandem as he avoided your gaze with intent, smiled, and linked your pinkies together, then laughed as his face turned five different shades of red. He groaned and pulled his hand away to cover his face, cursing himself. His pinky still burned at the tender contact, but when he snuck a glance at your face, he felt his shame and nerves dissolve, replaced by something else. The way the setting sun his your features, he thought he’d never seen anything more incredible, and suddenly every small touch, every shared smile, every lingering glance, felt like fate, leading him to this moment.

“Y/n,” he murmured, stopping in place. You turned to look at him and smiled again, sealing his resolve.

“Yeah?” You asked, tilting your head. “Why’d you stop?” Instead of answering, he stepped closer to you, enough that his breath fanned over your face. “Midoriya-“ his hand reached to cup your face, his thumb brushing your cheek and tilting your head towards him.

“Izuku,” he corrected, and your heart skipped a beat. You felt your cheeks burn, so his next statement caught you by surprise. “Can I?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. You didn’t have to ask what he meant. You’d thought about this moment a thousand times, and now that it was here, your body reacted before your mind even had the chance, nodding and leaning forward so that your noses practically brushed against each other. He closed the distance for you, until your lips finally touched.

Something as simple as a kiss, and yet it felt as though your life shifted in this moment. Something so simple that it could only be described as natural, instinctual, thoughtless. Such a small action, and yet you knew that things would never be the same. He kissed you tentatively at first, but you both grew more confident in the kiss, and your arms reached up to wrap around his neck, fingers winding themselves in his hair. It wasn’t until you were practically gasping that you pulled away, only for him to follow you, wanting more, more, more. He’d waited so long, to touch you, to taste you, he never wanted it to stop.

“Izuku,” you breathed, and he touched his forehead to yours, his other hand finding your waist.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said. You smiled and tugged on a curl lightly.

“Me too.” He pulled away from you and held out his hand wordlessly, his gaze intensely focused on you. You looked down, smiled, and took his scarred hand into your own.

[drawlfoy]

4 a.m

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no but this is dedicated to @socontagiousimagines :) thank you for the inspiration. 

summary: y/n seeks tutoring help from her acquaintance and housemate, draco malfoy. 

warnings: language, and the teensiest bit of actual fluff

a/n: so this is NOT the oneshot i was talking about. this is a short little tidbit i’ve been just sitting on for a while! i will not be continuing this :( but i wanted to get the practice of writing more physical scenes and thought that this was a good idea lol

tags! @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop

word count: 1.2k

“So, you carry that over to the other side of the equation...perform the executive function of rin...plug in the constant...and then we can set that number equal to 4 times the magical coefficient of levitation…”

Y/N was trying her best to listen as her fellow Slytherin patiently went over the last Arithmancy problem set. She really was. But it was so hard, especially when she was sitting just a few feet away from the prettiest boy she’d ever seen. Especially when they were on his bed. In dim lighting. At 4am.

It wasn’t on purpose. It was honestly a last minute panicked request--Y/N, well known for her tragic Arithmancy skills, found out that there was a surprise exam the next day in that very class and had to track down the only person she knew. Draco Malfoy wasn’t her friend, not by any sense of the term, but they tolerated each other. She’d go as far as to say that they were friendly, even. He smiled at her once in the hallway. She would’ve returned the favor if she had remembered how to breathe.

So imagine her surprise, upon rushing up to him at 11 that night and desperately asking him for help as he was leaving the common room, that he simply smirked down at her. “What are you waiting for?” he’d asked, his eyebrow cocking. “Put your arms around my neck. I have to carry you over the wards.”

She’d been at such a loss for words--something that almost never happened, mind you--that she’d nearly lost consciousness when, instead of waiting for her to jump up, he just plucked her off the ground. Before she knew it, she was sitting cross legged on his fluffy comforter as he picked apart the practice sheet in front of her.

The quill had no idea how lucky it was to be lodged in the elegant hand that it was. His fingers curled around the base strangely close to the parchment, occasionally smudging the numbers and symbols that he helpfully copied down onto her paper in his impeccable print. Y/N found herself quite smug at the fact that she was one of the few that got to witness him study something so intently up close. 

“Does that make sense?” 

His voice, accompanied by a clear shift in tone, shook her out of her soliloquy. 

“Er, yeah,” said Y/N. Very convincing.

“Why don’t you explain it to me like I’m the student and you’re the tutor,” he offered, turning to rest on his side. His infuriatingly perfect face was propped up on his palm as he watched her.

“I, erm, have to find a way to solve for G naught, which is the relationship between magical forces and naturally occurring gravity...so I do that by plugging -9.81 in for g and then the given velocity and, er, rin…”

Her words trailed off as her attention turned to the slow smile stretching across Draco’s face.

“What?”

“You’re a question ahead. I was talking about the one I just explained to you.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose and looked away. “Sorry. It’s late. I always have trouble paying attention when I’m tired.”

“Don’t apologize,” said Draco, moving to sit up. “You were right, you know. I think you’ll be fine tomorrow. You’re not even bad.”

“Thanks.”

He offered her another smile, this time one that looked more genuine than the rest, much less cat-got-the-canary and more wholesome. “If you’re not thinking about this--” He gestured dramatically to the parchment littered with Arithmancy practice questions, “--then what are you thinking about?”

“Oh,” Y/N said dumbly. No matter how many words she conjured to rest on her tongue, the blush growing on her cheeks gave it all away. There was no point in trying to fib, a point that became abundantly clear as Draco’s eyes began to glimmer.

“What was that?” he pried, an impish tone creeping into his voice. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Don’t be a fucking arse,” she responded. If she didn’t look him in the eyes then she didn’t feel quite as obvious. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

He tutted, shifting to rest his back against the headboard. It once again occurred to her how intimate the whole set up was. “Hm.”

Y/N decided to drop it and gather up the scrolls of half rolled parchment that littered his bedding. As much as she hated to admit it, his bed was soft. Really soft. 

“Thanks for all of your help,” she said once all of her belongings were secured away in her satchel. 

He said nothing in return, instead tilting his head to the side and meeting her eyes with a cool gaze full of amusement. 

“I really appreciate it,” she continued, hoping to pull out something as trivial as a “you’re welcome” from his surprisingly petal-like pink lips. “I know it’s late.”

“Not a problem,” he finally said. “Plus, how could I say no to you?”

Y/N fought the urge to melt into a puddle right that instant. “Erm, thanks. You didn’t need to help me this much. I hate to keep you up.”

His smile widened. “You don’t have to go yet, you know.”

“What--what?”

“I said,” drawled Draco as he sat up again to look her more directly in her eyes, “You don’t have to go.”

She decided that he wasn’t the only one who could play coy. “Oh? So what would you suggest?”

“Come here and find out.”

In seconds she was back to her seat on his plush comforter, her knees tucked neatly under the rest of her as he reached out to gently tug her tie in his direction. 

When he finally kissed her, it felt like her soul had left her body. His lips were warmer than she would’ve thought, and he cupped the side of her cheek with so much tenderness that she thought she was dreaming.

“Draco,” she said, pulling away from him for just a moment, “It’s 4am. I have to sleep.”

“I know.” 

He leaned in again, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into his lap. “You’ll be fine,” he assured her between kisses, “You had the best tutor.”

She pulled away again to smack him on the shoulder. “Don’t be vain.”

“Fine, fine.” She was still seated on top of him as he shifted to grab a piece of parchment that he scribbled something onto in swooping, elegant motions. “Here.”

“What is it?” 

“You said it yourself, love, you’ve got to get to bed,” he teased. “Open it up when you get back to your dorm. Now off you go.”

Y/N was torn between the sting of rejection and the butterflies at his use of the casual pet name while he carried her over the wards, feelings that refused to fade even when she was back in her room.

The soft sound of the lake water hitting the glass was just beginning to lull her to sleep as she jolted forward, just remembering the piece of parchment Draco had so thoughtfully folded into a paper crane for her. 

“Y/N:” It read, “Since you have such trouble paying attention when it’s late, I thought I’d write this down so you wouldn’t forget. Meet me tomorrow night at the tapestry by Snape’s classroom. 9pm. I promise I’ll have you back by your bedtime.”

[multi-obsessed-fanfic-writer]

Monster (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey guys! The overwhelming amount of love that my last post is getting is insane, so I decided to post this short little Draco drabble to say thank you. I’m not sure how it turned out, so let me know if you like it at all haha. I wanted to kinda take a twist with the classic dark mark trope. This is also kinda open-ended for a part 2 if y’all want :) But anyway, thank you for all of my new followers and I’m so happy that each and every one of you are here! My requests are open, my DMs are open, and my asks are open if you just wanna know anything about me! I love having mutuals on here, too, so let me know if you want to be mutuals. Thank you!! <3

Summary: Taking the dark mark is never a good decision, so how will it affect you and Draco’s relationship?

Monster

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 1,662 (quite a bit shorter than the last one lol)

Warnings: angst. a lot of angst. sorry

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The two of you were supposed to be normal for just a little bit longer. You had to go and ruin things.

“Draco...I need to tell you something,” You whisper, running your hands through his hand. He hums, turning his head to gaze into your eyes. You smile sadly down at him.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He muses, reaching a hand up to brush your cheek. You sigh into his hand subconsciously, knowing this moment can’t last much longer.

“You’re going to be upset with me,” You murmur, opening your eyes again to stare into his piercing silver ones. They stare back questioningly.

“You know I can never stay mad at you for very long,” He reassures you, sitting up to be face-to-face with you. He senses the seriousness in your tone.

“My...my family gave me a decision a couple weeks ago,” You start, taking a deep breath to keep your voice even, “it happened earlier today.”

“What happened, love?” Draco looks concerned now, sitting up even more to search your face for any possible answers.

“I took the mark.” You whisper, looking down to avoid seeing his reaction. He stills in front of you.

“You took it?” You hear the forcing of his words, almost like he’s choking them out. You look up at him and see the absolute hurt in his eyes. The brokenness.

“They didn’t give me much of a choice, it was either that or--”

“You took the dark mark?” He asks, reaching for your wrist. You shy away from his grasp, bringing your tender wrist to your chest. He looks even more betrayed by your gesture.

“Draco, they...they threatened my family... I-- I didn’t have a choice.” You stutter out.

“There’s always a choice, (Y/n),” Draco stares at your wrist, not you.

“There wasn’t. Voldemort said he’d kill them all if I didn’t step up. I had to, you don’t understand...my parents, my sister. I couldn’t do that to them.” Your lower lip starts to tremble at the memory.

“You could’ve asked for more time or- or asked your sister to step up instead. Why you? Why now? What about our promise to each other?” He asks, clenching his jaw as he asks questions that you don’t know the answer to.

“I don’t know why me...I don’t know why now. But our promise--”

“Is broken.” Draco finishes for you, his eyes finding yours again. You feel like you’re staring into fractals of his soul, shattered into pieces by you and your impulsive decisions.

“No, no we can still be normal, Draco. We can still be together. I-I mean it’s only a matter of time until you have to take it, too. We’ll be in this together at that point. There’s a choice we’ve made in this war--”

“No, there’s a choice that you made in this war. And you made that choice earlier today. After we had promised...that we’d make the opposite choice. We were going to run away together, (Y/n/n)...what happened to that? What happened to us?” He murmurs, and you see his eyes gloss over. Tears prick at your own eyes.

“We’re not gone, baby, we’re still here. Once this war is over, then we can run away together as we planned. I promise.”

“Your promises are starting to sound like a broken record.”

The breath gets knocked out of your lungs at these few words and tears start to spill down your cheeks. He doesn’t believe you.

You’ve lost his trust entirely.

“Don’t say that, Draco. Don’t say that.” You plead, grasping for his hands. He lets you take them, clutching them close to you.

“I’m not sure I can do this, (Y/n)...I never wanted to choose this side. You know that more than anyone,” He mutters, tracing your hands. You sob, unable to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. You know you look like a mess right now, but that couldn’t be further from your mind as you beg for Draco to stay with you.

“Please...for me? We always promised that we’d be there for each other through thick and thin...through everything, right?” You cry, starting to shake furiously throughout your entire body. Draco’s oddly still for a moment.

Then, he rips back your sleeve to reveal the mark in all of its hideous glory. You try to wrench your wrist out of his grasp, but he’s much stronger.

“That was before you became one of them. Before you took this dreaded mark….this dreaded oath. To serve the dark lord.” Draco spits with venom in his voice. You stop struggling against his grip, staring at the mark with him.

Something in you shifts at his cold words, causing you to still and the tears to slow.

“You think I’m a monster,” You let out lowly, face stoic and turned cold as you look up from the mark to your boyfriend.

“I never said that…” He trails off, meeting your eyes. He looks… scared. Of you. 

“I can see it in your eyes, Malfoy. You’re afraid of me. Of my power. You’re afraid of what I’ve become because you thought that the sobbing girl in front of you was capable of something terrible. Tell me, Draco, do you think I’m capable of terrifying things?” You ask him harshly, clenching your jaw to prepare for the answer.

“This (Y/n) is not the same one that I fell in love with,” He lets out, face turning from cold to confused again. He knows he’s struck a chord, and now he’s trying to figure his way out.

“Maybe you just didn’t know who you were falling in love with if you think me capable of such horrid things….” You muse in a low tone, rising to your feet slowly. Draco remains seated as you tower over him for once.

“(Y/n)...what’s happening?” He asks, and you see him switch to defensive mode. He starts to reach for his wand in his inner pocket. You’re quicker than him, though, and you quickly whip out your wand.

“Expelliarmus.” You murmur, watching the wand fly across the room. Draco stands but makes no move to retrieve the wand.

“(Y/n). This isn’t you. What are you doing? What changed?” He asks, reaching out to cup your face. You brush his hand aside, your face remaining stone cold.

“You made your choice. You don’t get to reverse that and try to trick me back into your arms. What changed, you ask? I saw my boyfriend...my ex-boyfriend...look into my eyes with fear. I saw him think of me as a monster, as a murderer. I’ve done nothing wrong, yet, Draco! Don’t you see that! I’m trying to remain blameless! I tried to stay with you.” Your stoic facade starts to crack at the edges, showing some of the anger and sadness you’re feeling deep inside.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. This is the mark speaking or something. Please, (Y/n/n), fight the darkness. I...I’m going to try my best and do the same. We’ll make it through this together,” He promises, reaching out another hand. You take a step back.

“You’re just using your smooth words to trick me. You’re still afraid. This is a defense tactic….I’m scaring you. You still think I’m going to hurt you.” A tear slips down your cheek and you look away.

“No, (Y/n/n), you would never hurt me. I know that,” He whispers, taking a cautious step toward you. You look up at him, rage now evident on your face.

“Says the man taking his steps toward me with caution. Says the man who’s still using the same defense tactic I’ve already called you out for! You’re...you’re scared of me. Admit it. I...I’m a monster to you. You’ve already made up your mind,” Your words get softer as your sentence goes on, the rage leaving you as devastation and exhaustion sweeps in behind it. You slump against a table, setting your wand down.

You would never hurt Draco, would you?

Would you?

“You’re upset. You’re in a frenzy. You just need to calm down, (Y/n). Please, we’ll talk about this once you’re no longer upset, okay?” He murmurs, and you’re too tired all of the sudden to stop him from picking you up and setting you down softly on his bed.

“...’m sorry,” You cry softly into his sheets.

“Shh, I know. I know.” He strokes your hair as you drift into a fitful sleep.

~+~

You wake up to rays shining through Draco’s large window. You rub your eyes and look around the room, not seeing Draco. He must be downstairs.

You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, hissing as you feel a stinging pain in your wrist. You lift your sleeve to see the taunting mark on your skin. You itch at it for a moment, only to realize that it won’t ever help. You sigh and stand up, spotting a small piece of paper on the bedside table. You pick it up and start to read the writing on it.

(Y/n),

I’m sorry. And I know you are, too. But I had to go. Maybe we can make up in the future after the war sometime, but right now we’re on opposite sides. And you’re right. I was scared of you. So I left. I won’t be back, not for a long time, at least. Not unless it’s against my will. I hope things get better in the future because I do love you. This is the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time. If you can find it in yourself to love me, too, after everything...wait for me. I’ll do the same.

Love,

Draco

You feel your heart rip to pieces in your chest, the events of last night dawning on you. You had almost hurt him. And now, because of your stupidity in the entirety of yesterday, he left you.

And you have no one left to turn to. 

[the-kings-of-games]

LEARN MY SHIP OT3 EDITION: Stolenshipping!!

Character Profiles:

Reginald “Shark” Kastle - former school bully, former Barian emperor, older twin brother, no nicknames (”Why do you have to call me by my full name? You sound like Rio!” —Shark)

Yuma Tsukumo - World Carnival champion, an angel, savior of the three worlds, one nickname (”I think Shark does it to make fun of me,” —Yūma, pouting)

Kite Tenjo - former Numbers Hunter, Heartland’s protector, big brother, one nickname (”He uses it only to get my attention.” —Kite)

How did it happened: slow and steady wins the race

Falling in love was never a part of the plan, but they couldn’t help but be drawn together. Maybe it was Yūma’s heart, Shark’s kindness, Kite’s tenderness, or a combination of all three that kept them on each other’s paths. (Maybe it was fate, or the heart of the cards.) It didn’t start as love but rather fondness and hope of fixing what was broken. Yūma was what connected the three of them at first, drawing the older boys with his enthusiasm for dueling, but it didn’t take long for Kite and Shark to see the other as the great duelist and gentle person that they are. As older brothers, they respect each other’s dedication towards their younger siblings, and they are equally thankful for Yūma coming into their lives. Their fondness, fueled by their hope, became a budding friendship between all three of them, and slowly, they start realizing that it is also love that they shared with each other. 

Relationship attitude: equally dedicated but shown in different ways

Yūma, Shark, and Kite are very dedicated to each other as they are dedicated to the other people they love. Yūma is very expressive and open about his affections vocally and physically, holding hands, giving kisses, calling his boyfriends’ names with joy. Neither of the older boys will deny his gestures, though they are less likely to initiate something themselves, at least in public. Shark acts like the disinterested boyfriend, doing whatever his significant others want him to do, but he’s always hoping that Yūma would lean against his shoulder or that Kite would talk about his day when they come up. He wouldn't deny them any gesture of affection. Kite prefers the comfort of home to do anything and likes to be in the middle so that he could hold both Yūma and Shark better. ^^ Shark likes to mess around and try to make it so that he and Yūma are holding him instead. ("I’m the big spoon again!” —Yūma) 

Misadventures:  If you lose Yūma, you’ll find him with trouble

Yūma both attracts and makes trouble, and that worries Shark endlessly. Kite is a bit more calm about it, but he will be there if something dangerous maybe occur. Yūma and Vector are still really good friends, and the former lets himself get pulled by the latter's enthusiasm and ideas. They really do have a lot of fun, but they will both get scolded at if anyone adventures done the "Ray Way" gets out of hand. Shark and Kite get in trouble in that they mostly just get involved.

I think I realized a mistake here in that Kite and Shark should be way down on "gets them out of trouble" scale, but honestly, it's pretty funny if those two are guys who go for the least bothersome thing but are just ready to throw down anytime at, like, a hint of an insult towards someone they love. ("Couldn't care less what people say about me. I at least know people won't try saying it to my face. If they talking about Rio, on the hand, that's a different story altogether." —Shark) Them getting into trouble is usually short lived as Kite's the type to deal with things himself and Shark makes sure people understand the first time around.

Handling conflict: perhaps similar, perhaps not at all

Shark doesn't start petty arguments anymore post-series, or at least he tries. Being leader of the former Barians again, he regains that sense of being a good role model; he's a lot more calmer, having more anchors in his life, and because of that, he is also more forgiving of people. One would expect that he at least dislikes Vector after all that the latter has done, but Shark sees that Vector does make Yūma happy and is trying to change himself. He forgives not becuase he understand but becuase he just can. The former Barians have all been through a lot—whole lifetimes, trauma, and hopelessness—so when the chance to make things better comes, Shark takes it because all that is truly all in the past.

Yūma is Yūma; he still easily acts and interacts with people the Ame as always, vocal about his confusion and his frustrations, and so he might get into fights or arguments when meeting new people; however, rarely does it take any offense easily. Having learned a lot about himself over the past year, he gets what's it like to be a bit egotistic, a bit selfish, a bit worried about anything, so he gets why people just say mean things like that. In the end, because of his easy going nature, he ends up making new friends as always!

Kite may be the one nobody should make conflict with. He may have opened his heart and treasure the people who fill his life, but he still does keep strangers at an arm length, wiling to give a hand but never heaisting to tell them to step away. They don't belong in his sphere of comfort so it's harder for him to forgive them, especially for bigger offensive like hurting his friends. He'd let people come at him because he knows he can handle them, and if they think they have the nerves to oppose him, he'd readily teach them a lesson they won't forget. He's the kind of guy who hits back, not first.

.

(Unfortunately, this one won't be as long as my Kizuna one, but if you're curious about the other stuff, feel free to send an ask! I'd love to talk more, just not here, lol. I have a lot of fun with Stolen, they're just great together. I'd like to interact with more Stolenshipping fans. ^^

Here's a fic I wrote them for them, inspired by a fellow Stolenshipper: Numbers Not Letters, rated G)

[striveattemptfail]

Football Vs. Husband: Which Do You Know Better? | Zimbits ft. Tater, G, 1.8k

Summary: Bitty gets quizzed on two of his favourite things: Jack and...... football?

Based on the Buzzfeed video of the same name. Takes place sometime in Sept-Oct 2019. Minor spoilers for 4.25 Faber and 4.26 Check, Please! (If you can call em spoilers LOL.)

Read on Ao3

A/N: Fun fact: At the time I wrote this (2017), it was set in the “future” (2019), but now that year is literally the past for us hahahahahahskfjasldfjasldfjklaskdfj. In the fic summary I say “minor spoilers” because what I originally wrote as wish fulfillment in 2017 became canon in 2020.

Anyway, this is a near verbatim copy of Ned Fulmer getting quizzed on his wife vs football—like fr some of the dialogue is exactly the same LOL. Thanks to @smol0ctopus​ for the beta and the omg stream! please server for advice!<3 Any other mistakes are mine.

YouTube transcript of Football Vs. Husband (Check, Please! #151: A Falconers Special!) [Descriptive captions by biittyyreciipees, airhockeycanbeviolent, and f4lcsboy: Check, Please! Captioning Team]

Eric Hey, y’all! Didja miss me? Because I sure did miss you! Now, today’s video is a lil special. Y’all’ll see that I’ve got myself some lovely guests here from Providence’s own Falconers team. (gestures towards Jack and Tater) Say hi guys!

Tater (waves) Hi!

Jack (single nod, smiles) Hello.

Eric I’ve got here regular guest and my husband, Jack Zimermann, and his teammate, Alexei Mashkov—

Tater But you call me Tater!

Eric (laughs) But we call him Tater! Tater, why don’t you explain what’ll happen here today?

Tater Is collaboration with Falcs TV! We had special tournament to see if players knows their SOAPs more than favorite thing.

ONSCREEN CAPTION SOAPs = Significant Others And Partners, for all y’all non-hockey fans out there! Click here (highlighted annotation inserted) to watch the tournament on the Falconer’s official website or check this video’s description!

Eric I had me such a great time over on Falcs TV with Jack that I wanted to share the fun with y’all here!

Tater (nods) Zimmboni crush everyone in tournament!

ONSCREEN CAPTION “Zimmboni” is Jack’s hockey nickname, like “Tater” is for Alexei. Everyone on the team has one! In fact, I have one too: Bitty! But Alexei likes to call me “B”.

Jack (shrugs, gives small smile) I know history. I know my husband.

Eric (laughs, blushes)

Tater Now, is time to see if B know Zimmboni just as much!

Eric I’m feelin’ pretty confident that I do. What do you think, sweetpea?

Jack I think Bits knows me better than myself, to be honest.

Eric Jack! (blushing again)

Tater Yes, yes, is very cute! But I’m want to ask questions now, yes?

Eric (turns to camera) Now, I tried to get ‘em to quiz me on baking—because y’all and your mama know that I love it—but Jack here insisted that I get asked about football instead.

Jack Baking’s too easy. I figured you’d appreciate the challenge. You know a lot about American football, eh?

Eric (rolls eyes) “American football”—I know y’all in Canada just call it football too! Now, I’d argue, but that’ll take up the rest of this video, so I guess it’s time to get to the quiz!

Tater Yes!

(video transition with dramatic music)

Tater (holds up stack of cards in hands) Here, I’m hold questions about NFL and college football, plus questions about Zimmboni for B to answer. Like during Falcs’ tournament, I’m ask SOAP about their favorite subject first, then ask about their partner. B, is ready?

Eric As I’ll ever be!

Jack Gonna crush it, Bits.

Eric Let’s hope so, sweetheart.

Tater Will be good, B, I’m sure! Question one, name five offensive positions in the NFL.

Eric Lord, how easy—quarterback, running back, wide receiver, offensive tackle, tight end.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater See, B! You be fine! Name five of Zimmboni’s favourite foods.

Eric Ooh, alright. So PB&J sandwiches, chicken tenders... scrambled eggs, uh, cassoulet... (Caption Note: French food pronunciation is not butchered, because food)

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 4/5

Tater One more, B.

Eric Hm, let’s see—

Tater (snickers) Remember this easiest question in stack.

Eric Oh, hush, you.

Jack Bits? Maybe a dessert?

Eric (hits head with base of palm) Oh, goodness me, right! Maple sugar crusted apple pie.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater (nods) Yes. Okay, how many minutes in football quarter?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Quarters in the NFL and NCAA football are 15 minutes.

Eric 15 minutes.

Tater How long is Zimmboni’s pre-game ritual?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 15 minutes max. Like all athletes, hockey players have specific rituals before their games.

Eric About thirty minutes?

Tater (whooping laughter) 15 minutes, max.

Jack (laughs)

Eric (gasps, shakes head) That is not true, that can not be true! Honey, I’ve seen you take 15 minutes making your pre-game PBJ sandwiches. (scoffs)

Jack (makes a face)

Tater Sorry, B. Must give big zero for that question.

Eric (rolls eyes) Hmph!

Tater B, you get 20 seconds—name as many starting quarterbacks in the NFL as possible. Ready, set, go!

Eric Matt Ryan, Aaron Rodgers, Josh Allen, Philip Rivers, Tom Brady—ugh—Baker Mayfield, Derek Carr, Carson Palmer.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 8

Tater Have 10 seconds, name as many as Zimmboni’s lineys when he finally move to first line.

ONSCREEN CAPTION Lineys = Hockey linemates. Fun fact: Jack moved from third to first line during his first season in the Falcs back in 2015!

Eric (opens mouth)

Tater But! Must name them by nickname!

Eric (single nod, determined expression)

Tater Okay? Ready, set, go!

Eric Alright so excluding Jack, that’ll be you, Tater, then we got Marty, Thirdy, Guy, and Snowy if you count the goalies!

Tater (solemnly nods) Always count goalies!

Eric Then that’s five for five. Gettin’ a lil easy there!

ONSCREEN CAPTION Score: 5/5

Tater Haha! Okay, who are on cover of Sports Illustrated for this season’s NFL and college previews?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Jarvis Landry and Odell Beckham Jr. were on the cover for the NFL preview. Trevor Lawrence was on the cover for the college preview.

Eric Oh, Coach and I were just talkin’ about this! I know the NFL preview was Odell Beckham Jr. and Jarvis Landry, but the college preview... (brief pause, placing chin on fist contemplatively) I think it’s Trevor Lawrence?

Tater Correct! What magazine cover did Zimmboni appear on first?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: Trick question! Jack’s first ever appearance on a magazine cover was not as a hockey player. He first appeared on People Magazine as a baby with his parents, Robert “Bad bob” Zimmermann and Alicia Zimmermann.

Eric Can I ask a question?

Tater ...no.

Eric Well, shoot, alright. If you mean his first cover as an athlete, I’ll say Sports Illustrated, but if you mean his first one ever I think it’s People Magazine when he was a baby.

Tater (censored beep) Wow!

Jack (raises eyebrows) You remember that?

Eric Well, you told me! And Alicia did show me when we visited for Christmas one year. (smug smirk)

Jack (covers face in hand, exasperated sigh) Of course she did.

Tater Next question! How many Super Bowl rings does Tom Brady have?

Eric Oh goodness. I think it’s five?

Tater Six!

Eric What?

Tater Is six!

Eric (groans) Of course it’s six. Whatever, it’s fine, I try not to think about Tom Brady anyway. I don’t mind getting this one wrong. In fact, I’m kinda glad because I certainly don’t care for the man. Like, who—

Jack Bits. We’re in the middle of a game right now?

Eric (blushes) Oh, right.

Tater It’s alright, B, haha. But we move on with game now, yes? (single nod) Now, how many rings Zimmboni normally wear?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1.

Eric One! He usually just wears his wedding ring, but today he’s got his 2016 Stanley ring! Wanna show it off, honey?

Jack (sheepishly holds up hands to show the two rings)

ONSCREEN CAPTION Fun fact: The team who wins the Stanley Cup get matching rings. Jack got his first one when the Falcs won the Cup in 2016!

Tater Is tough one now: How many times have the Atlanta Falcons made the playoffs?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 14.

Eric (sighs) Oh Lordy, that's hard. Alright, so by the time I was born they were at five so— (voice continues in fast forward) —they did in ‘98, then... ‘02? After was 2004, not 2005, or ‘06... so the next one was 2008. Then there was that streak from 2010 to 2012. Then the next one was 2016, and then ‘17. Not ‘18 and ‘19. So that’s... (begins to count on fingers)

Tater (back to regular speed, looking impressed) You have answer, B?

Eric I'm gonna go with fourteen as of this year.

Tater (censored beep)!!!

Eric (laughs)

Jack (censored beep), Bittle.

Tater Is amazing! You have both number and years!

Eric I’m Southern, and my daddy’s a football coach. (shrugs) Can’t help it!

Jack (chuckles) This is why I wanted you to answer stuff about the football instead of baking.

Eric (rolls eyes, swats Jack’s arm) Oh, this boy.

Tater Next question! What is most number of times Zimmboni fight in one season?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 3 fights.

Eric Ooh, shoot. I should know this one too, huh? Okay, so his first season he only got in one fight— (voice continues in fast forward) —and second season was also one, I think. After that, uhh, I think he finally got in two. Last year was three maybe? And this season hasn’t even started. But last year? Was it three? I don’t quite—hm.

Tater (back to regular speed) Your answer, B?

Eric I’m gonna go with three fights for last season.

Tater (shaking his head)

Jack What did I say?

Tater (censored beep) Is correct. (huffs) What year did Falcons join the NFL?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1965.

Eric Uhhh, oh goodness, I know Coach told me this at some point... (pause) I think it was 1965?

Tater Correct! What year Zimmboni first try skating?

ONSCREEN CAPTION Answer: 1992. Fun fact: Bad Bob had Jack skating as soon as Jack could walk!

Eric Skating, huh? ‘Cause I’ll bet the son of Bad Bob tried on his first skates before he even turned one, huh? (smiles cheekily)

Jack (nudges with elbow, gives Eric a small smile) Not the question.

Eric Oh alright, not the question. Hmm, I know it was before you turned three so, I’ll say... (drawling out answer) nineteen-ninety... two?

Tater (throws cards out of hand, shaking his head) Is correct again!

Eric Oh my god!

(high pitched sound as Eric fist pumps the air)

Jack (laughs, bringing an arm around Eric before kissing his cheek)

Tater B, I'm frustrate to say you know Zimmboni as much as you know football.

ONSCREEN CAPTION FINAL SCORE: Football = 6, Husband = 6. T I E ! ! !

Jack Knew it. Told you so, Bits.

Eric That sounds like a chirp, and I will not have that on my vlog, Mr. Zimmermann. So with that, I guess we’re done! (looks towards camera, claps once) Well, that about does it for today’s video! Thank you so much to my special guests, Providence Falconers’ Jack Zimermann and Alexei Mashkov, for joining me today. (gestures towards Jack and Tater)

Tater (nods with a wide smile) Thanks for having us, B!

Jack (smiles and nods) Always great to be here.

Eric Be sure to check out the Falcs TV videos too! Link in the description or right over here! (points to space, highlighted annotation inserted) And thanks for tuning in! Next week, I’ll have a new video for y’all on the best ways to add protein to your favourite sandwiches.

(Eric, Jack, and Tater wave at the camera)

Eric Bye, y’all! See ya next time!

(More notes on Ao3.)

[laws-yellow-submarine]

Memories of happier days

One more night at Straw Hat’s ship. Law was sitting in the grass, against the tree.

Who the hell has a tree in their boat anyway?

Caesar Clown was against the mast, dozing off and babbling nonsense. It became routine for Law to watch over the mad scientist, as it was his fault he was there. One Straw Hat kept watch in the Crow’s Nest, and that was all. No yelling, no mess, no chaos from the crew. Night was the only moment Sunny-go had peace.

Yet, Law couldn’t sleep.

For days, now, since they left Punk Hazard. The most he did was some naps, here and there. No one noticed, or said anything.

At least he thought.

Shiro came from the girl’s dorm, swift steps as always, approaching Law. He only acknowledged her presence with a nod, which she returned. Against his will, she sat by his side, respecting his personal space.

Both of them had a normal relationship. Talking when necessary, respect, politeness, no antics. Which, in that particular crew, was almost a miracle.

“If you wish, I can watch over him,” Shiro whispered, a tone he could understand well, and that wouldn’t wake up anyone else. If this was actually possible. “Go catch some sleep.”

“There is no need.”

Law almost heard a sigh from her.

“I could point your appearance, or how lethargic you seem,” she said, quite defiantly. “But what about the fact I haven’t seen you actually sleep? For almost a week now.”

“Remember me again how this is any of your business?”

Law glanced at her, annoyed and pissed. She was right, he was exhausted, which made his humor worse and unstable. Still, she didn’t retreat.

“You are right, it is not.” She held his gaze, not bothered at all with their visual contact. “But I am worried. You need to rest.”

Law double-checked her face, looking for the hidden meaning. Why the hell did she care? She? For him? They never warmed up to each other, besides Law enjoying her company, for she was the only one quiet and ok in that mad crew. And probably she at least tolerated him, looking back at all the times she let him approach her, shielding him from her captain. But never he found any evidence of that particular feeling in her.

“It is easier to say than to do.”

“I see. Is there something that helps you? A hot drink, alcohol? A real bed, instead of grass and a tree? A specific sound?” Shiro averted her gaze, squeezed her hands in her lap. “Do you want some kind of song?”

Law again checked her face, incredulous with her offer. She seemed more embarrassed than him, which did wonders to his humor, easing it. He didn’t know she could actually sing, but he could tease and find out more another time.

Now words just slipped from him.

“I am more used to silence.” Law returned his gaze to the horizon, with Caesar still in his sight. “Complete silence.”

Law just noticed when he no longer had it. The silence. The calm. He always had problems with sleep, but his time with Cora-san was the fewest he managed to sleep well.

The familiar and painful feeling in his chest prevented Law from noticing Shiro’s face. She lit up, like a child at a new discovery. So she could help him. At least try.

She made a flourish gesture that attracted Law’s attention. He felt instead of seeing it. Nothing like his Room, that had a subtle shade of blue, the area surrounding them was like a bubble of pure new air, refreshing and clean. It was the breeze after a storm involving, embracing and comforting him.

“Something like this?” Shiro asked, a smile on her face too proud of herself. Just then Law noticed.

The utter silence. Almost like a pressure in his ear. The waves, or the muffled snoring from the boy’s dorm, or Caesar’s rambling… All gone.

Law could hear his own heart, his blood rushing in his ears. He wondered if Shiro could also listen.

“H-how…”

“I don’t think we had any time to mention, but I am Devil Fruit user too.” Her voice was so soft, whispered with tenderness. It was also powerful, slicing all the silence. “I ate the Kaze Kaze no Mi. I can control air.”

Law felt he was losing it. Something so deep in him was exposed, vulnerable, and so, so happy. He couldn’t dare face Shiro, and somehow he felt he didn’t need it anyway. His heart tighten, as was his throat.

“Since sound needs air to be propagated, I simply create a bubble that-”

Shiro stopped herself. Law didn’t care. He was smart, he could figure it, he just didn’t care. Right now he was lost in memories she could not know about, memories of happier days, she hoped.

Some instinct kicked in, and she reached her hand to his raven hair. Soothing, calm, she patted him.

“It is okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

Law closed his eyes, letting his body sink against the tree. For a second, for a precious second, he felt Cora-san there. His heart ached, bled.

But his heart was also happy. In a way it wasn’t for years.

And then he slept.

Hi Leyna! This is my entry to your 950 followers’ event! The words that appear are Night, Miracle, Care, Heart. If I got it right, they could just pop up, right?

My pseudonim is Shiny Mew (silly, but… Ahn… Yeah, I don’t have a real reason lol). I hope you can at least enjoy it!

Congratulations on your milestone, sweethheart! You deserve it, and I hope you can go even further <3

[blehbleehhhh]

Isis and Osiris 💕🦂(ft. EreMika)

Another lovely reader suggested I do a piece involving mythology of some kind! I've always been really into Egyptian Mythology (Ancient Egypt anything though so so fascinating) Anyway, I was super quick to decide on these two. What I did was write my interpretation of The Osiris Myth with their names in it instead. A few facts that are necessary to know before you continue: the original gods of ancient Egypt were Osiris, Isis, Set, Horus, and Nephthys. The myth is basically Set tricks Osiris to his demise, Isis revives Osiris, etc. ancient.eu is a great website, I recommend if you're interested in learning more! Greek Mythology is amazing too, don't get me wrong, just, idk, enjoy the story. Keep requesting and thank you for the lovely comments💕

ps: I LOVE Jean, lol, so this was hard! But he and Eren always fucking fight so.

pps: dedicated to anyone who catches the Supernatural references ;)

Cast:

Eren - Osiris

Mikasa - Isis

Jean - Set

Hitch - Nephthys

"All seems to be going well." Mikasa smiles as she comes up behind her loving husband while he sits in a chair on the balcony overlooking their flourishing kingdom. The sun is low as it rests on the horizon and reflects its dazzling rays across the mighty Nile River. Egyptian citizens stand in the shallows with pails gathering fresh, clean water for drinking and cooking. "Humanity has a perfect, stable climate to thrive in and resources are always bountiful." She slowly moves her hand down the front of his exposed muscular chest that's still deliciously lean. As gods they have their duties and obligations, all of which lie with maintaining that perfect climate and the plentifulness of resources. Everything has been a paradise since the power couple were crowned as King and Queen of Egypt because they take their roles so seriously. It's undeniably their purpose.

"We must maintain this, my queen," Eren relaxes back in his seat from her touch and sighs with content. "They're counting on us to watch over and keep them safe."

"And we will." She assures as gracefully walks around the chair to sit in her husband's lap and rests her cheek on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her back and reaches up to carefully play with her soft black hair. "Nothing is more important than maintaining this order so there remains no injustices and everyone stays equal."

"That is why we rule together," He chuckles softly into her hair and kisses the top of her head. "We have the same goals when it comes to caring for our people."

"Must we go to that party this evening? I think I'd rather stay here.." Her finger traces small patterns on his chest and he smiles, amused at the way she's speaking so innocently.

"Unfortunately, yes. Jean mentioned he had something important to show me, though I would much rather be in bed with you. Maybe we can leave right afterwards and return to messy up the clean sheets?"

"I would love that." Mikasa lifts her head to look into dazzling emeralds and places her hand on his cheek, then bumps their foreheads together gently.

"Oh, how I love you."

"And I you.." She smiles and presses her lips to his to share a deep, loving smooch that's slow and tender. Tongues collide between kisses as her fingers slide up into his hair and he rests his arm over her legs, allowing his hand to slowly wander on soft skin not covered with the skirt of her dress. Words cannot describe how much the couple crave each other, they've never been able to keep their hands to themselves when they're together, but there's quite a time constraint because of the large dinner party they have invitations to this evening. It's not as if they don't have practice stowing their sexual tension on the back burner to make something more important their first priority, whatever that may be. In this case it's a celebration being thrown by Jean, who wouldn't normally bother to invite the one guy he despises more than anything. But the envy in his heart is real and it's all because of his brother's undeniable success - humanity is thriving under Eren's powerful rule as a just, generous, and giving god of life, so the decision to take him out was an easy one. Especially after his wife later became pregnant with a baby that wasn't of his seed, though he still isn't aware that Eren had been tricked into this with a cruel spell that made her appear to be Mikasa. It wouldn't matter if he did know anyhow since his brother is dead to him now and all he wants is revenge.

Perhaps that's why Jean went to all the trouble of having a coffin constructed with his brother's exact height. He plans to do the unthinkable and kill his own flesh and blood because if anyone is going to be Lord of Life, it's going to be him, certainly not Eren. "And so anyone who can fit in this beautiful coffin shall receive it free as a gift." Jean gestures to the box made from stone, the thin gold sheets that were beautifully pressed into it reflect the glimmer from candlelight. The necessary symbols have already been painted on its entirety so his brother's soul has the directions it needs to navigate the afterlife. Many party guests lined up to participate including the one this coffin is intended for and his wife, who cuddles into him drunkenly while he keeps a protective arm around her shoulders. She smiles and rests her cheek on his bicep while he speaks with other attendees, both of them blissfully unaware of the events that are soon to take place. And just as anticipated, Mikasa very quickly became the one most horrified when the coffin's lid was slammed shut and fastened so tightly, that its a guarantee his victim won't be able to escape.

"Jean! What in the name of all creation are you doing?!" Mikasa cries as she grabs onto him desperately and uses all of her strength to throw him off, hoping that if the coffin was dropped that perhaps it would crack open. "Have you lost your mind?! That's my husband! Release him immediately!" But a few of Jean's friends were waiting on the sidelines for his cue to restrain her, something that wasn't an easy task by any means because she insists on throwing herself around, kicking, screaming, and crying hysterically. It was necessary for him to get the coffin outside, however, and she did manage to get away long enough to reach the outside of the palace. She watches with blurry eyes, screaming for her husband as the coffin is cruelly tossed into The Nile River to be carried out to sea, where it was eventually lodged in a mighty tamarisk tree in Bybalos that grew to consume it rather quickly.

The King and Queen of Bybalos walk together along the beach shoreline. They were drawn here during their daily stroll by a sweet scent emanating from the tamarisk tree and ordered it to be cut down and made into a ornamental pillar for the palace. Unbeknownst to the royal family, a goddess mourns terribly over her husband's death and, after following the river, she has found her way to Bybalos. She's already in a new form in order to disguise her true identity - an elderly woman who wails in grief over her missing love. His body is somewhere nearby, she can feel it, and her heart calls to him whether he's alive or not. Little did she know, there were a few young women standing nearby watching her with sad eyes. "Excuse me, madam?" One says sweetly, and Mikasa immediately turns to see the two of them wearing looks of true concern. They are clearly handmaidens from their attire. "Are you alright?"

"Have you a home to live in?" The other asks.

"Oh, I-I don't want to be a burden.."

"Nonsense! We insist!" And so The Queen of the Throne, disguised as a normal, elderly woman, was kindly taken in by the King and Queen of Bybalos. She was asked to be the nursemaid for their three young boys who had really taken a liking to her, a task that she rather enjoyed and took very seriously. Mikasa favored the youngest son in particular, though, and decided that she would make him immortal through a bath of holy fire. But the lady of the house caught such a terrifying act right before the ceremony could proceed and she was understandably horrified.

"What are you doing with my baby boy?!"

"Please, this is not as it seems." She says calmly as she transforms into her normal form, a sight so beautiful and mighty to behold that they were afraid for their lives. "I am the goddess, Mikasa, and I truly mean you no harm."

"W-well, what is it you want?"

"I only want my husband. The tree you made your beautiful ornamental pillar from was the one he died in and his body is still trapped."

"Oh, dear!" The Queen says, stepping back from the doorway leading out into the parlor where the pillar is displayed. "Please, help yourself. Our condolences for King Eren's passing.."

"Thank you. You're all very kind." Mikasa gently touched her palm to the foreheads of each family member and cured them of all ailments to show her gratitude, one of them had been stuck in bed for years with crippling pain that is now gone. She doesn't even do it for the praise, it's never been about that for her and Eren. In fact, that's why they were paired together by their creator, because he knew this power couple will put the needs of humanity before their own. But just this one time, Mikasa chooses to be selfish and shuts herself out from that world to focus on carrying her husband's lifeless body back to Egypt. She assumes her half falcon form and carries them both through the air as tears stream down her face. "No, no, no, no..." Not him, not my Eren. She says to herself and swallows hard as she looks down at his face, paler than before with slightly blue lips from suffocating. "I can't go on without you.." Mikasa whispers to him, and her voice quivers as she lands gracefully in the fertile Nile River Delta with him in her arms. Her wings slowly fade as she carefully sits with him on the ground, his upper half resting in her lap. She kisses his forehead and wraps her arms around his shoulders, sobbing and wailing in agony like she has been torn in half. It hurts deeply to see him lifeless. "You were alive an hour ago! This can't be!"

"Mikasa?" Hitch calls from behind her. "Is that Eren?! What on Earth happened?!" She approaches slowly and crouches down beside her sister with a look of horror.

"Jean happened. I must revive my husband so, if you'll excuse me, I have herbs to gather."

"Of course, anything you need. I'll stay here with his body and make sure nothing happens."

"Thank you." It was strange how Mikasa can look at her with teary eyes but such a cold expression. Though she and Eren have always been inseparable, so it shouldn't be that much of a surprise that she's so heartbroken. They were supposed to be together until the end of time, and perhaps this can still happen if she is able to gather the herbs she needs for a spell that will bring him back to her. I can't live without him by my side. She thinks as she searches desperately for supplies, tears rolling down her cheeks and falling to the ground, creating little flower buds that sprout from the ready Earth below.

Meanwhile, Jean had gotten wind of his brother's return and Mikasa's intentions, so he went out to search for them. He came across his wife Hitch, who was pacing impatiently along The Nile's coastline clearly feeling bothered by something. And he's pretty sure that he knows what it is. "Thinking about how you cheated on me?" Jean asks plainly. A simple question and yet she found herself unable to speak. "So, where's his body?" He studies her eyes and takes note of the hesitation that makes her avert his probing gaze.

"Where's whose body?" Hitch cracks her knuckles anxiously and looks down at the ground, only for him to gently grab her chin and force her to look into his eyes.

"Don't. I know you know where Eren's body is, so where is it?"

"I-"

"Where is his body, Hitch?"

"Jean.." Her eyes fill up with tears. Perhaps if she apologizes, this will all be over. "I'm -"

"I love you and I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I need to. So I'll ask you one last time, where did you and Mikasa hide that dirt bag's body?" Jean repeats much louder than before but just as emotionless. She eventually caves in and guides him to the hiding spot, not at all anticipating what her vengeful husband proceeded to do next. The body was hacked into multiple pieces then scattered throughout the land and dumped into The Nile River. Jean simply walks away without even looking at her because he finds that he doesn't care what she thinks anymore. Why put in the effort if there clearly isn't anything there? Mikasa strolls by carrying a basket full of herbs intended to bring her husband back to life and was angered to see his murderer. When she realized that he was covered in blood but his own body was absent of any wounds, it's understandable why she feared the worst. Much to her rel͏i͏e͏f, Hitch is very much alive and in one piece, but that also means something horrific has happened to Eren's body to make her sister look like that - shaking, paler than a ghost, and weeping after she's already cried a great deal.

"You were supposed to protect him!"

"He just..I-I didn't think that he would..."

"We must hurry and find every part of Eren's body!" Mikasa cries as she sets the basket of herbs on the ground. The twin sisters sprout their wings and take off in a frantic search for all of his body parts. Unfortunately, the way that the power couple had originally intended to conceive will now be impossible once Eren is revived, because all but one body part was successfully recovered. They return to the fertile Nile River marshes where his body is sewn back together and buried in the wetland up to his chin. Mikasa creates her concoction and with help from her sister, they performed the powerful spell, sending visible waves of energy brighter than the full moon into his body. The raven's tears fall to the Earth and he takes a sharp inhale before he sits up to cough aggressively, the marshland falling from his body. "Oh! Eren! My love!" She sobs into her hand as she watches him turn and meet her eyes, emerald green orbs so bright and lively that they took her breath away.

"Mikasa!" Eren says with genuine shock to his voice and opens his arms for her to embrace him tightly. He looks over her shoulder at Hitch with tears in his eyes and wraps his arms tightly around Mikasa's waist. "What the hell happened?"

"We revived you!" She sits back and gazes into his eyes, smiling and chuckling softly in disbelief. "I-I didn't think it would take because you were hacked to pieces, but here you are..."

"But my body, I feel it is not complete?"

"I'm afraid it's not, I'm so sorry, I couldn't find your -"

"Our creator..." Eren cuts her off, looking down at his body to see the sutures. "I met him. He said that our future son will be strong enough to defeat Jean and restore order to the chaos he has caused."

"But without your..." Mikasa sighs and wipes tears from her eyes, wracking her mind for some sort of a solution that could bring her husband peace. It is her duty as his wife, after all.

"The ritual...flying form," Hitch suggests as she places her hand on Mikasa's shoulder. "Perhaps it'll work?" She offers a small smile to her sister and watches her stand to sprout her beautiful, colorful wings once more. Soaring through the sky in rapid circles over his body, the seed is drawn out and brought into her own so she could become pregnant with their first and only child. With the power of the gods, a baby boy was now growing rapidly inside of Mikasa as she kneels beside her husband, trying desperately not to burst into tears because he is insisting that he has work to do in the afterlife.

"Our little boy will grow to be a warrior with or without me because he has you. You're just as fierce as I am. More so, even."

"Let's get you back to the palace, love, I'll take care of you.." Mikasa repeats for a second time as tears fall down her cheeks.

"We will be together again," Eren says calmly and carefully cradles her cheek in his hand. "Death won't keep us apart forever, then we will have all of eternity to spend together." He gives her a reassuring smile and reaches up to gently push her hair back as she leans in and presses her lips to his. Although she was most certainly reluctant to let him go, Mikasa knows that this is something he must do. And if their creator has instructed him to be leader of the afterlife, to be the judge and the jury of every soul that will come his way, then who is she to tell him otherwise? It was only a single day after Eren descended down to take on his new role that their little boy was born. But Mikasa feared for his safety around Jean because he's half of the man he hates the most, so she hid with him in The Nile River Marshes. She took care of her son, a son of two powerful gods,  during the short time required for a youngster to become full grown.

The day that their son left his mother spelled the end for Jean, who had already become somewhat of a tyrant. It's understandable how he gained control so quickly, since the boy's powerful parents have been more than preoccupied lately with their own issues - ones that made it difficult to put their loyal, loving subjects first for once. This young man is powerful, very powerful, and his uncle doesn't stand a chance against him. He gets the ultimate revenge for his father's murder and kills Jean, though it seemed pointless because he knows that won't bring his old man back. But it truly didn't matter, because now his mother Mikasa, the great Queen of the Throne and mother to all pharaohs is back in power once more. They rule together as mother and son, and everything returns to the way things were when her husband was alive - no crimes of any kind, plentiful resources, plenty of jobs and money. It's a paradise.

Meanwhile, in the afterlife, Eren sits on his throne and listens to pleas for mercy from a poor soul whose heart felt so guilty, that the feather went up in record timing. The pleas don't matter, not with the efficiency that comes from weighing guilt. He was crowned as The Lord of The Underworld and now sports green skin to symbolize the mighty Nile River and the fertility of its mud. The afterlife is running smoothly under Eren's control and when his beautiful wife Mikasa takes her throne beside him after her time is up, they will be together again.

Until the end of time.

[lisinfleur]

Yours Truly

Author’s Notes | I would like to thank @honestsycrets for helping me to choose the plot for this one! Angst, as always! I’m the angst queen!!! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking Age AU, Sigurd’s Wife! Reader, requested by @lol-haha-joke for 5CW5 Words | 2135 ⁑ Warnings: ANGST. Mentions of death.

Hvitserk was always the closest companion you ever had. Despite he had become a little distant after your marriage to dear Sigurd, Hvitserk was your friend since...

Since ever.

You were happy he was back. You couldn't remember how it was your life without him around.

But now you would have to imagine your life without your precious bardic prince. And it was destroying your heart. Losing Sigurd in that battle was from far the worst thing that ever happened to you. You were waiting for him to come back with his brothers to tell him the great news about your pregnancy. And from a moment to another, what was supposed to be a beautiful return became a terrible nightmare. Your beloved husband would never come back. He would never hold you in his arms again and you would never tell him about the child the two of you made together. There wouldn't be his songs to soothe your heart or lullabies to your child's dreams. Only the silent tears that poured from your face when the awful news arrived with the first of their boats.

The city was celebrating their victory and conquers, but you closed yourself in your cabin and held Sigurd's cloak, crying yourself to sleep while the music was echoing outside, begging the gods you could find your beloved prince in Valhalla where he was now feasting with the gods.

However, a warm fur was over your body when you woke up the next morning. Sigurd's cloak was still in your hands remembering that wasn't an awful dream, but you had no shoes on your feet and someone has loosened your hair from the tight braid. And closed your curtains.

There was the smell of fresh coffee and warm milk coming from the kitchen and you got up from your bed, still wrapped on Sigurd's cloak to see your dearest friend walking around in your kitchen, preparing some breakfast for the two of you.

Your eyes filled with tears once again and you ran to him, hiding into Hvitserk's embrace - the safest place of the whole Midgard. Your sobs engulfing you, all your pain stamped on your face.

Hvitserk held you tight. You felt his hand running through your hair with that tenderness only he had to treat you. He kissed your forehead and carried you to the couch where you shrunk against his body and cried the whole sadness of your heart.

During the whole time you needed to cry, Hvitserk allowed you to expose the pain of your heart, silently wiping your tears and holding your body against his. When your cry became sobs, he lifted your face, looking into your eyes.

"He told me to take care of you," he mumbled, seeing the line of tears in your eyes becoming thicker once again. "He told me he loved you with his whole life. And that he'll be waiting for you in Valhalla when the time comes for him to have you back into his arms."

Tears poured from your eyes and Hvitserk's fingers wiped it once again, caressing your face softly.

"But he also asked me something I don't know how to do."

His eyes became full of agony and he lowered his head, trying to find the right words to fulfill his brother's last request.

"Tell me, Hvitserk," you said, intending to soothe his heart the same way he always did to yours.

Your fingers softly lift his face and he looked at you one more time, insecure, swallowing dry when the words came out of his mouth in a low voice, almost a whisper.

"He told me to stop lying to you," Hvitserk said, shocking you with that information.

Your eyes became wide and you leaned your head, not understanding, confused by that information.

What was he lying about?

Why was he lying to you?

Hvitserk noticed your expression and his thumb slid through your check with such tenderness you remembered Sigurd's passionate touches to your face. Like many times before, Hvitserk touched his forehead to yours and sighed, closing his eyes as if he was afraid it was the last time you would allow him that simple gesture - almost a mark of your relationship with him.

"I know, you're asking yourself what lies could I have told you. What secrets could be kept in between us? I tell you, Y/N... There is a secret. The most deeply buried secret I held for all these years since the first time you told me your heart belonged to my brother in that clearing on the woods."

You remembered that afternoon. Sun was retiring herself from the sky, giving place to the stars and the darkness of the night. You and Hvitserk were laid on the ground looking at the sky through the open space in between the trees and you confessed him you loved his brother despite what Ivar could say about him. You remembered how silent Hvitserk was in your way home that day. How he provided his brother to come with him in the next encounter he settled with you near the lake. How he left that day without leaving a trace after putting you and Sigurd together.

The two of you never spent a whole afternoon under the sky speaking nothings once again, but you thought it was because you started to dedicate some time to your brand new relationship with Sigurd and despite the small distance, Hvitserk never stopped smiling at you, talking to you or even being a part of your life, like a friend. Your best friend.

And your best friend lied to you... Why?

His voice continued, low and hoarse, as his thumb was still caressing your face softly.

"I never told you the truth because I never wanted to be a burden in your heart. I never wanted to hurt you or make you think the pure love I saw in your eyes for my little brother was something bad. Sigurd never had anything but your heart and he loved you so purely, that I decided to keep my secret buried into my heart, so you would never know that, like him, I loved you with my whole soul."

His words shattered your mind in a million pieces. Millions of memories that flooded your head with scenes and thoughts that were completely senseless to you, but now, were making sense in his words.

The many times Hvitserk's smile became smaller when you and Sigurd exchanged kisses or caresses near him. The way something broke in Hvitserk's eyes when you told him you would get married to his brother and you wanted him to be your man of trust. Or the way he was looking at you through your whole marriage party, barely drinking, leaving alone instead of picking a girl to himself as you got used to seeing him do in every party you were with your husband.

Every scene, every small smile or strategic withdrawal... Every relationship too short, small adventures, the lack of a spouse in his life even when so many women were offering themselves to occupy the place he left empty year after year... Everything was because his heart already had an owner. And it was yours.

And you never saw...

"Hvitserk..." you mumbled, so full of guilt, but his index and middle finger touched your lips and he kept speaking, caressing your face softly without ever allowing your forehead to leave his.

"Please, listen. This is the hardest moment of my life, but I promised my brother I would tell you the truth. I promised Sigurd before he closed his eyes in my hands, I would give it to you and be true about what you mean to me. It's not your fault nor I ever cursed your love or your marriage. Instead, I thanked the gods every day my brother loved you back and the two of you were happy together. I asked the gods every day for the child you're carrying in your belly as the midwives warned me last night, worried about your state. I was happy for you found your happiness and Sigurd found love into your arms. But I can't lie anymore... I loved you. I still do. I'll always do, even knowing your heart belongs to him. Even knowing you'll sit beside his chair when the time for our meeting comes. I just ask you to let me fulfill the promise I made with the last words my brother heard before the Valkyries came to take him home."

His eyes opened, looking straight into yours. There was so much agony, so much anxiety and even then... So much love into them...

"Let me take you, Y/N, as my wife and companion. Let me care for the family my brother begged me to care for. I don't expect you to love me, but you're my best friend before being the love I'll never forget. Let me care for you, for this child. And even knowing I will never have your heart completely, let me be with you in this life for I know no other woman will ever care for me as you do." he said, surprising you with his ask.

It wasn't something uncommon a brother to take the deceased other's wife. And with Sigurd's child in your belly, you knew you would be alone. There was no other man on Midgard you trusted more than Hvitserk and your beloved husband and now, without him, your sweet friend was everything you had.

What he was asking was so small in the face of what you desired for him. You wanted so hard Hvitserk had fallen for a good woman. How many times did you ask the gods for a woman who would care for him the way you thought he deserved?

Maybe they were answering you with the obvious: no one would do it as you could.

You touched his face softly, caressing it with tenderness. You didn't love him back, not the same way you could see in his eyes - closing just to feel the soft touch of your fingers on his skin. But you loved him deeply, you cared for him like anyone else. And you could grow to love him someday, for Hvitserk surely had his place in your heart.

In his arms, you would feel safe. And he wouldn't prevent you from telling your child who was his legit father or how deep was the love with which he was made. Hvitserk would never feel offended with you telling your child the tales of his father and instead, he would by himself tell your child about who was his little brother and how brave was your beloved prince.

Sigurd knew that.

He knew no other woman would ever care for his brother as you would. He knew no other man would ever care for you as Hvitserk would. He knew you loved him as you would never love anyone else, but Hvitserk would be able to reach your heart. He knew Hvitserk would never love anyone else as he loved you, but you would be able to accept his heart. Sigurd knew how to use his last moments and even in with his last breath, he loved you and his brother with everything he had.

You knew what he wanted with the promises he asked from Hvitserk. And you decided to accept the last gift of your beloved prince, softly leaning yourself into Hvitserk's arms, feeling the relief in his breath when he noticed the truth didn't have caused you to shove him away forever.

"I have pain in my heart," you said in a small voice. "You have suffered for years. We soothe each other's pain until the gods decide to reunite us all once again. I have two sides, Hvitserk, and my heart two halves. I'll never forget my beloved Sigurd. But you always had your place in my heart."

Hvitserk kissed your forehead, respectfully. And caressed your face softly.

"I'll honor my brother's memory and raise his son or daughter to be a good man or woman in his name. His child will carry on his legacy and I promise you, I'll care for his treasures for they were also mine. I don't want you to ever forget him for I know how much you loved Sigurd. But I promise you I'll heal the pain in your heart, my sweet love."

With this said, Hvitserk hid you into his embrace and you nestled your face to the crook of his neck. There would always be that empty space in your life and you would always miss the songs of your beloved prince, but you were safe and so was his memory beside your sweet and beloved friend.

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[mouneemoon]

room 43 | myg

genre: angst, (light) smut pairing: yoongi x reader word count: 1.8k summary: “you are my soulmate but i can’t flee with you.” brothel au. brief mentions of dubious consent to sex, underage prostitution.

read the rest of the star crossed series: seokjin | yoongi | hoseok | namjoon | jimin | taehyung | jungkook

n/a: second installation of the series (though, I probably won’t follow their age order lol). I’m almost forgetting to post these. but! I’m looking forward to writing them all as I have them planned out and I want to make the series at least decent, since the soulmates thing is a rlly important theme for me eheh. tell me what you think of this one!

Thursdays are the days you look forward to the most.

On Thursdays, the place is always quieter for some reason – being the fact that people are busier with their lives, or they simply don’t really feel like coming here. You’ve never really wrapped your finger around it, but you guess that since you can do nothing about it, you’re considering it kind of a rest day. Customers would usually flock in at around 9pm, but on Thursdays, they begin to come in at 11pm, or at times, they would not come at all. So, Thursdays always felt like a collective day off for you and your coworkers, and none of you complained about that.

But considering that the place doesn’t close despite the slow flow of customers, Thursdays are work days nonetheless. While some of your coworkers don’t have clientele at all, you always have that one customer that comes on Thursdays only. He always comes at 11pm sharp, his polished shoes clacking on the floor as he steps inside the lobby. You’ve grown so accustomed to that now that you recognize the pace of his steps immediately, and when you look up from where you are sitting with Jinhee as you always do on Thursdays, your lips stretch into a smile because your favorite customer has finally arrived.

You know you are Min Yoongi’s favorite. He hasn’t been around for long – his first visit probably dates back to five or six months prior – but you’ve grown fond of him as quickly as he has of you. You stand up, your hands locked on your lap, head slightly hung low but your eyes shyly trained on his familiar stance. And you catch his gaze fixed on you as he tells Jinhee his personal details for her to fill the papers in with – though it has long become a formality, since Jinhee has been around for enough Thursdays to remember them by heart, and to know he wants you and no one else. Thursdays have always been Jinhee’s turn to be at the counter, too.

Once all the papers have been filled out, she hands him the key to room 43 – your room, the one at the top of the building, from which you can get a slice of the pretty night view of the city, the lights of the buildings blinking at you through the see-through curtains of the windows. Yoongi places his hand at the bottom of your spine, guiding you to the elevator and through the hallways of the building – a gesture that you’ve long grown fond of.

Your room is as silent as you left it.Yoongi stops your hand from reaching the light switch, pulling you towards him until your back molds into his warm chest, the door shutting close behind you and leaving you both wrapped in darkness. The only source of light comes from the city outside the windows. The pieces of furniture are mere indistinguishable silhouettes against the walls. The overall reddish tones of the wallpapers dulled by the lack of light.

“You smell good,” he breathes, face buried in the junction between your neck and your shoulder.

“Hello to you too,” you chuckle, leaning your head against his, smiling a bit. You stay there like that for a few seconds.

Most of your customers like to get straight to sex – you are expensive and your time is limited. They have to make most out of what they paid for by stepping in a brothel, and they know you are good at that. None of them has ever complained about your services, neither to you nor to anyone else. If they liked it fast and rough, you would have given it to them fast and rough, and over the time you have learned the patterns of some of your regulars.

With Yoongi, though, it was never the same. His mood changed every now and then. He would be dominating and in control one day, and loving and worshipping another. It was disorienting for you at first, but with time you learned to adjust to him, and ultimately coming to look forward to his next visit.

Tonight, he seems to want to take it slow. Breathing in your scent, holding you tenderly, as if he hasn’t just paid for your time, as if he wasn’t a mere client. It’s a nice change of pace. “Sorry for not coming the last couple of weeks,” he whispers, tracing the side of your neck with his nose. It tickles you slightly. “Had some business dinners coming up.”

You nod, relief washing over you. You did notice that he hadn’t come in the past two weeks, and you have grown a bit anxious about his absence, nearly giving in and asking Jinhee for his contacts from when he filled in the papers all the time, so that you could call him and make sure that he was okay. But he’s back and he’s yours again – you can positively say that, because you know he doesn’t ask for anyone else but you. This kind of exclusiveness is somehow comforting. “It’s okay. Business is more important than I am.”

He doesn’t reply, and you believe that there’s nothing else to say. “You are important, too,” he whispers ultimately, running his thumb in circles on your stomach against the silk of your dress. You furrow you brows in confusion, but he doesn’t see it. “I missed you. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” you say, voice dripping honey and velvet, knowing it would turn him on. But you don’t feel him smirking against your skin like he always does. Instead, he detaches himself from you and spins you around to face him. You are a tad surprised by it.

“No,” he says, his facial features softening as he rests his hands on your hips and keeps his eyes on yours. The light of the city outside the window illuminates part of his face, and you find him ten times more attractive than usual for some reason. “I really mean it. I’ve been thinking about you.”

You look up at him as his words sink a little too quickly in your head. You know that he’s trying to cross the line again. It already happened before. You are not sure when it started, but you know that from time to time, whether he was filling you to the brink or just talking sweetly in your ear, he would let his feelings slip out. At first you used to feel him tense, but with time it became natural, and you bathed in the attention, letting your mind think that this was how the whole thing was supposed to be – you feeling free to reciprocate.

He never spoke about the word “love” before, but you are pretty sure it’s always been on the tip of his tongue. The feeling was there.

“Yoongi,” you call out to him, and you see in his eyes that he knows what you are about to say. “Let’s not go there. We are wasting your money and time.”

You catch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. “Yeah, right. Sorry.”

He knows all too well what the unspoken rules of the brothel are. Fall in love with someone in there, and you are damned for life. Because love is not what it is about, especially not when it has to live up to the name of one of the most prestigious red light streets of the city. The brothel is about sex, sex and pleasure and money and nothing else. You realize this once again as you kneel in between Yoongi’s legs, running your hands up his thighs, and decide to push those thoughts away.

Yet, you still feel that Yoongi is different. His touches are different and his words are different and his gaze is different. It makes you fantasize about the life out of here, about what ifs and what nots, about Yoongi and you meeting under different circumstances. Would you be attracted to each other the same? You like to think you would. You like to think that he would still want you, stare in your eyes as he draws orgasm after orgasm out of you and bathe in the delicious afterglow with you, breath ghosting over your breasts and hands holding you.

“We still have one hour left,” you whisper, breathless, as you glance at the clock, its digits signalling that it’s only half past midnight. “Do you want another round?”

“No,” he sighs, and you look at him confusedly. “I want to sleep. Spend time with you.”

You don’t say a thing. You are never sure what to do when he says stuff like that, and you just lie there, unmoving, holding him as he buries his face in your neck for a few minutes. He slips out of you once his breath has evened out, standing on his two feet and heading for the bathroom, from which he emerges seconds later with a towel in hand. He gets you both cleaned up, wiping at your inner thighs with a tenderness that you are not used to. When he gets back to bed and folds you back into his chest, you let out a contented sigh.

“You are too good to be in here, Yoongi,” you mumble, getting comfortable in his arms.

“So you are. That makes two of us,” he chuckles, and you can’t help but smile quietly. He waits a few seconds before speaking again. “You know that I can always help you get out from here.”

You breathe in the scent of his cologne, closing your eyes. Yoongi is a man of power. He could easily buy your way out of the brothel if he wanted to. If you wanted him to. But you always refused because—

“You know that I can’t bring myself to do that,” you sigh. “Who would look after the kids if I left? I know how it feels to be sixteen and step inside a place like this without understanding what’s right and what’s wrong – even when your body is sold. I don’t want them to think that they are just… objects. I had my fair share of experience.”

“I know,” he says. “I just want you to get what you deserve. And it’s surely not this place.” He pulls away from you and looks at you in your eyes. “I can give you way more than this.”

He’s not lying. You know what Yoongi’s lies sound like. His lies are the façade he puts on at the counter of the brothel, in front of Jinhee, as he recites his personal details with a cool, detached tone. His lies sound nothing like the tender, nostalgic way he talks to you, and you almost want to cry because he’s good, so good to you, that you actually want to flee with him, away from room 43, from the brothel, from the city. But of course, you can’t.

You smile sadly, tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. “Maybe another time.”

[pikapeppa]

For DWC: "Good, Chasing, Prayers," for Blackwall and Arya?

Thank you for this prompt! I realized recently that I don’t really write much of Arya and Blackwall talking - I just go straight to the sex LOL??! So here is them having a lil’ conversation BEFORE the sex. Bahaha.

For @dadrunkwriting Friday. Read here on AO3:tinyurl.com/baewall3

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The hour is late, and Skyhold’s grounds are silent and still. The chapel is deserted at this hour of night, and Blackwall is grateful.

He gazes at the candles. Their tiny flames flicker and dance, casting shadows across Andraste’s granite robes. It’s silent and peaceful here, and of course that’s the point; the people of the Inquisition come here for peace, for answers, for comfort and for hope.

Blackwall awkwardly folds his arms. He has not set foot in a chapel or a Chantry for years. When Thom Rainier was a boy, he prayed before bed every day - the kinds of selfish prayers only a small boy could provide: Please, Maker, make me big and strong. Make me the best swordsman in all the Free Marches.

Then Thom became a man. He became big and strong, and he won the Grand Tourney. And he had no use for prayers anymore. He was a hero, a lauded swordsman across the Free Marches. Prayers were for people who didn’t have the strength to take what they wanted, and Thom Rainier was nothing of the sort.

Then Thom became a murderer. He became a coward, and he abandoned his men, and he hid behind another man’s name instead. And he had no right to pray anymore. Prayers were for those who sought forgiveness, and Thom Rainier deserved nothing of the sort.

Then Thom became Arya Lavellan’s lover, and more importantly, her shield.

Now, many years after his last foray onto sacred ground, these two crucial roles have compelled him to pray once more.

He heaves a heavy sigh, then lowers himself to one knee and looks up at Andraste’s stone face. I don’t remember how to do this, he thinks. It’s been so long, and the only canticles that stick in his mind are ones of glory and battles victorious. He supposes they might be appropriate; the Inquisition begins the march to the Arbour Wilds in the morning, after all. But glory is the last thing on Blackwall’s mind.

Safety and protection. These are his greatest concerns, the ones that nibble at his mind and make his heart tremble in his chest. These are the wishes he has for Arya, the ones that sit in his clasped hands and the tip of his tongue, and these are the favours he finally asks.

He bows his head. Please, he thinks. Please, Lady Andraste, if you are there… watch over the Inquisitor tomorrow and keep her safe. Don’t let any harm come to her.

He trails off, feeling awkward and unsure. It almost feels like he’s telling the Maker’s Bride to do his job; Blackwall is Arya’s shield and her shelter, after all. It’s his responsibility to keep her safe.

So he bows his head once more and tries again. Lady Andraste, he prays, Give me the strength to keep her safe. Let me stand between her and her enemies, and let any injuries fall on me instead.

The chapel is silent, and the candles flicker still, and Blackwall lifts his head to study the statue’s still and stony face. Then he hears the creaking of the door.

He swiftly rises to his feet and turns. The heavy wooden door inches open, and Arya pokes her head inside.

Her gamine face creases into a smile, and then her slender elven form is slipping through the door. She’s wearing her favourite red dressing down, and her bare feet are silent on the stones as she makes her approach.

“Here you are,” she says. “I found your note on the pillow. Then I got too cold to wait. You’re my favourite source of heat, you know.” Her smile grows mischievous as she sidles up to him.

Blackwall bashfully scratches his beard, feeling oddly caught out. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he says. “I was just…” He trails off, feeling more embarrassed by the moment. Arya has always denied being the Herald of Andraste, and she’s not particularly adherent to Dalish beliefs either. What if she thinks him strange for coming here? He thinks himself strange, after all.

She wanders over to Andraste’s statue and takes a seat on the dais, and her words address his very thoughts. “I haven’t seen you come here before,” she says. “I didn’t think you really believed in the Maker.”

“I… do,” he says hesitantly. “I think. It’s… hard to say.” He rubs the back of his head. Of all the strange and unsettling things they’ve seen and done, nothing has disproven the Maker’s existence. But nothing has proven it, either. And yet, Corypheus had told Arya that the Golden City was empty…

She tilts her head curiously, and Blackwall sits at his lover’s feet on a lower step of the dais. “I don’t know, Arya. I don’t know what to think half the time. But… it doesn’t really matter, does it? I just…” He shrugs. “I suppose I thought that praying can’t hurt.” He drops his eyes to his hands, feeling more foolish than ever.

She leans toward him, and her slender archer’s fingers slide across his hand. “Blackwall, what’s wrong?” she says softly. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”

Yes, he thinks, but the words remain locked behind his lips. He doesn’t want to add his worries to the weight on her shoulders; she carries enough burdens already. The dark circles beneath her lovely amethyst eyes are proof of this.

He places his hand over hers, engulfing her hand in his large and callused palm. “Do you never feel the need to pray?” he asks.

The concern in her face heats into a cheeky smirk. “To this human goddess, you mean?” She jerks her head at the statue of Andraste.

“No,” he says. “To your elven gods. You never want… I don’t know… a little help?”

She leans back on her elbows and shrugs unconcernedly. “No,” she says. “If our gods are around anymore, they’re not doing my people any favours, so I shan’t waste my time.”

Her words are confident and calm, and Blackwall marvels at her conviction. “What makes you so sure?” he asks. “The tattoos on your face… They’re religious marks, aren’t they?”

“Ah, my vallaslin,” she says. “They’re more a mark of adulthood, but yes. Getting my vallaslin was the last truly Dalish thing I did before I gave up on the religious stuff. My Keeper despaired of me, I can tell you,” she adds. “‘Taking our history lightly’ and all that. She would have disowned me if I hadn’t been the second-best hunter in the clan.”

She winks at him, then gestures grandly toward her face. “These are the marks of Mythal,” she says in a mockingly dramatic tone.

“Who is that?” he asks.

“The mother of the other elven gods. Well, most of them,” Arya says, and she stretches out on Andraste’s steps once more. “The protector and defender of our people. Or so they say. She doesn’t seem to have done much good in protecting us elves from you humans, though.”

Her smile is teasing, but Blackwall bows his head all the same. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he says.

She chuckles. “It’s all right. I’m just giving you a hard time.” She sighs and tilts her head back. “I don’t have much faith in the elven gods. But I have faith in the Inquisition,” she says firmly. “I trust our people. I trust our army and our scouts and everyone here who’s been preparing us to head out tomorrow.”

He admires her tattooed profile. Arya has always placed greater stock in the goodness of her people than the grandness of the gods. As Blackwall studies the determination in her face, he can’t help but think that Thedas would be a better place if more people were like her.

“You know who else I have faith in?” she says softly. She sits forward and cups his bearded cheek in her green and glowing palm.

“You,” she says. “I’m not afraid of tomorrow. I can face down anything that comes at us, because you’ll be there with me.”

Her eyes are warm and deep and bright, and Blackwall exhales heavily as he presses his cheek into her palm. She is right about that; he will be there by her side, with his sword and shield in hand and his heart on his sleeve. He’ll defend her until his dying breath, because she’s the woman who gives him life.

He rises to his knees and pulls her close, and she slides to the edge of the step and parts her legs so he can settle himself between them. He wraps his arms around her waist and savours the tightness of her arms around his neck. Arya presses her cheek to his, and he lets his eyes drift shut as he breathes in her embrace.

She rubs her nose against his own in a sweet and slow caress, and Blackwall releases a long and leisurely sigh. The tightness in his shoulders is easing, loosening and lightening with every second he spends in her arms. As he clutches her close, he realizes that it was foolish to come to the chapel, but not for the reasons he’d thought.

He came here in search of comfort. He wanted reassurance in the light of the battle to come. But in the bed he shares with Arya, in the uninhibited heat of her arms, he had that reassurance all along.

He kisses her cheek, then buries his face against her soft and fragrant neck. Her loose robe is sliding apart, and he presses his lips to her exposed collarbone. Without opening his eyes, he smoothes his hands carefully from her bare calves up to her knees. “I thought you were cold,” he murmurs; indeed, her skin is cool beneath his palms.

“I was,” she says. She shuffles closer still, her legs parting wider as she strokes the back of his neck. She places a kiss on his hair, then presses her lips to his ear and whispers. “I’m not anymore.”

His palms are on her thighs. He slowly slides them higher, and his eyebrows rise with growing surprise as he notices something unexpected: no other fabric is meeting his fingers. No linen tunic, no slippery silken slip…

He swallows hard. His errant fingers slide higher, his thumbs stroking her tender inner thighs, and then her breath catches in a tiny gasp.

Desires blooms in his belly. His eyes dart up to her face. “You’re… you’re naked beneath this robe?” he rasps.

She nods. Her fingers tighten in the hair at the back of his neck. “I didn’t think we’d be down here this long,” she breathes.

He exhales heavily against her neck. Heat is spilling through his limbs, trickling down his throat and swelling between his legs, pulsing through his palms and spurring his hands to untie the loose belt of her wine-red robe.

She leans back slightly, palms braced on the statue’s steps and her eyes steady on his face. Carefully and breathlessly, he slides the two halves of her robe apart.

The candlelight flickers across her body, casting shadows and shades of gold across her bare skin. Blackwall stares at her, scanning her from her throat to her thighs in a slow and reverent sweep. She’s exquisite, a beautiful gilded figure of perfection, and he drinks her in until every birthmark and every scar is captured at the backs of his eyes.

His gaze comes to rest between her legs, and she lifts her hips and slides her thighs apart. It is a clear sign of welcome, an invitation to do more than look, but to Blackwall’s surprise, his Arya doesn’t speak. No carnal commands fall from her carmine lips, none of the usual demands for satisfaction or for his torrid touch; she simply looks at him, silent but for the deep and eager breaths that ghost between her parted lips.

He reaches toward her and reverently strokes her breast. She lifts her chest toward his hand, pressing her budded nipple toward his palm, and still her eyes stay on his face, waiting and watchful for his next move.

His fingers roll across her nipple, tugging the tender bud until she whimpers softly with need. He strokes her other breast, then slides his hands along her ribs. Blackwall’s hands are brutish and blunt, but Arya’s skin is soft and smooth as the silk he was expecting to find beneath her dressing down. With every breathless second, every tender stroke of his hands, she arches toward him more, and Blackwall watches the hallowed waves of her hips with an aching appreciation.

She bites her lips and twists her hips, and his gaze falls between her legs again. Her lower lips are slick and shining, glittering in the candlelight like an offering to entice his humble mouth, and Blackwall takes his cue.

He slides down to kneel on the lowest step of the dais. Reverently he places his palms on her thighs, then bows his head over Arya’s perfectly presented form and kisses the heavenly heat between her thighs.

The plumpness of her folds against his lips… Maker’s balls, he’s unworthy, and he always has been. But Arya has offered herself to him night after night and month after month, and he’s powerless to do anything but accept her precious gift.

She gasps and rests her hand on his hair, and her soft caress is like a benediction. He kisses her again, deep soft kisses that worship her heated flesh. He savours her nectar on his lips like the blessing that it is, then devotes himself to her pleasure, lapping deeply and carefully until her flavour anoints his tongue.

Arya bows her back and spreads her legs as he worships her with his mouth. The sharpness of her breath is rising, and her fingers are tightening in his hair, and with every sign of her rising need, he presses forth with the fervency of his devotion. His kisses are his offerings and his tongue on her flesh is a heated prayer. He has no need for gods, for the Maker or His bride. All that Blackwall needs is splayed before him, his lover’s flesh beneath his hands and the privilege of her pleasure on his tongue.

Here in Andraste’s chapel, kneeling at the Herald’s perfect elven feet and chasing the pleasure that lives between her legs, Blackwall has never felt so close to the divine.

She presses her fist to her mouth to muffle her cry of rapture, and Blackwall holds her hips as she shudders beneath his mouth. He eases her down with gentle kisses and careful little licks, and when her body grows still and lax, he places one last light kiss below her navel.

She strokes his beard, and he lifts his face to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are red, and she’s the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

He sits back on his knees and offers her his hand. “May I take you to bed, my lady?” he asks.

That cheeky little dimpled smile flashes across her lips. “Always so polite, Ser Blackwall,” she purrs, then her face grows serious again. “You’re sure you’re finished here?”

He nods, then rises to his feet. He offers her his hand again, and as he pulls her to his feet, he doesn’t bother to look at the statue of Andraste.

He slides his arm around Arya’s waist. “Yes,” he whispers. “I got exactly what I needed.”

He admires her mischievous smile, then gallantly ushers her toward the door as she securely ties her robe. He opens the door to let her pass, and as she slides past him, she gently strokes his cheek.

He lets the chapel door swing shut behind them, leaving them in darkness, but Blackwall has no need for candles when he follows the glimmering light of Arya’s verdant palm.

There is only one woman he worships, and it’s the one who holds his heart.