#do i hate those feathers? the answer is: yes

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader - A Little Birdie Told Me

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Thank you the anon who sent in this request, it was such fun to write this!

L&DS Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Jealous Sylus, hints of mature themes towards the end

Sylus was fully expecting to get back home to feathers, metal and blood everywhere; what else was he meant to expect when leaving you and Mephisto together for a prolonged period of time. 

You two didn’t get along. 

Sylus knew this. 

But you owed him, since he looked after the dove you found, just before going away on a work trip. 

Much to his own surprise though, you didn’t argue with him when he asked you to check in on Mephisto; which naturally only made him more suspicious. 

You were planning something. 

He didn’t know what, but the mischievous glint that was showing in your eyes as he left, confirmed his suspicions. 

That’s why he was expecting at least part of his mansion to be somewhat trashed. 

But it wasn’t. 

There were no stray feathers. 

No shards of metal. 

No specks of blood from where Mephisto could have pecked you. 

There was nothing; everything was exactly how he left it. 

And instead of his home  being filled with the sound of yours and Mephistos petty squabbles, something that he’d gotten quite used to recently, his home was silent. 

‘Maybe Luke and Kieran were right,’ he thought to himself, hanging his leather jacket on the coat hook by his front door, thinking back to what the twins had told him a few days ago as he made his way down the hall. 

According to the twins, you and Mephisto were getting along fine; more than fine in fact, according to them you two were almost inseparable, like you were friends. 

But that was a ridiculous thought, you two didn’t get along, you’d both told him that, which is what made the picture he got sent even more puzzling. 

The picture was of you, reading, as you so often do, but this time Mephisto was perched on the arm of the chair next to and your free hand was on his head, petting him.

Was that part of the reason he came back a few days earlier than he’d intended to from his trip?

Yes. 

He needed answers. 

Though it was also because that picture made him realise just how much he hated being away from you and how much he hated that he wasn’t the one being given your attention. 

Granted you could be a pain in the ass at times, sassing him at any given opportunity as well as always pushing him to do the ‘right’ thing…but he’d grown to love those qualities about you. 

You changed him. 

He knew you’d had an affect on him long ago, however it wasn’t until recently whilst he was away from you that he realised two things, 1) How much of an affect you’d truly had on him and 2) How much he’d missed everything about you; your witty and sarcastic remarks, the way your infectious smile could light up a room, the way you hummed  along to whatever song was playing through your headphones as you danced in his kitchen, completely oblivious to his presence. 

Everything. 

And now that he was home, he just wanted to see you. 

Needed to see you. 

That was the whole reason why he asked you to look after Mephisto in the first place, not that he’d ever tell you that. 

He walked into the living room, a soft smile quickly forming on his lips as he saw you fast asleep on the sofa, your body wrapped in the blanket you’d claimed as yours after a few visits, your music blaring into your ears at the loudest possible volume. 

Though Sylus’ smile faltered as he took a few more steps closer to you, allowing him to see his mechanical bird nestled in the crook of your neck, little satisfied coos left his beak as the two of you continued to sleep peacefully. 

Of all the scenarios he thought he’d be walking into, this was the most unexpected; a complete juxtaposition to what he’d assumed he’d be walking into.

He should’ve felt relief in the fact that neither of you had killed the other, but relief was not the emotion he was feeling. 

Jealousy however was. 

The same feeling that he’d tried to push to the side when he saw the picture from the twins

That’s how maddening his feelings were for you, only you could ever make him jealous of Mephisto. 

What had happened whilst he was away?

Had he somehow ended up in an alternate reality where you and Mephisto were friends? 

He shook his head at the absurd thoughts racing around in his head; but what he was seeing was exactly that, absurd. 

He wanted to wake you so he could get some answers, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so, mainly because of how peaceful you looked. 

Mephisto though was different. 

Sylus had no issue in waking him up and thanks to the music you were listening to, you wouldn’t be disturbed by his annoyed caws once he was awoken. 

~~~~~~

Safe to say, Mephisto was very unhappy at being woken up. 

And his grouchiness was naturally directed towards the person who’d disturbed him. 

“All I’m asking is, what suddenly made you two so close?” Sylus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to ignore the jealousy remarks the crow was making. 

One thing was immediately clear to Sylus, Mephisto had certainly adopted your sassy retorts to questions. 

“I’m not,” Sylus denied; only to be mocked by the bird in front of him. 

He was becoming as infuriating as you were. 

“Are you two arguing?” You asked, your words catching Sylus off guard; he’d been so busy interrogating Mephisto that he’d been completely oblivious to you waking up or finding them in the study that they were currently standing in. 

“No,” Sylus answered simply, turning around to look at you. 

You were leaning against the doorframe of his study, your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze; it was like you were trying to read his thoughts. 

Thankfully, mind reading was not a skill you possessed. 

Much to Sylus’ dismay though, he didn’t need to answer you, because Mephisto answered for him. 

“Mephisto says you’re lying,” you stated, biting back the triumphant smile that wanted nothing more than to spread across your lips. 

Sylus didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact that she understood the Crow now behind him, or the fact that said crow had betrayed him in such a way. 

“I’m aware of what he said, sweetie,” Sylus pointed out, his voice laced with frustration as he quickly shot a glare at Mephisto. 

He knew you were going to ask why he was lying and just like that, those very words fell from your lips. 

Once again, Mephisto answered before Sylus could even open his mouth to speak; before flying very, very quickly out of the study, leaving you and Sylus alone together. 

“You were jealous?” You asked, taking a few steps closer to Sylus. 

Sylus didn’t want to admit it, but you were annoyingly persistent when you wanted answers. 

So unless he wanted to be continuously asked about Mephistos comment (Which he didn’t) he had no other choice to answer your question honestly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low as you continued walking towards him, only stopping once you were directly infront of him. 

“Why?” You pushed.

He hated to admit that he was jealous; let alone saying the reason why…revealing how much he really craved your attention.

“Because I-” his words trailed off as he began to notice a playful smirk tugging at your lips, the realisation dawning on him in that very moment. 

You already knew why. 

This had all been some elaborate plan to get him to admit his feelings for you. 

“Who told you?” Sylus questioned, watching as your smirk grew.

“Who told me what?” You teased coyly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetie,” he whispered, leaning down slightly so that his lips were brushing over the shell of your ear. 

His words alone were enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“Who’s idea was this, yours or Mephistos?” He asked, placing a feather light kiss just under your ear. 

“Both,” you breathed out; reveling in the closeness between the two of you. 

“Thought you two didn’t get along?”  He asked quietly. 

Granted, you and Mephisto had your differences, and you didn’t always get along, but recently you’d grown quite accustomed to one another. 

Of course you squabbled, but the same way someone would with a sibling.

You knew Sylus was going to ask you to look after Mephisto, because the crow had told you so in secret.

That’s when the two of you came up with this plan. 

A plan to make Sylus jealous. 

You were never one hundred percent sure of his feelings towards you, you flirted often enough, but some people just had that type of connection, it didn’t mean he felt the same way about you, that you did him. 

“Things changed,” you answered back, your voice just as quiet as his.

“Is it true?” You asked, changing the topic of conversation as you turned your head slightly, so now your lips were inches apart. 

“Is what true?”

“What Mephisto told me about how you feel about me?”

Being this close to him was torture for the both of you; both of you waiting for the other to make the final move and close the little distance that was between you both.

He saw the anxiety creeping in your y/e/c orbs as you waited for him to answer your question. 

But he knew that he could do something better than telling you how he felt, he could show you. 

And with that thought in mind, he closed the distance between your lips. 

It took you a few seconds to actually process what was happening; but once you did you wasted no time in allowing your eyes to flutter shut and melt into the kiss. 

The kiss started off gentle, soft, the two of you clearly processing what was happening; but everything changed when you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

His hands found a home on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified.

“Does that answer your question, kitten?” He murmured, pulling away from you slightly. 

“I don’t know, I think I could use some clarification,” you breathlessly chuckled before his lips met yours again, obliging to give you all the clarification you needed. 

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @the-slytherin-poet @deathkat657 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @inlovewithsylus

[la-undercover-latina]

Or how would the boys react to their so being h word cuz of concert content 🫠

A/N: So I'm doing the guys one at a time. I hate myself so I'm going to eventually do all of them

First up, Song Mingi

I went a little overboard on this whoops

Read to Filth

Summary: After Mingi gets back from tour, he reads you like an open book

Warning: Smut ahead. so MDNI under the cut.

“You’re a damn menace you know that?” You walked up to your boyfriend who was just getting out of the shower, only a towel wrapped around his slim waist.

“For what? Showering without you?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“No. When you guys were in America on tour. Those poor Atiny. All of you turn into whores when you breath American air, you most of all,”

A smirk fell over Mingi’s lips at the realization.

“My my, was my little princess watching the fancams of me?” His smirk deepened as your face involuntarily heated up to tomato red. 

You were busted.

“Not like there’s not enough content,”

“You know I do that for you right? I know what you do while I’m on tour. You sit here looking all dolled up and just keep scrolling Instagram waiting for the fancams to come in. Am I getting warmer?” Mingi had been slowly stalking towards you like a predator circling his prey. 

When you hit the wall with your back, a little yelp escaped your throat as he continued his steps until you could feel the body heat leaving him. 

You had to gulp as you realize that he completely abandoned the towel somewhere in hunting you.

“Nope, not at all,” you had to look away from him. He knew you too well to know when you were lying.

“You sure about that? Because you can’t look me in the eye right now,” he moved a few loose pieces of hair behind your ear, making you gulp. His voice pitching lower.

“No, I think I’m exactly right. I think you pull out your toys and think of me,” He leaned in to smell your neck, placing feather light kisses until he felt you shiver.

“Prove me wrong Princess. Let me see your Instagram,” he knew he won.

Now he was just toying with you. 

“And if I don’t,” you breathed heavily at your naked boyfriend’s proximity. After his tour in America, you’d become less immune to his intoxicating effects.

“What do you have to hide Princess?” He asked before bringing his lips to your earlobe.

“What kind of dirty things do you have on there?” He growled lowly.

“The girlfriends sent me a bunch of stuff,” you admitted.

“Oh, so that’s it. You don’t want to be punished for looking at my friends,” he grasped your chin in one hand.

“You’re mine,” he growled before crashing his lips onto yours, your arm instinctively wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“Or do I need to remind you?” He asked, the warm brown of his eyes swallowed by lust, the proof poking you on your lower stomach.

“Yes Sir,” you answered his lust with your own. Seeing his dominance did something to you, and he knew it.

“Get on your knees,” he told you, pushing you down to your knees with his large hands.

You slowly got to your knees, trying your best to rile up your boyfriend, and from the impatient look on his face, you were succeeding.

Once you were kneeled in front of him, you wasted no time, bringing him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks while your hands roamed his stomach and chest, a moan ripping its way from Mingi’s mouth as he leaned his head back in pleasure. After so long on tour, you felt like home to him.

It was worth the time away for the ability to treat you like a Queen. Whatever you want when he’s away, purchased with next day air.

He just wished he could bring you with him.

But that’s a discussion for later. Now, he needed to make you pay for looking at his friends.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, making a makeshift ponytail, urging you to take him deeper down your throat. Tears pricked your eyes as you had to adjust your breathing to accommodate Mingi’s length.

“You can take it,” he gasped as you adjusted your head angle, bottoming out on him.

“F-fuck! Just like that princess,” he spoke in labored breaths.

You released Mingi from your mouth, a small pop sound heard when you finally let him go.

“You gotta breathe baby girl. Breath through your nose,” he told you breathlessly, a euphoric smile on his face.

“Yes sir,” you took another moment to get your breathing under control before kissing the head of his cock, licking the underside to drive him insane. He leaned his head back, a whimper leaving his lips. 

“Do you like that Sir?” You asked, looking up at him from your lashes.

“Yeah, now get back to work,” With that, you took over where you left off, angling your head to the side and taking him to the back of your throat until you gagged.

“That’s right princess, you only gag on my cock, nobody else,” he grunted, thrusting into your mouth until his thrusts became less coordinated and more messy. 

He was close.

“G-good girl,” he purred before he exploded down your throat, and you swallowed every last drop even though it tasted like thick saltwater.

“Did you miss me?” He asked.

“Of course baby,” you answered before he gently helped you up to your feet.

Taglist: @multidreams-and-desires @the-princess-of-mischief-1998

Read the others' here: Hongjoong Seonghwa

[pinoyhawks]

i'll see your heart and i'll raise you mine

takami keigo/hawks x gn!reader

Description: You can read him just as well as he can read you and he's not yet sure whether that's a blessing or a curse.

He's starting to edge toward blessing when you reach for him.

content warnings: hospital setting, whump, graphic description of injuries, brief descriptions of medical procedures, bodily trauma

[crossposted from my ao3: link]

~~~

“So you’ll never guess what I saw today.” Hawks tugs at the curtains, blocking out the golden rays of the setting sun. He knows you hate it when the sun’s in your eyes. “Do you remember that one photoshoot where I had to stick paintbrushes and scrub brushes through my hair and behind my ears and in my mouth?” 

Hawks glances back at you. The slight dip of your head urges him to continue. He gives the curtains a final tug before making a beeline for the electric kettle on the counter of your hospital room’s mini-kitchen. The water within begins to boil at the push of a button.

“When I was on patrol, I saw a billboard advertising some sort of brush for feathers and—wouldn’t you know it?—I was on it! Apparently, that was what the photoshoot was for! Brushes for feathers!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief as he tears open two packets of peppermint tea, the electric kettle beeping loudly as steam pours out of its spout. “They didn’t even tell me what the photoshoot was for while we were taking it. Wanna know what the kicker is?” 

He pauses for one or two seconds, for both dramatic effect and for the space where your answer would be, before pressing on. “They didn’t even give me one of those feather brushes!” 

Hawks dips two bags of peppermint tea in and out of two paper cups, one for you and one for him. “I mean, I’ll admit, my feathers don’t really need brushing nor did I really want one, but still. Would’ve been nice to receive some sort of care package or branded gift basket from them, right?” 

The smell from such a small portion invades his nostrils and feels like toothpicks sticking into his brain. How you drink this every night without getting overstimulated, he’ll never know, but there’s no way he’ll make a fuss about it. Not when recovery from your incident demanded that much of your independence and daily rituals be taken away from you. 

Hawks figures it must have been painful to be denied the simple joy of having a cup of peppermint tea before bed during the worst parts of your recovery. So he makes two. One for you to drink, one for him to hold. You’ll finish yours and he’ll give you his. 

He picks up the two cups and makes his way to you, treading carefully so as not to spill. From your seat on the hospital bed, you carefully pull the overbed table towards you, a safe place for two cups of tea to land. “I know it’s stupid,” Hawks says, gently placing one cup in front of you, “but hey. You asked me to talk about my day and that was the only thing I could think of.” 

You beam up at him before shaking your head as if to say, No, I don’t think it’s stupid. I’d ask for a gift basket too if they made me stick a toothbrush up my nose and took a picture of it without telling me what it was for.  

Something in his chest aches at the thought of your possible response. His grip on his paper cup tightens as he watches you breathe in the minty steam before taking your very first sip.

It’s been two weeks since the incident, hard to tell from how quickly you’re recovering physically. Dark circles still bruise the bags of your eyes, your face looks gaunter, and your skin looks a little duller than usual, but the scratches on your face are shrinking and with every change of bandages he stumbles upon, the gauze wrapped around your abdomen comes away with less and less blood. 

Yes, you’re healing, no doubt about it, but the silence that hangs over your room and fills the air like a wicked miasma tells him a completely different story. 

A quick tap on his arm startles Hawks out of his spiral. You fix him with a concerned look, brows knitted together. Hey. You’re flying off again. Come back to me . Hawks tacks on those last two words, just for himself. You’d never say those last two words, but he lets himself be selfish in that way. It’s hard for him not to be selfish when it comes to knowing ( knowing , not guessing ) what you, his very first, genuine friend, would say. 

Hawks plasters a placating grin on his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, patting the back of your hand. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Your lips press together briefly before splitting into an affirmative smile, but Hawks catches the microexpression quick enough. You don’t really believe he’s fine, but for his sake, you’ll help him keep up that silly little illusion. You can read him just as well as he can read you and he’s not yet sure whether that’s a blessing or a curse. 

He’s starting to edge towards ‘blessing’ when you reach for him, palm up and fingers opening and closing. Hawks switches his cup to his other hand to take yours. As soon as his hand is in yours, your thumb brushes over the back of his, back and forth, back and forth. It’s okay. It’s okay, you seem to say. You smile up at him as you squeeze his hand tightly. It’s gonna be okay.

Hawks swallows down the lump in his throat at how the situation has turned itself around. He’s here to comfort you in your trying times, not you comfort him for not being fine. 

You’re the one who got caught in the crossfires of a villain attack, not him. You’re the one who suffered multiple blunt-force injuries in the chest, the stomach, and the head from being tossed around so violently, not him. You’re the one who could barely breathe the moment you entered the hospital’s treatment room, your breath rattling as your lungs fought to push air in and out of you from within your battered ribcage, not him. You’re the one who’s nonverbal thanks to a mix of trauma from the incident and vocal cord paralysis from your injuries, not him. You’re the one relying on body language and the notes app of your phone to ask for the simplest things, not him. 

Between you and him, Hawks is the most selfish person in the room. How dare he call himself a hero? 

Hawks drops your hand. 

For a moment, your expression falls before he takes your hand in his once more. His thumb strokes over the cracked and scarred skin of your knuckles in the same way you did his. Your smile makes his heart hammer against his ribcage. He sets down his paper cup on the overbed table to cup your hand in both of his. 

I’m here. I’m here for you. I’ll take care of you, he hopes he says as he raises your hand to his mouth. 

Briefly, he presses his lips to your knuckles. Short, but reverent in every way. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Hawks looks up at you with bated breath, taking in your softened gaze, your teary eyes, and the pleased curve of your smile.

You set your cup down on the overbed table, right next to his, and cradle Hawks’s cheek in your palm. Something blooms in your chest, something much more powerful than fear and injury.

“Love you, too.”

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

Do I ship your Bill/Javier/Micah? No? Do I like rarepairs and think they are awesome? Yes, so QUESTIONS FOR YOU BECAUSE I KNOW THE RAREPAIR TRENCHES ARE HARD TO LIVE IN:

What is your fav part about their story? How do you think they realised they all liked one another? Do you think they go on dates?

Thank you!! Yes, the life of a rarepair shipper is rough but it isn’t the trenches. It’s more like a very boring white box. There are no haters here (I haven’t experienced any), but neither is there enough fans to make content. And so it is just me wagging the flag for F of a Feather.

I think I have already answered questions like these in detail before so I’ll make these briefer. I’m still answering them just in-case my ideas have changed since I last spoke.

Fave part about their story?:

They don’t have a lot of story since I mostly drew this ship from thin air and loosely pieces together interpretations of scenes. Scenes that inspired the ship are:

- Javier pinning Bill with a knife to his neck (camp interaction)

- Micah and Javier drunk and laughing (Camp)

- Micah, Bill, and Javier during the entirety of Guarma: I especially like Bill helping Javier get around. Also Micah abandoning Javier is so angsty oh man…

- Javier getting Arthur to help save Bill from bounty hunters (random event).

- Micah making fun of Javier being effeminate + Javier punching Micah (campfire)

- Javier and Micah whispering to each other, then laughing and shaking hands during Chapter 6 (camp).

- MICAH FUCKING HITTING ON BILL??? (Missable dialogue in the over world before the mission ‘a short walk in a pretty town.’)

- The preamble cutscene at the start of ‘The Delights of Van Horn’ with Micah and Bill.

- Bill and Micah’s bickering dynamic in the optional ‘Rob A Stagecoach’ mission with Micah in Chapter 4.

- and more I am sure…

I like how none of the three of them were on the same page by chapter 6, hence them all splitting. Bill and Javier ran away together from Dutch and Micah by the end of chapter 6. I haven’t played rdr1 so I can’t say much in detail, but I hear Javier and Bill still seem to be amicable by that time which is another reason I feel they could have had some connection pre rdr1.

How did they realize they all like each other?:

I think they were all cheaters and realized they cheated on each other with the same people /j

The more serious response is that Bill and Micah were the first to become a situationship because both are closeted gay/bi men and wanted their dicks wet.

Javier and Micah had an odd amicability that only existed when both were drunk. Drunk micah is far more tolerable and more willing to divulge personal details or talk about his feelings. (Drunk bill and micah are also a hoot.) while drunk, Javier and micah have some gay stares and touches.

Bill and Javier is harder to box into a dynamic label. Javier tolerates Bill’s asshole behavior and sometimes doesn’t have the energy for him, but they bond over their loyalty to Dutch and both being hard workers. Bill appreciates Javier to the point of being a drunken fan girl at times. Javier can see there is a good man within Bill, he’s just frustrated with all the flaws that cloud that from coming out.

Uh and then they all individually got drunk and emotional and wanted to show their appreciation for each other because they’re all friends (I guess) and they don’t know how else to show that than making out hot and wet.

Meek’s headcanons ⭐️: Javier is asexual /aromantic spectrum and doesn’t have interest in being anything official with anyone. Micah is sexual but aromantic-spectrum and non-monogamous; he hates the idea of being an exclusive partner to anyone (he sees it just as repeated actions, not that those repeated actions mean anything). And Bill is a conflicted Monogomous gay man who wants to have the closest thing to a sexual gay relationship.

So… none of them are very compatible in the long run. They just have periodic moments of being what could be considered “on and off situationship bros.”

Do they go on dates?:

No, not really.

- Javier isn’t that interested in sex (at most he used it to shut Micah or Bill up, but Javier doesn’t get a whole lot out of it). Javier’s love language is quality time and showing his interests in the form of music and fishing (among other activities and topics). Micah has no interest in these things. Bill may listen to Javier’s music but can provide no deep conversations (at least, not deep enough to be stimulating for Javier).

- micah is so vindictive on relationships that it’s hard to tell if he is going to be agony to be around or if he’s going to be an okay person. He has near no interest in anyone else’s lives so a date with him would be the most impersonal and dismissive conversations.

- bill is not a dumb ass, he is the one person who might actually want to go on dates. Issue is he can’t execute complex date ideas without messing up and immediately calling it quits (because he anticipates everyone to laugh at him and hold it over his head for being a fuck up). His go to attempt is to: “Hey! Come over here and have some drinks with me.” Those brief moments of skin grazing and tipsy smiles means a lot to Bill. Javier and Bill could maybe go on a date, but it might be emotionally exhausting for Javier to spend the entire time trying to coax Bill to relax and open his shell.

- as a triad, they don’t go on dates. Closest thing is when they somehow roll the dice and they all get assigned a mission together. It’s rarely just the three of them because their dynamics clash so heavily.

Ughhhh idk how special any of this is. This really is just me repeating my previous posts. I love the ship because they are so dysfunctional. They are the polycule that ruins the polyamory party

[moonbaby26]

Title: Proposal

(Chapter 16 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader

Chapter Warnings: language, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, angst

Chapter Synopsis: Still feeling pressure from both real and perceived enemies abroad, Doflamingo gives into his insecurities and chooses to take your and his relationship public at last.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

——————————

—————————— 

For as wealthy of a country as Dressrosa was supposedly becoming, shade clearly wasn’t something they’d yet found important enough for including in colosseum upgrades.

You’d had no choice but to fully cover up in layers of clothing today to hide your many injuries. But no matter how you sat now, legs crossed or not, marine coat unbuttoned or not, there was zero breeze and you were getting hot beneath that persistent sun.

Having this tall, pink bird radiating his additional body heat as he insisted on staying hip to hip with you in the booth was not helping either of course.

Feathers grazed against you as you took yet another drink of the iced juice his servants had offered. But you really wanted to put that cold glass against the side of your face. You would have too if the damn cameras hadn’t kept checking back in at the worst times while the sounds of more weapons clashing carried up from below. 

But it really was like some higher power just kept kicking you again when you were already down. 

Because the juice was pulpy, and overly sweet for your tastes. Something Doflamingo had said was his preference when he’d seen you choose it earlier. So you should have blamed him. When on that final sip something harder in the pulp had caught right in the back of your throat.

Debris that was perfectly sized, too small to force down with additional swallowing. But just big enough to trigger a coughing fit as you left your now empty glass on the ledge of the booth.

You grabbed Doflamingo’s drink next. Some rich, dark beer you’d never heard of. Something you were not supposed to be drinking on duty anyway as you suddenly downed it like it was a late night, after hours in Marineford instead.

“Shit.” You still coughed several more times, but feeling that piece finally dislodge in the rush of alcohol. 

“Well...I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone try to drown themselves with pomegranate juice before.” His mocking tone accompanied the stare you’d obviously now earned. “Did you forget the difference between breathing and drinking for a moment there, marine?”

And you glared up at him, everything only made worse when you saw that condescending expression on his face.

“Seeds got caught in my throat, you jerk. If you wanted your juice that damn thick, you should have just stuck a straw in a raw fruit for gods’ sake!”

But you saw the weird way Doflamingo paused. And then abruptly, the way the muscles in his brow shifted to give away that his smile had now spread to his concealed eyes.

“You swallowed the seeds then?”

“Well yes.” But such a simple question was far more off putting when he was now looking at you like that. “Should I have spit them out onto you instead?” You tried to fuss back, flustered really of what could possibly be going through that mess of his mind now.

“They don’t teach much literature in those naval classes do they?” He just answered with a question of his own, still looking inexplicably amused. “Just books on a thousand ways to tie ropes and how to properly mop decks then?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about.” You retorted, even still coughing an additional time then.

“I have an entire library back at the palace you know.” He said, even as he made a gesture with his hand to summon another drink tray. “I think I’ll pick out some books on this for you tomorrow. You’ll need something to do anyway while I’m back in meetings. I’d hate for you to be too bored and lonely, just pining for my return all day.”

Of course his taunting tone said otherwise. He’d love you to have nothing better to do than just lay around for hours waiting for him to climb back on top of you, you were sure.

“Go to hell.” You huffed, albeit still gladly taking a water this time as the servants were back before you both then.

“Already there, darling.” He quipped, still grinning as he grabbed another beer from their tray in replacement of the one you’d just demolished for him.

“And we have our first knockout of the competition!” The announcer’s voice boomed with excitement as you and Doflamingo finally looked away from one another and to the scene below then.

You’d already learned that everything was so over the top in this place, bordering on barbaric honestly.

But you’d done your best to reserve your judgement every time the crowd’s energy had surged when new wounds were opened up or bones were broken in the colosseum battles. 

Because it might just be the culture here. Every island had its own traditions, its own history within reason.

Yet when the winner of this latest match began approaching his now unconscious opponent, spear angling further downward to take new aim, you nearly stood.

That was finally well beyond reason to you.

“He’s already down!” You said to the warlord. Your hand had closed on Doflamingo’s forearm in reflex.

And the fresh cruelty budding in that pirate’s smile while he looked from your hand now gripped onto his arm, and then back to your concerned face made you pause all over again. 

“Oh, dear woman…a good bloodletting gets these animals excited like the hateful things they really are. Are you going to deny them this release?”

“There are children here.” You managed to retort. But the fresh tinge of disgust was obvious in your eyes. 

These were people, not things.

Doflamingo still chuckled, like a mix of false sympathy and real distaste as his own hand abruptly rose above you. “And you are far too predictable, love. You’ll owe me again for this one.”

And the previous roar of the crowd quieted in the resulting confusion.

Only with the snail cameras then zooming in were you able to see that true result on the screen. Your surprise matching the other spectators as what now looked like a spider’s web had materialized from nowhere to block the kill shot.

The aggressor’s spear now hung in midair from where it’d been thrown. Its sharp metal tip pressed into that web, unable to penetrate past it and cross just those few inches that remained to the target’s throat.

“And…and I can’t believe it, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer exclaimed again. “His majesty has interceded into the fight! Sire!? Would you like to address the crowd!?”

Some woman in gladiator attire was then at the booth before you knew it. She appeared to be part of the colosseum workers as she bowed in respect all the while offering Doflamingo a microphone.

You heard the warlord laugh quietly, speaking just to you before that microphone was in range to pick his voice up.

“See the trouble you’ve started?” He chided.

And yet he still took that microphone from her as if this was also second nature to him. No hesitation at all as he relaxed further back into the stone seating beside you.

His arm went tight around your shoulders to keep you in that resulting camera shot with him as well.

“I’m only being a hospitable host, Gatz.” Doflamingo’s best charismatic tone now echoed through the colosseum as he addressed the announcer by name. The whole venue was now silent except for their king. 

“The captain here isn’t yet acclimated to the normal rules our gladiators live and die by. Just now, she expressed an interest to me in seeing even this loser have an opportunity to fight another day. Because she believes adversity can sometimes lead to improvement, even within the weak.” 

He gave a slight sneer then, but remained relatively calm. “I disagree of course. However, I promised her we could try things her way just for today. So not only will there be no executions during today’s events…”

And he did pause briefly there, anticipating the crowd’s palpable shock. But he knew just when to continue as well, keeping them enraptured as he then dropped the next apparent change.

“But also, at the conclusion of today’s competition, the captain will also be granted one pick from all current participants to grant a full royal pardon to. And that gladiator will walk free from the colosseum this very evening, by her grace alone.” 

You hadn’t known a thing about this of course. But your instincts were quick to believe it wasn’t at all an improvisation.

He’d planned this.

He’d known exactly how you were going to react as the battles worsened, and you’d played right into it.

And now he was doing his favorite trick again because of that. Controlling you at the exchange of human lives. 

In Mariejois you’d submitted to him under the implication of him harming both yourself and your crew if you’d revealed him as Joker.

In Sabaody, he’d freed slaves from his own auction house in exchange for your promising to soon meet him again.

And in Scylla, he’d demanded your fidelity and made you promise to always return to him. Otherwise the life lost would clearly be your own. 

“So I’d advise our competitors to do their best to impress her. She’s got very high standards after all.” Doflamingo still added, briefly smirking down at you.

He was complimenting himself of course there, implying that he was already one of your so called “high standard” choices.

With so much amusement, this man could make an instant game out of people’s lives and freedom. All the while still having the gall to stroke his own ego right on top of it. 

————————— 

And just those few hours later, he was already refusing to help you at all in this dilemma he’d so gladly created.

“Just fucking pick one.” Doflamingo drawled, sounding bored by then as Gatz was still talking over you both across the stadium speakers. The battles were done at last, the competitors reentering the arena one by one as the announcer reintroduced them to go through the final motions.

The sun was just beginning to set. Something you couldn’t even appreciate as the sky began changing to vibrant hues of pink and red.

Because you didn’t have an answer yet.

“That isn’t fair to them.” You insisted. “It can’t just be random.”

The warlord’s lips upturned a little, yet another beer still in his hand. “Then be lazy and let the crowd choose for you. I don’t care. Just hurry up. My ass is falling asleep. I’m tired of sitting here.”

“This whole production was your idea, you dick!”

“Yeah well, the fights take that much longer when they can’t just kill one another. It’s still your fault this had to be so drawn out.”

You made a dissatisfied sound in your irritation. He wanted you to just pick whoever the crowd had seemed most fanatic about. But you weren’t feeling that. Because they had cheered loudest for only the most violent participants.

Which seemed like a terrible criteria for choosing the person who was about to be released back into society.

Yet you could feel that Gatz was about to direct the cameras back to the royal booth at any moment.

Fuck. You were just going to have to go with your instincts. You didn’t have any information on each prisoner’s actual crimes to do any better with this.

“The tall guy with the tattoo and the ponytail.” You said quickly to Doflamingo then. 

The fighter you now referenced was one of the first to have come back into the stadium in this final showing, and you’d already forgotten what Gatz had called him.

But Doflamingo did sit up a little more then, looking down at them all to see who you meant. Yet you saw his smirk fade once his gaze found the only man that matched your description. 

“Fine. A deal’s a deal.”

And with almost a huff, the warlord made a sudden gesture with his hand. You’d known the executives were close by. Yet it’d still surprised you when Diamante was abruptly leaning in behind you both at that nonverbal summons.

“Yes, Doffy?” That creep of a man asked, far too close for your comfort.

“Diamante, remind me. What’s that fucker’s name? The one with the ink nearly on his cock. She likes him apparently.” Doflamingo grumbled, his fingers tightening on your side as his arm had moved back around your waist.

And you had to stare at the pirate when he gave this new description.

Because yes, that prisoner was shirtless and had a lower abdominal tattoo. With the bottom of that image partly obscured by the belt line of his loincloth.

But for all that was holy, did Doflamingo actually have a hint of jealousy in his voice again now? As if physical appearance had anything to do with your pick?

Diamante did answer easily with the name though. “He was one of Riku’s army captains.” He also added after with evident distaste.

“Wait…what?” you tried to interrupt at that. Because your true, only reason for choosing that particular gladiator was that in all the fighters you’d watched, he’d shown the most restraint.

Someone with real self control that you’d hoped would be the least likely to threaten an average citizen once freed.

But if they were now saying that he was part of the previous regime that had slaughtered those very same citizens under Riku’s command, then these two things just didn’t add up to you.

Could your instinct be that wrong?

“Does that mean he participated in Riku’s attack?” You asked seriously, butting in again.

“Of course he did. But I told you to pick someone the crowd liked. You wouldn’t do it. This is on you.” Doflamingo sneered a little at that, still confirming your choice regardless. “That’s the one you’re letting go, Diamante. Go tell Gatz. And remind him of my announcement too.”

“Yes, Doffy.” Diamante didn’t argue, though he also looked displeased with you before he was gone again soon enough.

And you must have had an expression of further concern on your own face, worrying over the possible ramifications of this as you heard Doflamingo finally chuckle again.

As if he couldn’t stay irritable with you when you were just this pathetic.

“Poor thing. Not easy making these decisions, is it?” He asked you. He was now rubbing your side with that large hand. “Don’t worry, we’re almost done here. And then I’ll be all yours again.”

———————————

Gatz had loudly announced your choice of who to pardon, and as expected the crowd had given a mixed reaction at best.

Their resentment to anyone associated with Riku’s former regime was still so visceral. A joke that just kept on giving as Doflamingo couldn’t help but gloat a bit. 

Because they were all so fucking gullible. In that prisoner, they only saw someone who had once ravaged their own people without hesitation. 

But you, a woman who had been here at the colosseum all of a single afternoon, had already seen straight through this. You’d zeroed in on likely the least corrupted in all of the current choices and picked accordingly.

It was impressive really. Highly annoying to him, but impressive none the less. 

And Doflamingo had rolled his eyes behind his glasses when that now former prisoner did fall to his knees in the arena at the news of his unexpected freedom.

The idiot was actually crying by then, crying about soon being reunited with his family and thanking you over and over. While Gatz was playing the storyline up all the more, waxing poetic about your supposed indiscriminate mercy and unique capacity for forgiveness as you looked entirely uncomfortable in the whole situation.

But Doflamingo knew it would still work out in the long run. A single, former Riku loyalist back on the loose was no concern to him after all. Because this was perfect bait for others to follow.

Your kindness could soon become like a goddamn siren call to flush out his enemies.

His irresistible siren.

That wasn’t an inaccurate metaphor really.

And as Gatz gradually finished up, Doflamingo was now taking slightly deeper breaths himself without willing it. 

His muscles were tensing and releasing again as he downed the rest of his current beer.

The real show was finally at hand. What he’d been waiting for all afternoon.

And that actual tinge of nervousness was still foreign to him as his hand had returned to his pants’ pocket, fingers tightening around that ring.

“And before the official conclusion of today’s events, it has been commanded that all you good people of Dressrosa please remain seated! As his royal highness, king Donquixote Doflamingo has an announcement to make!”

And their king did stand then, postured at his full height as the snail cameras had to zoom out to then keep you both in frame on the stadium’s screen.

You were sitting properly again for the cameras of course, with your back straight and your eyes cautiously on him. His disciplined marine once more.

Because you did know how to play this part of the game, whether you could yet admit it or not. The falsehood of putting on a strong front.

Another colosseum worker had scurried over then, presenting Doflamingo with a microphone again. He took it to hold in one of his hands, your ring hooked with his fingertip by the other hand still in his pocket.

“Citizens of Dressrosa…” Doflamingo’s smooth voice filled the stadium as all else quieted once more. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the festivities today. And I’m glad everyone could be here this evening on such short notice. As I do have a confession to make that concerns us all.” And his grin widened further in the dark humor of that implication. 

Because there were a thousand crimes that would have lit this place up in an instant if he had divulged even a single one of them.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” His heart was beginning to pound regardless. 

But he liked it.

He liked the thrill in this risk versus reward.

He had waited so long for this.

“But that secrecy has been for a very good reason. Because the media would have spun this out of control as they’ve already tried to do. So much so that the very peace and stability of this island may have been threatened.”

He was still smiling, letting the lies begin to flow easier and easier from his wicked mouth. 

“And I knew I owed it to you, the loyal denizens of this country to be the first to hear it direct from me when the time was right. To tell you of the choice I’ve made which will affect all our futures.”

And now he did see you, in the peripheral vision of his good eye as you started to look more stressed. That flicker of panic beginning behind those lovely eyes of yours.

You really were a smart girl where it mattered. Thankfully so, as he’d have tolerated little else in the long run. 

He glanced down to you, turning his head to do so. He was making his attention on you undeniable again for those cameras.

“You see, contrary to prior reports, this woman is far from a recent acquaintance to me.”

If everyone was to know, then of course he would put his own spin on the narrative. He could rewrite this as easily as Morgans could.

Doflamingo would make it what he wanted it to be. Not what it really was.

“The captain here is a distinguished marine, yes. Which unfortunately, put us briefly on opposing sides some years ago.”

Oh, the way he knew he was already sanitizing this. As if talking about only a sporting like competition between the two of you then, rather than a trading of blood, bullets, and the warships that’d been out for his hide.

“But as we all know, through my own merit and perseverance, I also rose so quickly to be recognized for what I really was.”

And goddamn, it was actually fun to say this with almost a straight face. “No longer just a pirate, but a guardian of this world. One of the seven warlords, standing now beside her marines as a crucial pillar in the balance of powers on behalf of our world government.”

He was acting as if you two were truly the same, as if you always had been. That you were the self-sacrificing defenders of all these wretches now hanging on his every word.

And your hands were clenching against the top of your skirt in your lap again. 

It was all utter bullshit and you knew it.

His grin widened.

“But I always desired her.”

An actual truth abruptly there.

He saw your lips part slightly. A sudden gun to your head likely would have provoked less surprise now in your eyes.

“So the very moment that ink was dry on my government contract, when my name was rightfully cleared and my honor restored, I called on this woman of course.” 

His fingers were anxiously turning that ring in his pocket now.

“And we’ve been together ever since. In secret to protect her career from all the close minded fools who may still not accept this truth of our shared feelings.”

A sound went through the crowd of course, that mix of true surprise and excitement.

It was every trope he could throw into this. The star crossed lovers, the lonely heroes, the redeemed king pining for his mate that should be untouchable by the prior blood on his hands.

But he still wasn’t done. Because Doflamingo always wanted it all. And he refused to share you even with the ghosts of your past.

“We even went so far as to fabricate other brief relationships to throw the public off of our scent. Just peers of ours who were willing to let their names be tossed into the rumor mill here and there in order to protect us.”

Kuzan, Crocodile, Smoker…fuck them all. They’d had their chances and burned you both. They weren’t going to get any secondary fame any longer because of it.

This was his spotlight now.

“But after three years together…” He was counting from the day he became a warlord of course. At least giving you that sliver of mercy to imply the fucking hadn’t started until he had immunity from prosecution. When he was no longer legally a criminal at least.

When in reality, your very first physical time together had been closer to only three months ago. That day in Mariejois when he’d first closed his hand around your throat and then pounded his raw cock into you for all he was worth not long after. A whole new euphoria he would never forget that initial dose of. 

“We’re not going to hide this any longer.”

His chest tightened as he felt that tangible flare of your haki. But he doubted you would dare strike him here. Not in front of everyone at least.

Doflamingo smiled. 

Didn’t you know that fire inside only made him want you all the more?

“And this country will become even safer under her and my dual protection. We will have a marine port of call established here, just as we implied in Scylla. Dressrosa will be the new home for both her subordinates, as well as the roots for our future royal family.”

The cameras were flashing like lightning, the crowd’s roar the resulting thunder as he finally slid that ring from his pocket.

Your whole identity, your career, and your freedom was likely burning right before you as he saw your eyes look at that jeweled band in the fading sunlight.

A large diamond was in its center, rising above smaller rubies framing it as if they were droplets of blood. Their red reflection casting almost a pink hue across that larger faceted stone.

Like the diamond itself was a survivor rising from the blood of the battlefield.

There’d been no other choice in his mind as soon as he’d seen this ring. He’d known it was perfect.

Like you.

“Marry me.” And Doflamingo’s dark voice said those two words so simply. Firmly for all to hear across the speakers as he held that ring between the two of you.

There was no intonation of a question in that command, but he did not reach for you either to force your hand.

He was still standing, looking down at you. You were seated, so still in the silence that had consumed the colosseum once more as his subjects awaited your answer.

He would not kneel of course. Only in the privacy of the bedroom and within the throws of full passion would he ever do that for you.

No, here in front of all these nameless fleas, it was up to you to rise to meet him. To be worthy of this honor as he loomed above you.

And he did see you take a deep breath. Your haki had stabilized again at last, quieting in tandem to your careful body language as you did stand to your feet.

You held your head up, a forced grace that still didn’t match the sharp look in your eyes. You were staring into those red sunglasses of his in a way that made his stomach tighten.

Like a lioness on a too thin chain.

It could still all go wrong. Because your desire was unclear and wavering. You couldn’t win, but he knew that you could hurt him.

Did you want to hurt him?

His armament was ready. His heart was pounding.

And then you exhaled.

You raised your left hand up from your side, holding it out flat before him.

“Yes.”

Doflamingo did blink behind his glasses at such a small, yet life changing word. The surrender from you that was all it took to launch the crowd into an explosion of hysterics and roaring cheers as he did slip that ring onto your waiting finger.

Their new noise shook the stadium louder than anytime he’d ever heard before as he watched you with some amazement.

He’d abandoned the microphone now, tossed away for someone else to catch or not. He didn’t care.

He didn’t see anything but you in this moment as he squatted slightly, leaning down as well. Whatever he needed to do to catch you by the lips as he’d tilted your head back when the urge overcame him. His grip then so tight beneath your jaw.

And if you really had blasted him with every ounce of haki you possessed in that moment, he still would not have stopped. His mouth was back over yours, fully greedy and exhilarated.

It was now the kiss of victory for all to see as the crowd continued to scream and the cameras flashed.

—————————— 

“Do you want to answer any of their questions?” Doflamingo breathed against your ear. His taste was still fully in your mouth by the time he’d released your lips again. That kiss had been so rough and you could tell he still wanted more, much more.

But you were having trouble catching your breath. The noise, the camera flashes, and the remaining heat you’d endured for hours now were all culminating into this oppressive crush down upon you.

You really couldn’t breathe. Your pulse was racing. “No.” It was nearly a plea. “I want to go.” You said against his open shirt. 

And for that single moment at least he did listen to you. He heeded you immediately.

You heard him call out to Trebol. The closest executive then to you both, that snotty piece of shit that you still refused to even look at.

“We’re heading somewhere quieter!” Doflamingo still had to be loud to be heard above the crowd. “Call me when they’re ready at the palace!”

“Will do, Doffy!”

And that was it. No other warning except for the way Doflamingo’s arms encircled you even tighter before your organs felt like they were being ripped down into your feet.

The ground was gone. The only noise then the air rushing past your ears as you closed your eyes in reflex to that sudden blast.

Any exposed skin you had now registered the temperature change as well. Everything around you abruptly cold and drier then as all went silent once the movement had stopped again.

You could feel your legs hanging freely now. Your arms moved up to slide tightly around Doflamingo’s neck as you dared to take another breath.

“Fuck…” You panted quietly, your eyes opening again even as you refused to look fully down just yet.

“Yes. The air is a good deal thinner up here. But it’s private. Silent. The birds don’t even come this high.” 

And your wholly unorthodox method of transportation was now breathing deeper himself to adjust. His bare chest still so warm against you in contrast to the ever growing darkness, and the creeping cold which accompanied it.

The sun would soon be slipping completely below that far off horizon. The ocean mainly all you could still see. The island of Dressrosa was now just a small circle within it, the lights of the towns nothing bigger than fireflies at this distance.

“I meant…that I wanted to go back to the palace.” You at last responded, trying to regather yourself.

“And miss this view from heaven?” He taunted you still.

But as his grip on you started to loosen, your natural fear only began to rise. Your body knew it did not belong up here, literally now just an arm’s reach from the bottom edges of the clouds his strings were somehow suspending him from. 

This was the very reason mother ocean detested unnatural talents such as his.

“Doffy...” You tried again, still unable to calm your now racing heart.

“Don’t tell me I’ve finally found something that my woman is actually afraid of?” And that grin of his was so infuriatingly smug. 

“You know this isn’t…at least this isn’t the only reason I’m having a…I don’t even know what I’m having.”

A meltdown? Another panic attack? A complete shattering of everything you’d ever been and had worked so desperately to achieve?

“Why didn’t you at least warn me that you were going to do it this way!?” Your voice finally broke then as you looked to his face again.

His smile was fading. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“You lied and told everyone we’ve been together this whole time!”

This was not how it was supposed to be.

And he was just watching you as if this was of no consequence while you went on.

“You just told the entire world that I have been going behind my commander’s back for fucking years, Doflamingo. And that everyone who knew about me and Kuzan or me and Smoker can now call me a cheating bitch…when I’m not, none of that is true!”

And you saw his brow change as soon as their names were mentioned. You knew he was beginning to glare at you from behind those crimson lenses.

“By all means, let’s talk about your other men and their feelings on this while I dangle you a few thousand feet above sea level. That sounds reasonable to me.” He sneered at you.

His hands had closed around your wrists. He was pulling your arms away from his neck now. Your body was starting to slip.

A clear threat, but you knew he was somewhat bluffing. He wouldn’t kill you outright, not tonight at least. Not right after a display like that at the colosseum. He had to keep this farce going in front of the public in the short term at least, lest he be the one to look like a fool.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish you if you kept going.

You were sure he could let you fall as many times as he wanted. Then catch you at the last moment just to do it all over again.

And he would absolutely be that cruel if you instigated this further.

But you were also so angry, that you truly didn’t care any longer.

“Then do it.” Your voice broke again. “If you’re really that goddamn hateful! Have your laugh and torture me like you would anyone else. I’m tired of trying to make you understand what you clearly don’t want to!”

You saw him pause as your voice rose further at him. Though he was now holding you by only one wrist as you watched him defiantly, waiting for the drop.

You knew his pride wouldn’t allow any other response. You knew that he was going to do it. That he would think he had to do it.

His only hesitation may be in his disbelief that you were actually choosing this. 

That was the only thing you could assume as a grunt came from that man’s throat instead of a laugh. There was no smile. It only looked like an involuntary twitch of stress pulling the corner of his mouth further down. 

An expression of actual misery just before his hand snapped open and you plummeted.

The fucking idiot.

And you didn’t scream. Somehow you forced yourself not to. Your eyes closed tightly as you crossed your arms over your chest and put your ankles together beneath you.

This was the safest way you might dive feet first into the ocean from the highest rigging overhanging the water off of a ship. 

You had to pretend that’s all this was. 

From this height a body would be nothing but a splat of blood and viscera though. Something unrecognizable if you made it that far. 

The timing was so hard to tell with your eyes closed though. 

Just that terrible feeling and the wind rushing past your ears again as the back of your coat fluttered up behind you.

It probably wouldn’t have even hurt. Death like that would have been instant.

What did hurt was the abrupt deceleration. Only then had you gasped, the pain sudden as your body stopped but your insides didn’t. 

Your eyes opened as you clutched at your torso, feeling like things had actually tried to rip inside. Things that never should have moved at all as you twisted in his new strings.

Even through your harsh breathing you could now hear the sea. And your eyes widened when you realized how close it really all was. You could see the waves, breaking gently in the night’s breeze.

A secluded beach was just beneath you. Outside of that rocky ring of cliff face that surrounded most of Dressrosa.

And then the strings had moved again. You were jerked down before being dumped right into that warm sand.

You stumbled, falling onto your knees. But you were still holding your body just below your breasts.

You were too mad to cry by then. You just moved to sit in that sand, not even looking up as those long black shoes met the beach not long after and already began approaching you.

“I guess I forget that I string my insides as well to absorb that shock without thinking.” His tone was cold, almost monotone now. “And you can’t.”

You bit your own lip, refusing to look up at him yet. 

And in all of it. In everything he’d just said and done this evening, what you still hated more than anything was how your heart felt like it was going to twist itself in two.

And that had nothing to do with the fall.

“Doffy…” You said his name in continued irritation, but with grief beginning to show fully on your face.

Even out of your peripheral vision you saw him straighten up at that single word.

“Do you know what’s the single thing holding me back from loving a man like you?”

What a loaded and entirely dangerous question that was. But you gave him no time to respond. You were yelling at this fucking monster next as you glared back up at him, grief and frustration bursting back out all together then.

“It’s only self preservation! Not self respect, not being a marine, not Tsuru, not Kuzan, not even your fucking crimes! I just want to be able to fucking trust you! For one goddamn day for you to not be a complete nightmare! I don’t understand…you say you goddamn want me. You beg me to stay, to say that I love you. And yet you still treat me like this, every single day. Nearly every day you find a new way to hurt me! I can’t do it. I’m not unbreakable. You’re going to kill me eventually! So why not just do it and be done!?”

He stared at you, silent for several moments. But you could see that blood vessel rising on his forehead.

“Why did you say yes to me so easily then?” His voice was so different there, so strained when it finally came.

And you didn’t hesitate to respond to that, regardless of the rising danger once more. “The easy answer? I didn’t want you to have a tantrum and start slicing through people of course!” 

But you still scoffed, not stopping there either. “But the truth? I don’t want to be alone either, you asshole! And I know that no one else is ever going to stay with me for long. Because there is something very wrong with me. Something that only you aren’t afraid of. I don’t know why! But it’s a goddamn curse!”

You heard a low growl from him then even as those waves still moved rhythmically in and out along the shore.

“It’s not my fault.” 

He said this so suddenly, so oddly, that you just had to stare at him as you watched his fist clench at his side.

“The way I treat you…it isn’t my fault!” He hissed at you as you felt that return glare from behind the glasses. His frustration breaking loudly at last. “You drive me fucking crazy! If you would just obey! If you would listen!”

You started to snap back at him. “I’m not your fucking slave! I-“

And he cut you off so quickly. “I don’t care about that! I don’t want you to die! Don’t you understand!? You’re the only one that makes me feel wanted, desired. It’s not transactional, it’s not fucking fake.” He was gritting his teeth, like he couldn’t explain this in the correct words. Like the correct words didn’t exist.

You gestured in exasperation, disbelieving, but knowing this was all the worse if true. “Then you have to work harder! You’re the only one who can protect me from you. If I die, it’s going to be because of you! Don’t you see that!?”

“Then help me!” He yelled right back at you, teeth bared and voice desperate.

This was two insane people now screaming at one another on what should have been a romantic, private beach just after sunset.

And you with a beautiful new engagement ring sparkling on your finger in the starlight all the while.

That finger which now clenched with your others into a fist against your hip. The anger just too much to possibly maintain.

“Fuck, I need alcohol.” You breathed, feeling like you could have punched a hole into a mountain right now if you’d really tried. 

But you didn’t want to. And you sensed Doflamingo still all bristled up a few steps away as you told him as much. “I’m not fighting you.”

You did see his shoulders lower slightly, but that blood vessel in his forehead was still pulsing away.

“We’re getting married tonight regardless.” Doflamingo exhaled next, beginning to pace. “I’m not backing down. You’re signing those papers as soon as they’re ready at the palace. Trebol will call when the official arrives to bear witness.”

“And why does it have to be tonight?” You asked more tiredly then. Nothing was really going to surprise you any longer. You had met your limit for today.

“Because I don’t trust anyone either. When my stunt at the colosseum hits the newspapers tomorrow, someone’s going to try and stop us. I know they are. So you’ll smile, you’ll sign every goddamn paper I put in front of you, and it will all be faxed to Mariejois tonight. By morning you’ll already be Mrs. Donquixote and everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

“How romantic.” You answered, your chin now resting on your knees that were pulled up to your chest as you remained sitting in the sand.

And at last it was quiet then. Just the calm of the waves for a while. 

Doflamingo had finally stopped pacing, standing there with his hands in his pockets watching the horizon.

For several minutes he remained there, lost in his own thoughts about who knew what before he turned to look at you again.

You heard him sigh, something he didn’t do very often as those long legs eventually carried him back over.

You didn’t fully tense as his ass suddenly met the sand to plop down near you. But you raised your head cautiously to acknowledge him.

“It’ll get better.” He said, almost quietly then to your surprise. 

And all of the sudden your legs were moving on their own. You hadn’t even felt him attach a string to your spine this time.

But you frowned as they stretched out on their own accord. You could only wonder what he was planning now before he laid down abruptly, not caring about the sand on his clothes at all apparently. 

His head was then resting in your newly available lap that he had just provided for himself by moving your legs.

He shifted his fingers again after as well, still controlling you to make yours go into his hair next as he used his own free hand to remove his sunglasses.

You saw the genuinely tired look in his eyes then as he looked up at you while you were forced to gently stroke his scalp. “I do want you to love me.” He breathed, his eyes remaining on yours.

“I know.” You answered. Not arguing any longer, and not bothering to demand him to release you. 

“Just don’t give up on me yet.” He said, his eyes going more half lidded as he let your hand stop petting him. He turned his face, so gently kissing your hand then instead. “Because I already love you.” He added.

And you inhaled quietly. It pulled at you every damn time he said it. “I think…that maybe you want to.”

“If we don’t yet, then we’ll learn how to.” He promised you at that, not actually disagreeing. And he turned onto his side then, briefly closing his eyes with his head still comfortably in your lap.

“We’ll love each other.” Doflamingo said, reinforcing this just loud enough for you to hear over the continued waves. “We’ll have to, because no one else ever will.”

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[poisonedprose]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕷. KINKTOBER DAY 21. LITTLE LAMB

simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

warnings: 0.9k words, kinktober smut, mean!ghost, virgin!reader, cursing, pet names (little/lamb), corruption kink, degrading kink, dumbification kink, sir kink, publicish sex, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, pwp

masterlists

Ever since you had joined the task force, Ghost wasn’t keen on showing up on time for training. You were so incomprehensible with your small top that practically had your tits spilling out at the low neck line and your cute little strawberry shorts that you wore, and two french braids in your hair as you worked at the punching bag. Your form was almost abominable. Small punches, headphones over your ears, not paying attention to your surroundings.

Ghost tries not to, but it’s hard not to stare as your tits bounce with every punch. The guys all snicker and stare, some making fun of you while others do everything they can to get in your pants. Somehow, you were oblivious to all of it. The jokes they would make about you, or when one of them decided to flirt with you but you thought they were just being friendly.

The only thing you weren’t oblivious to was how much Ghost seemed to avoid you. He’s never made eye contact, that much you noticed. You figured your personality just wasn’t something that interested him. He never seemed to do something unless he gained from it.

Your headphones were gently pull off your ears. You snap your head back to see Ghost standing behind you, your headphones in his hands. “Yes, Lieutenant?” You ask, looking up at him with innocent eyes. He hated when you did that. “You’ve been here all day. Go rest.” He grumbled as he handed your headphones back to you.

“But, sir-” He made a grumbling sound at you words. “I don’t want to hear it when you’re sore tomorrow.” He seemed to be annoyed. “I can assure you I won’t be sore tomorrow.” You weren’t eager to protest, but you still wanted to train. You knew you weren’t the best on the team and you knew it was a miracle that you even made it on the task force.

He rolled his stern eyes, the only part visible of him through the mask. “Then let me help you. You’re going to hurt yourself. I don’t have time or patience for that.” You nodded, afraid to protest in case he would change his mind. You placed your headphones on the floor next to your water bottle.

You spun back around to look at the punching bag, awaiting Ghost’s orders. “Feet apart.” You obeyed, looking at the ground, specifically at your feet, to gauge how far apart you pulled your feet before returning to look at the punching bag. “Stand up straight.” You hummed in confusion. You felt like you were already standing up straight. He sighed and placed his hands on your waist, forcing you even straighter. You made a small yelp sound, which made Ghost chuckle.

“Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” He remarks, leaving his hands on your waist. “Sorry, sir.” You muttered, face heating up from his touch. It was silent for a moment as you waited for his next order but it never came. You turned your head slightly to look at him, silently asking what was going on.

“What are you looking at? Did I tell you to look at me?” He spat and you quickly looked back at the punching bag. “Sorry, sir.” You said once again. “Dumb girl.” He mumbled but you heard it clear as day. "I didn't think I needed to tell you to hit the bag. Didn't know you were so incompetent." He continues, his hands still on your waist. As much as you hated to admit it, his words had an effect on you. You clenched your thighs together, biting back the urge to whine or something along those lines.

"Is that all it takes to get you goin'?" He chuckles, clearly noticing your actions. I mean, after all, he was trained to notice minuscule things like that. His grip on you grew tighter. He leaned down, covered mouth right next to you. "Answer me." He growled. "Yes, sir." You answered immediately, ashamed how his touch and words alone made your panties all wet and left you with a feeling you weren't familiar with.

His chest pressed against your back, one of his hands snaking down to cup your pussy through your adorable shorts. You gasped to which he snickered. "This is what you get. Paradin' around in those cute little clothes. Bet you flashed your tits to anyone who asked." He degraded. "No, I haven't!" You pouted, though he couldn't see your face. "Oh? No? Is that so?" He said, condescension dripping off his tongue.

He slid his hands up your body, one hand over each tit. "Everyone watches 'em bounce when you're punchin' the bag. Gettin' everyone hard without even realizin' it, huh little lamb?" His thick british accent rang through your ears, your brain getting all fuzzy. "'m sorry, sir." You utter weakly, timidness in your voice. "Ya better fuckin' be."

Ghost slid his hands back down your body, swiftly sliding a hand into your shorts. "You like this, lamb? You like when your lieutenant shoves his hand down your pants?" You nod but that doesn't seem to satisfy him. "Use your words." He commands as he applies pressure on your clit. "Y-yes, sir." You gasp out, never having felt the pleasure he was giving you. "I'm gonna ruin you. Ya hear me? I'm gonna split you in half with my cock." He promised, pulling your shorts down.

You made no move to stop him or protest. Your eyes landed on the door as the cool air hit your soaked cunt. Anyone could walk in at any second to see you being manhandled by your lieutenant but you couldn't care less. A string of your arousal stuck to your panties. "Look at you, lamb. So ready for me to abuse your hole." He coos.

He bends you slightly, your hands meeting the wall with your back arched. He moves his hands to your hips, grinding his hips into your ass for his own pleasure. “Look at this tight pussy. Can barely stick a finger in there.” He snickers as he slides a finger into your entrance. You moaned, only ever feeling your own fingers before and they never once felt the way Ghost’s did.

“Gonna get you so dumb on my cock.” He mutters and adds another finger, stretching you out with a sting. He makes a calm pace, fingering you and slowly working you to your orgasm. But, of course, he doesn’t let you reach it, pulling out before you felt the build up you desired.

You were about to complain but the sound of his pants being unzipped kept you quiet. “Gonna make a mess out of this pussy.” He rubs the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing you before giving in and shoving his cock into your cunt. You whine, louder than you would’ve liked, the stretch of his cock so much more intense than his fingers. “Bloody hell.” He groans, not letting you adjust as he snaps his hips into the plush of your ass.

His thrusts are rough and you can’t get a single word out. Your eyes are rolling back in your head, drool dribbling out of the corner of your mouth. “Bet you’ve been wantin’ this. Huh? You’ve been wantin’ me to fuck your virgin pussy, little lamb?” His voice is breathy, and sweat starts to glisten his skin. You want to respond, knowing he might get mad if you don’t but all that leaves your lips are whimpers. “Of course, y’have, you dirty dirty girl .”

[bebravedearheart]

😂 tickling for merthur!

I don't know why, I had a feeling I'd get this one😂

***

Merlin threw open the heavy curtains blocking the dawn from Arthur's chambers, eliciting a groan from the prince who for all he said Merlin puzzled him was a mystery himself. How could a man with the honed reflexes of a knight training since childhood, who woke at the slightest twitch or rustle while on patrol or on a hunt, be so difficult to wake in the mornings he spent in his lavish bed in the castle.

Though, on reflection, Merlin didn't think he'd wake up so easily if he too was enveloped in soft linen sheets and a feather mattress.

Arthur had done no more than press his face further into his pillow.

"Come on then," Merlin said brightly, just a fraction louder than he needed to. "Let's have you lazy daisy," He knew Arthur hated that phrase and it might at least get something thrown at his head--which meant Arthur would have to move to do so.

The prince, clearly intending to be particularly difficult today, just groaned again, one hand dragged from the warmth of the deep red coverlet to make a shooing motion at Merlin.

"Breakfast will get cold," Merlin tried, deciding not to mention the fact he had once again been late to pick it up and it was already no more than lukewarm.

"S'always cold," Arthur muttered, muffled in his decadence.

"Do I have to drag you out, my lord?" Merlin asked, both of them well aware he only titled Arthur when he was being particularly sardonic. "I've done it before and I will do it again," he continued, trying his best to channel his mother's particular brand of ferocity.

"Are you threatening me, Merlin?" came the still-muffled, still-pompous tone. Arthur was feeling a little more awake, then.

"If that's what it needs to be to get your lazy arse out of bed, royal or not." Merlin answered loftily, with a long-suffering sigh for good measure. He still couldn't see the prince's face, but Arthur's hand was idly twisting in his coverlet; those broad, calloused fingers wrinkling then smoothing the linen.

"You can't talk to me like that," Arthur raised his head, the effect of his commanding, self-important tone somewhat lessened by the yawn that broke his words and the way his hair stuck up in all directions.

Something warm settled itself beneath Merlin's ribs, as it so often did in unguarded moments like these, the glimpses of the man beneath the crown, the infuriating, stubborn, childish man.

"Well, are you getting out of bed?"

"Nope."

"Then I shall continue."

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Sod off."

"Right." Merlin had a note of finality to his tone. "If you're not getting out of bed, I'm getting in."

"Excuse me?" Arthur demanded, though the words had not even left his mouth before Merlin was sat on his hips, knees either side of him.

"Get up," Merlin singsonged, prodding Arthur's bare chest with one long finger.

"Get off," Arthur grumbled, with far less heat than he knew he should at such familiarity.

"Get up," Merlin sang again, prodding Arthur in the ribs this time. The prince could not suppress the slight twitch and shiver when Merlin's finger brushed the sensitive, ticklish spot on his ribs. Merlin did not fail to notice and he grinned wickedly.

"Right." He said again, drawing all of his fingers, feather-light across Arthur's ribs.

***

"Merlin!" the prince squeaked--with dignity, of course--thinking wildly for a moment about how soft Merlin's palms were where they rested on his sides, how warm.

"Are you getting up, my lord?" Merlin said again, his other hand skating over Arthur's chest as the laughter he could not help broke free.

"Merlin! Give up! Merlin!" He bellowed between giggles, had no idea what anyone passing in the corridor might think. His manservant had never listened to him, however, and it did not look like he was about to start now.

Truly awake now, Arthur drew on those perfectly honed reflexes and grabbed Merlin's wrist, knowing Merlin wasn't expecting it. "Ha!" his voice was triumphant as he sat up, still holding Merlin's wrist. They had wrestled like children before, gone far beyond any boundary of lord and servant many times but this felt different. The air felt charged with something Arthur could not name and tried hard not to think about.

His hand seemed so large, clumsy against Merlin's. His blunt, calloused fingertips looked like they would sully Merlin's perfectly pale skin. Arthur swallowed thickly, knowing he should let go but unable to make himself just yet.

Merlin flexed his fingers and Arthur watched the movement intently, didn't think of rules or propriety as he brought Merlin's hand closer to his face, pressed a kiss to his warm palm. Merlin's breath caught in his throat and Arthur moved to kiss the pads of each of Merlin's finger. He tasted the salt-sweat of Merlin's skin, the barest hint of whichever herbs he had picked for Gaius before coming to wake him and the honey from the rolls he always brought Arthur for breakfast. "Stealing my sweetmeats before you've even served me, Merlin?"

The tips of Merlin's ears flushed a delicate pink and Arthur knew he was right. He let go of Merlin's wrist, reluctantly. "We should--"

Merlin's hand had already found its way back to Arthur's chest, pressed flat against his sternum, pushing Arthur to lie back down. Those elegant fingers ran across his chest, down his ribs again; over all the ticklish spots that made Arthur shiver, brushing a nipple oh-so-lightly--which made Arthur actually gasp.

Merlin's smile turned wicked as he tickled Arthur's ribs again just to watch him twitch.

"I think you can stay in bed just a little longer."

[dira333]

Fools - Miya Atsumu x Reader

Those hardest to love need it most... Inspired by the song "Fools" by Lauren Aquilina - 8,6k

Miya Atsumu always thought that song described him. He knows he's not the easiest to love. But what if he finds his match in someone who's convinced that sometimes, love is not enough?

Yes I am on Hiatus. This was born in one afternoon. Emi is @emmyrosee of course

Those hardest to love need it most…

“Can you pick Kita-san up?” Samu asks during their daily phone call, just short after telling him to take the shrimps off the heat.

“Sure, sure,” Atsumu answers, phone tucked between his head and his shoulders, trying to save the slightly burned shrimps - he should have taken them off the heat.

“Train should be in at 12 o’clock sharp, don’t be late.”

“I’m never late,” Atsumu replies. “What did you say I have to do with the veggies?”

Samu sighs on the other end. “Have you not cut them yet?”

Atsumu eyes the vegetables on the cutting board. He’d started, but quickly lost focus over the retelling of today’s practice.

“They’re almost done,” he lies, but Samu has always been the twin with the better nose, sniffing out the truth every time.

“Liar.”

-

It’s seven minutes after twelve as he parks behind the train station, trying to find Kita’s telltale hair in the midst of all the people. 

Why he would take the train here just to endure the road trip down to the beach with them is something Atsumu doesn’t understand but he’s long given up trying to understand Kita’s mind.

“Here!” He leans out of his open car window, waving his arm. “Kita-san! I’m here!”

But it’s not Kita who turns around, though the hair color is strangely similar.

The woman wears it longer, though, the black tips like feathers. She walks over, even when he tries to wave her off.

“Sorry, sorry, I thought you were someone else.

“Miya-san?” She asks and he’s halfway through remembering where he stores his headshots for autographs when she offers him her hand through the open window. “I’m Kita-san. Thank you for picking me up.”

“Bullshit!”

-

You are, as it turns out, just as opposed to swearwords as your cousin.

Atsumu spends half a minute apologizing for the use of it and half a minute agonizing over the fact that you’re cute. 

Would Kita-san hate him if he hit you up? Probably. 

Would it be worth it? 

He tries checking you out from the corner of his eye, but you too have the Kita family’s very own talent of knowing everything, it seems.

“Eyes on the street, Miya-san.”

“I was just checking the cars behind me.”

“Sure you were.”

“And you’re, uh-” He hesitates. “Here for work?”

“No.”

“Fun?”

“I’m not sure if I can call it that.”

And you’re just as “easy” to talk to as your male counterpart.

“What would you call it then?”

“Therapy.”

He swallows wrong and almost swerves into the other lane as he tries not to choke on his spit. You stay miraculously calm.

“Shinsuke informed me that it it absolutely necessary to partake in the ritual of letting nature consume your complete focus if I wanted to ground myself in my new identity.”

“What?”

You sigh. “I’m joining you on your trip.”

Atsumu’s hands cramp around the steering wheel. “Fantastic.”

-

The train station isn’t far away from his apartment where Samu’s already waiting, his truck loaded with snacks and other stuff they could be wanting.

Atsumu considers it a betrayal of the worst kind when Samu isn’t the least bit shocked by your obvious femininity. 

“You didn’t tell me she was going to be a she!” He hisses at his brother as you move on to greeting Ginjima who lifts your little suitcase into the back of Samu’s truck with ease.

“You didn’t ask,” Samu shoots back, grinning like the fool he is. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“A problem?!” He pauses, trying to figure out a good comeback. He doesn’t have any. 

Samu eyes him in a way he doesn’t like. His nose wrinkles and Atsumu fears for the worst.

“You think she’s cute?”

“No, I don’t!” He snaps back, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You think she’s cute!”

“I have a girlfriend,” Samu reminds him - like Atsumu doesn’t already know that, he’s rubbing it under his nose every chance he gets.

“Whatever!” Atsumu barks, stalking back to his car to get his own stuff. 

-

It’s by divine intervention - or, more likely, Samu’s doing - that you take the middle seat.

It’s the worst seat by far and he feels kinda sorry for you, getting squished between him and Ginjima and in the worst summer heat too.

“Here,” he offers you a bottle of water from the cooler. “Samu’s AC doesn’t work all the time.”

“It works just fine,” Samu grumbles from the front, “I just don’t try to recreate Winter in my car, that’s all.”

“I will be fine, Miya-san,” you tell him but there’s a warmth to your eyes now that has him feeling weirdly shy, has him tuck his head in between his shoulders and stare out of the window until they’re on the highway.

Emi, Samu’s girlfriend, has the AUX-Cable, so they spend the first part of their drive listening to bubble gum pop. Atsumu would deny it with every fiber of his being that he likes this kind of music, but more than once he catches his foot tapping the rhythm, his knee knocking into yours with every movement.

Ginjima, the guy with the world's tiniest bladder, dictates every pit stop. 

It’s not that bad though, getting out of the car every hour or so, to stretch your legs and crack your back after sitting stiff for so long.

Samu usually spends those five minutes with Emi, laughing over a joke she’s made or showing her a new recipe he’s found so Atsumu finds himself coming back to you, again and again, like one of those annoying moth-things that always fly into the light.

“Have you been at the beach before?” He asks, trying to ignore the scent of your perfume as the wind blows through your hair.

“Not yet, no,” you curl your nose and close your eyes as the sun blinds you and he turns his head to look away because you’re cute and you’re Kita’s cousin and this is not supposed to be happening, period.

“But you know how to swim, right?”

You laugh, the sound surprisingly soft. “Yes, Miya-san. I know how to swim.”

“You can call me Atsumu, you know?” He asks after a while. “It’s going to get confusing otherwise. I mean the guys call us Samu and Tsumu because that’s our nicknames but Kita-san always called us by our proper first names so I figured you’d be like that too.”

“Thank you,” you hesitate for a second, holding your breath like you don’t know how to deal with that offer. He only knows you’re holding your breath because he can’t smell your chewing gum, a scent he’s started focusing on when your perfume got too distracting.

“You can call me by my first name too.”

And maybe, just maybe, Atsumu feels like going back to Samu, boasting about the fact that he’s got to call you by your first name first. But that would be weird and he’s not weird. He’s totally chill about it, really.

-

They reach the Beach House just shortly after six o’clock, with Kita-san waiting out front - the male one, not you.

“Shinsuke!” You reach him first and he hugs you tight, arms crossed over your back as if you’re a bird just waiting to fly away if he lets go too soon.

It feels weird watching them, like he’s seeing too much of something he’s not supposed to see, but he can’t just look away like that either.

But then Ginjima stumbles into him, with too many bags in his arms, and his focus shifts. When he turns back, you’ve separated, and now both of you are on your way to the car to help unload.

Atsumu feels weirdly awkward as if Kita’s going to sniff him out just like Samu did, pulling him behind the house to lecture him on the proper way to treat his cousin or something like this - not like he did anything wrong, really!

But Kita just smiles and does that half-hug thing he does and then he’s gone, your suitcase in one hand and the cooler in the other as if they both weigh nothing.

Atsumu breathes out in relief. If Kita doesn’t suspect something weird, he’s going to be safe, he thinks. At least until Suna appears in the doorway, sly fox grin on his lips and his phone raised just high enough to let Atsumu know he captured everything.

Yeah, he’s definitely a goner.

-

“So you and Kita-san, huh?” Suna asks as soon as the door of their bedroom closes behind him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Atsumu tells him pointedly as he shoves his suitcase under his bed and his volleyball stuff into his designated spot in the closet.

“Sure, sure.” Suna singsongs behind him before pausing - and Suna pausing is never a good sign. “But you know Kita wants her to be with Aran?”

“What?” Atsumu turns, much too fast to be casual, he knows. “Did he say that? Out loud?”

“Well they’re going to be sharing a room, so-”

“They’re sharing a room?” Oh and now he’s getting loud too. God, calm down Atsumu, calm down.

Suna grins, eyes twinkling dangerously. “What did you think, genius? We only have three rooms. Samu and Emi are taking one, you and me the other and Kita would never make Aran or his dear Cousin sleep on the Couch in the living room.”

“You could sleep on the Couch,” Atsumu snaps.

Suna gleams. “And let his dear Cousin share a room with you? This is Kita we’re talking about. Aran’s the only guy he’d trust her with- where are you going?”

Atsumu is halfway down the stairs before Suna follows him. He finds Kita in the kitchen.

“I’m sleeping on the Couch,” he breathes out, watching as Kita’s eyebrows perform an absurd dance over his eyes. You’ve got the same eye color, he noticed, but somehow it looks better on you.

“Why would you do that?” Kita asks, Suna repeating the question like a parrot - just a little more annoying. 

“Because surely Kita-san, err, your cousin, I mean, would want to share a room with you. But you’re not going to kick Aran out of his room when there’s only the Couch left so I’m taking the Couch. Aran can take my bed.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m the youngest?” 

“I’m younger than you,” Suna reminds him and Atsumu swallows back the reply that wants to trip off his tongue.

“Well,” he coughs out instead, “Maybe if I get a bad back from sleeping on the Couch EJP Raijin will finally be able to beat MSBY Black Jackals.”

“Oh, you’re so on,” Suna snarls before turning to Kita. “Let him suffer, Kita-san. It will be good for his morale.”

“If you insist,” Kita still hesitates before nodding. “If you insist, we’ll do as you offered. You can put your stuff in the cupboard back here.”

-

The Couch is awful to sleep on. That, coupled with the fact that he can hear everything going on and he doesn’t want to know which bed is creaking right now and if it’s Samu’s he definitely doesn’t want to know, is making it very hard to sleep.

The Beach House belongs to Kita’s family. Or was it a friend of the family? They’ve been coming here since Kita’s made captain, only back then they had adult supervision and Samu had still been as painfully single as everyone else. 

The beds aren’t the most comfortable, at least one faucet is always leaking and the water in the shower takes ages to turn hot but it’s cheap and it has enough beds for their little group and the ocean makes everything worthwhile anyway.

Dinner, as usual, had been Samu’s task, with Emi serving them just like back in Osaka. Suna had opened a bottle of wine and you’d drunken a glass, the drink staining your lips blue and your cheeks pink. 

And Atsumu knows it must have been obvious, the way he peeled off the label from his beer bottle instead of telling an animated story of his last game or the fact that he could not stand looking in your direction more than two seconds before turning away again, yet not able to focus on anything but the sound of your voice and- 

“Can’t sleep?” 

He’s sitting upright in seconds, hand on his chest, his heart racing.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” your hair glows white in the moonlight as you climb down the rest of the stairs, “but I can’t sleep and I wanted to get a glass of water.”

“‘m fine,” he lies. “I was… thinking.”

You don’t ask about his thoughts, slip through the dark living room like a ghost instead.

“Can you bring me a glass too?” He asks, not because he’s thirsty but because he’s not had a moment with you alone ever since they arrived at Samu’s place and-

“Here,” you appear out of nowhere, pressing the glass into his hands. This close he can tell that you’re wearing proper silk pajamas, every button closed right up to your chin. It’s cute and he hates it, eyes shifting to his toes in an effort to distract himself.

“Can I ask you a question, Atsumu?” You ask, still standing next the Couch.

“Sure.”

“Are you attracted to me?”

Water sprays all over his thin blanket as he chokes on the sip he’d been taking. You thump his back until he can breathe again.

“Wh-Why I mean, how do you- what?”

“Shinsuke pointed out that it seemed that way,” you point out now, taking a seat next to his legs. “I wanted to check if he was right.”

“What if I am?” He asks, daring to in the darkness.

You sigh. “I would prefer if you weren’t.”

He swallows. “Right. Well, you’re lucky, I guess. Because I’m not. Attracted to you, I mean.”

“I’d be honored,” you talk on, either ignoring his rambling or not understanding it. “Because you’re a good-looking guy and you’re very nice too. But I’ve just ended an intense work relationship and I don’t want to tie myself down again until I know who I am.”

“Totally understandable.”

“Thank you.” You get up again. “Shall I take your glass back to the kitchen?”

“Uh, yes, sure.” He hands it back to you, listens as you sneak back up the stairs, stopping just short of the corner. “Sleep well, Atsumu.”

“You too,” he whispers back, his heart still very much in overdrive.

You think he’s good-looking.

- - -

There is a special kind of hell out there and it’s trying to teach you Beach Volleyball.

Emi has long given up trying to be good at it, choosing to goof of the second she’s unsupervised, so she’s no help at all, running after Samu with a water gun.

But you stick close to him, trying to copy what he’s doing, wearing an awfully small amount of clothes.

Compared to Emi you’re fully dressed but Emi’s his brother's girlfriend and about as interesting as a cockroach wearing makeup. 

But the combination of Kita’s oversized grey swimshorts coupled with a bikini top with little cherries, a light hoodie he suspects must have cost a couple thousand Yen and a sunhat adorned with a smiling shark - no doubt from the children’s section - is a little too much for him to handle. 

Aran’s the one who mentions it first, probably because he knows he won’t get eaten by Kita for doing it.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you mention yet again. “This was a last-minute decision. I borrowed what I could.”

“Isn’t there a market?” Atsumu remembers from a trip two years ago. “In the next village over? Akagi ripped his swim shorts so we went and bought new ones.”

Suna lifts his phone. “Tsumu’s right. It’s open every day from ten to six. We can go right away if you want.”

You seem unsure. “We don’t have to go just because of me.”

“I’m sure Samu would like a chance to go shopping,” Atsumu adds as if it’s an afterthought. He turns to Suna. “It’s right by the harbor, right?”

“Samu, you wanna get fish?!” Suna yells and they watch in unison as Samu stops dead right by the water, Emi tumbling into him, the two of them crashing into the waves.

Half an hour later they’re all filed into the truck again, Suna taking Ginjima’s seat and Aran following them in his car with the rest of them.

“Shouldn’t we have changed?” You ask, halfway to the market and Atsumu can’t help but think that yes, they should have, most of all you, but it’s a little too late for that now.

-

They lose Samu two steps into the market and where Samu is, Emi is always close behind.

Atsumu’s doing a marvelous job at keeping you and Kita in his line of sight but he’s not doing the best job at hiding that.

“Dude, chill,” Ginjima tells him, pointing at a seashell necklace. “You’re way too obvious.”

“‘m not,” he declares, though doing a poor job. “And that would look awful on you.”

“Not on me, on you,” Ginjima pouts but he leaves it hanging, moving on.

It doesn’t take long for you to get what you need. A swimsuit here, a nice summer hat there, don’t forget the sunscreen.

Atsumu’s just shy of asking if he should carry it for you when you stop to watch a woman who’s drawing portraits on the side of the market.

“Do you want to get a portrait?” Aran asks, his voice soft enough that Atsumu suspects that he’s going to offer to pay for it.

You hesitate and it’s just a heartbeat long, but he notices it, the way your fingers twitch as you watch the charcoal move over paper.

“I just like watching it,” you answer, your voice bland enough to hide something underneath.

“Well,” he almost swallows his tongue as he pops up behind you, “that’s good. Would you do me a favor? I wanted a portrait for quite a while and I don’t want her to mess up my good looks. You could keep watch to make sure she’s getting my good side.”

“Like you have one,” Suna snarks from behind him and he can see Ginjima from the corner of his eye, waving his arms in a poor attempt to stop him from doing whatever he’s doing.

But you smile with your eyes and not your lips, nodding slightly. “I can do that if it’s important to you, Miya-san.”

And, he’s a little taken aback by the fact that you’re addressing him by his last name again until he feels Kita-san appear behind him like a shadow, offering to stay behind instead.

“No, it’s fine,” you disagree. “I could use a little break. You could take my stuff with you if you want to help, Shinsuke.”

“Fine,” Kita finally relents. “But call me if you need any help, okay? And Atsumu, please don’t haggle over the price.”

“I’m not that cheap,” he answers, embarrassed to be reminded of past mistakes.

-

It’s awkward at first, posing while you watch. 

But you’re not really watching him, he finds soon enough, your eyes glued to the paper instead, only flickering up to his face whenever the artist does the same.

“Have you been doing this for a long time?” He asks, easily bored.

“No,” the woman shakes her head. “Drawing, yes. But I only started doing portraits after I retired.”

“Oh, what did you do for work?”

“I was a dancer,” she tells him with a cheeky smile. “But not the kind you think. I did quite a few shows and taught children to do the same. But my legs aren’t as good anymore so I pass my time like this.”

“Would I know you?” He asks, pursing his lips until she tells him to stop. “What’s your name?”

“Tabata Kame. But I don’t think you know me. It’s been quite some time. I do know you, though. My grandson is very interested in volleyball.”

Atsumu flushes pink.

“He must be very interested indeed. Osaka is not that close.”

“Close enough if you want it to be,” Tabata-san smiles before looking up at you. “And how long have you been painting?”

You jerk back, surprised by the question.

“I don’t-” you hesitate, your eyes flickering over to him as if checking. “A few… I haven’t been drawing for a few years now,” you admit. “I did it a lot when I was a teenager.”

“Ah,” Tabata-san nods. “Never enough time, right?”

“Right. And I’m… not as talented as you are.”

“Nonsense,” she clicks her tongue. “You just need exercise. It’s like dancing. If you want to do it, that’s the first step. Everything else is just practice.”

“I think a quadriplegic would disagree,” Atsumu jokes, delighted when you snort.

“I make you a deal,” Tatabe-san announces after another while of quiet drawing. “You let me draw you and I’ll gift you some paper and some charcoal to practice, what do you say?”

“I can’t take that,” you decline, hands folded firmly in front of your chest.

“It’s a gift,” Tatabe-san disagrees. “From one artist to the other.”

“I’m a lawyer, not an artist.”

“I thought you stopped?” Atsumu asks, biting his tongue when your eyes flicker back to him, surprise evident on his face.

You haven’t told him that, he knows. You’d been deep in conversation with Aran and Emi while he’d pretended to listen to Ginjima and Samu but he can’t back down now, not after he’s already spilled the beans.

“I heard you say it, last night. That you quit.”

“I didn’t quit,” you disagree. “I took a sabbatical. That’s different.”

“So you’re going to go back after that year?”

You hesitate, your body locking up seemingly just at the thought of it.

Tatabe-san sighs. “You young ones should listen to us sometime. It is not good for the mind to fear what it’s doing.”

“I don’t fear what I’m doing.”

“You do,” Atsumu disagrees. “I mean if I can see it, then-”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, boy.” Tatabe-san clicks her tongue at him. “You’ve got quite an eye. Now stop talking or I’ll get your nose wrong.”

“Sorry.”

Forced to keep quiet he can’t do more than plead with his eyes as you stare him down, arms crossed in front of you.

Eventually, Tatabe-san puts down her charcoal and wipes her hands.

“Now,” she looks up at you. “Will you let me draw you?”

You hesitate, looking over the market.

“We shouldn’t take that long,” you say but Atsumu is already up, pulling you toward the chair. “Come on,” he urges you. “When do you ever get a chance like this?”

“At every other market,” you disagree, followed by an apology toward Tatabe-san.

“Please?” He asks. “For me?”

“For you?” Your brows furrow. “Why for you?”

But you let your defense slip and now you’re seated on the chair, staring up at him in surprise as he takes a step back, taking your former position next to Tatabe-san.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother checking Tatabe-san’s work. He’s more than content to just look at you.

At first, you look awkward, pull your hoodie closer around you. But then he points out the seagulls just a stone’s throw away and you look, soon captivated by their endless endeavors, trying and succeeding in stealing the food of unassuming tourists.

“Done,” Tatabe-san announces much too soon, spraying both portraits with Hairspray and rolling them up. “Here,” she hands it to you before holding her hand out for money. “Six thousand Yen, please.”

“Don’t we get a Friends Discount?” He jokes, pulling out his wallet.

“Atsumu,” you tell him off and he sticks his tongue out at you before paying.

Tatabe-san smiles and pulls out a canvas tote bag, filling it with paper and charcoal.

“I can’t-” you try to declare again just as a familiar voice reaches their ears. 

“Do you need more time?” Kita’s at the corner and you shake your head no immediately, turning away from Tatabe-san and him, pressing the drawings into his hands like they’re nothing but a nuisance.

“No, no, we’re on our way. Sorry, it took us so long.”

-

He doesn’t dare open the drawings, not even when Suna needles him over dinner.

“Didn’t turn out that well, huh?” Suna asks with a grin and he searches your eyes over the table, disappointed when you keep looking away.

“I wouldn’t know,” he admits. “Kita-san checked the progress.”

“It was okay,” you say, your lukewarm answer enough to change the topic.

He hides the drawings on the bottom of his suitcase, rolled up in his favorite jersey with the paper and charcoal he got from Tatabe-san.

Maybe he’ll give it to you. Maybe he’ll just keep it to himself. He’s not sure yet.

-

The days pass by in a blur.

It’s hot and windy and the water is just the right temperature to cool off and somehow you’re never there where he is or there are too many people to have a conversation around.

Atsumu can take rejection. He doesn’t like it, but he can live with it.

But here’s the thing, he wants to say, wants to sit down with Samu and chew it all up and spit it out until it makes sense. You didn’t seem uninterested. 

Hesitant, yeah, but not averse to his advances.

You called him good-looking. Doesn’t that count as something?

-

Another monday rolls around and brings an almost full moon with it, its light keeping him up. 

He slips out of bed - Couch - around midnight, sneaking out onto the patio only to find you there.

“Holy sh-” He swallows the swearword at the last second and presses a hand onto his racing heart. “How did you get past me?”

“You snore,” you point out. You should check your sinuses.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Yeah, you do.” You push a thermos toward him. “Tea?”

“Why are you up?”

“I’m always up at this hour.”

“Nonsense, this is-” He hesitates. “Have you been sneaking past me every night?”

You shrug, staring out at the water. “You’re a heavy sleeper.”

He sighs, slipping onto the chair next to you. “You don’t seem tired during the day.”

“I’m not,” you agree. “I’m too wired to be tired.”

“Why?”

“Why?” You ask back, hesitating. “There are too many questions. What should I do with my freetime? Is that the right thing? Am I doing it right? Shouldn’t I be doing something else instead? Is someone watching? What are they thinking of me? Am I distracting them? Should I move away?”

“Do you have anxiety or something like that?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, taking a sip from your cup. “I quit before I got the full Burnout package.”

“How far did you get?”

“In my burnout?”

“No, in your job.”

That seems to surprise you. 

“I made partner,” you tell him, pulling at a thread in your pajama top. “Youngest partner in the firm, actually. And I just… had it all. And I still wasn’t happy. The opposite, actually.”

“Did you like being a lawyer? What kind of law did you… do? Do you say it like that?”

“Intellectual Property Law. And I…” You pause. “I liked being right, I think. It’s like getting a good grade, you know?”

“Hmm,” he hums. “When we got a good grade, or you know, good enough, mom would let us pick a little something from the store. Samu always got snacks so I got the toys. And then we would share.”

“Your mom sounds nice.”

“She is. How’s yours?”

“She’s not very happy about my sabbatical,” you answer his question literally. “But I achieved everything she wanted so I argued  that she couldn’t deny me something for myself.”

“Is she Kita’s aunt, or?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Our mothers are sisters. Both felt the call of the city. Sometimes I wonder if I should join Kita. I don’t think environmental law would be that hard to learn.” 

“Or you could start drawing.”

“I don’t think my mother would like it very much to have me draw portraits on a market.”

He smiles. “And here I thought this was about what you wanted and what you liked?”

You slump. “I keep forgetting that.”

“I got the stuff, you know,” he reminds you. “From Tatabe-san. You can just draw. Without making something from it. Just like… Samu still plays Volleyball. Because he likes it. Because it’s good for him. Not because he needs to make money with it.”

“Why are you playing Volleyball?” You ask, your eyes a little too deep in the darkness.

“Because I don’t know how to do anything else,” he admits. It’s easier to be honest in the night, it seems.

“I’m sure that’s a lie,” you ensure him.

“No, it’s not.” He twirls the thermos in his hands. “It’s always been like that. Samu’s the one who made friends, the one who got better grades, the one who was better at Volleyball. I just… I think I dug my teeth into the last one and decided to put all my money on that card.”

“And what do you do when it no longer makes you happy? When it breaks your body to play, when you can no longer win?”

He stops the thermos and looks into your eyes. “I will worry about that when it happens. Until then, I keep my teeth where they are.”

-

The sand is cool under his feet but it was his idea to look for shells - at night, in the moonlight - so he can’t just turn around because he’s a little cold.

“Are you cold?” He asks, already halfway out of his shirt when you nod.

The wind is awful against his naked chest but you thank him for the shirt, kneeling to pluck a seashell from the ground.

“Suna said something… That Osamu is about ninety percent of your impulse control.”

“That’s a joke,” he huffs out. “And it’s not true.”

“What is it like?” You ask. “To be impulsive?”

“Fun,” he shrugs. “Stupid too. I sometimes wish I could stop myself a little.”

“What’s your impulse right now?”

“Ah,” he laughs. “Going back in? No, wait, that’s the smart part of my brain.”

You laugh. “And what is the not smart part of your brain saying?”

“Skinny dipping.”

He clamps his mouth shut right after the words spill out but it’s too late and the only consolation he gets is the fact that you can’t see him blushing in the moonlight.

“Wait here,” you slip out of his shirt and press it into his hands and then you’re gone, leaving him where the sea’s licking at his feet.

-

“Here,” you press a bundle of fabric into his hands. “Swim shorts and a towel. I think that’s a compromise I’m willing to take.”

“A compromise.”

“Swimming at night is impulsive enough for me at the moment,” you answer. “I’ll turn around so you can change.”

The water is cold, but not unbearably so, and he can’t help but laugh at the way you both hesitate to go in further, dancing around in the shallow water.

“On three?” He asks you, not waiting for you to nod. When he comes up you’re laughing right next to him, breathless from the chill, hair stuck to your face.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” you tell him and he says “I can do you one better,” and kisses you.

-

A person with impulse control would not go swimming at midnight, least of all with the cousin of their former captain, a woman who’s so clearly out of their league, no one needs to point it out. 

A person with impulse control would not kiss a woman who’s made it clear she’s not interested, is not interested in a relationship right now, least of all with him.

A person with impulse control would not know how it feels when that woman kisses them back.

Your lips are cold and taste like the sea, but your arms are warm, wrapped around his shoulders like a blanket on a December night.

One of you pulls back, he doesn’t know who, but he whispers your name and you kiss him back again and again and again until he forgets that he’s supposed to be standing, supposed to be holding you up, and topples both of them into the water.

The cold water wakes him up a little but not enough, his arms reach for you as soon as he’s back on the surface but you’ve moved back, hands pressed against your lips.

Atsumu calls your name but you shake your head.

“Please,” he begs but you shake it again.

“Give me a minute,” you ask and he stops, waits as you ask him to, watches the rise and fall of your chest in the milky-white moonlight.

“I really really like you,” you admit, sounding unsure and sure at the same time. “But I don’t know who I am at the moment.”

“You’re you-”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not like that. But like that too, I’m not sure. I don’t… I don’t know what my future is going to be like. Will I stay in the city and if so, which one? Will I move in with Kita like he asked, or… or will I do what my mother says and just… marry and give her a grandchild. I just… I don’t know what I want or who I am and I can’t, I just can’t add a relationship to that.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you ask and he shuts his mouth and swallows his thoughts.

“I think we should go back in,” you tell him a few moments later. “I don’t want us to get sick. That’s the last thing we need. Everyone would ask questions.”

“Everyone already knows that I like you.”

“It’s easy for you,” you tell him as you step out of the water, hand him a towel. “These are your friends.”

“They are your friends too.”

“No, they’re not. They’re Kita’s friends and they let me be a part of it, that’s all. I don’t… I’m not good at making friends. Not like you.”

Atsumu laughs. “You don’t seem to know me very well.”

“What about Tatabe-san?” You ask, shutting him up. “You were the one making friends, not me.”

“That’s not true, she noticed that you liked watching her.”

“But you’re the one who said something.”

You sound desperate now, like a cat that’s stuck in a tree, unable to come down the way it came up because it forgot how to.

“Can I hug you?” He asks, breathes it out like a sigh. “You sound… you sound like you’re going to have a panic attack any minute. Bokkun gets like that sometimes and a hug helps. Or… or getting into tight spaces but I don’t see any, so.”

“Sure,” you choke out, so he hugs you, squeezes you as tightly as you can like he does with Bokkun only that Bokkun is more than twice your size and doesn’t smell half as good.

“I’d really like to love you,” you admit, your face pressed against his chest. “I just don’t know how.”

Atsumu rests his cheek on the top of your head, wishes he could let his feelings pour out like a teapot.

“How about that,” he offers. “You find yourself and then you come back? ‘t’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“You’re a celebrity,” you remind him. “There are more than enough girls for you.”

“None of them like me like you do.”

-

Somehow they make it back unseen and unheard, leave sand and salt outside under the little shower head and their secrets too, bury them under the patio like one does with a beloved pet.

Atsumu wishes he could have kissed you one more time, lap up your beauty in the moonlight like a kitten does with spilled milk.

But you’re up the stairs before he gets a chance to ask and all that is left is the memory and the two drawings on the bottom of his suitcase.

---

Atsumu helps Samu in the kitchen the next morning, does his very best to follow every instruction to the point that Samu sits him down at knife point, brows furrowed in that concerned way that’s usually reserved for Akaashi when he overworks himself.

“What’s going on with you?”

“I miss Mom,” Atsumu admits because that’s the closest thing to the truth and yet still very far away.

“You miss Mom?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu shrugs. “Remember how she let us pick little gifts when we got good grades?”

“You always ate the snacks I picked.”

“I didn’t,” he defends himself. “We shared. Your snacks and my toys!”

“You could have just picked a snack if you wanted one too.”

“Yeah and then you’d have been crying about how you can’t decide what to get, a snack or a toy!”

Samu stops, surprise on his face. “You got the toy because I couldn’t decide?”

“Well, not always,” Atsumu huffs. “Most of the toys you wanted were rubbish. But I got the cool ones you picked, like that little red car?”

“Yeah,” Samu smiles. “That one was awesome… But you know you can just call Mom, right?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu nods. “I’m not dumb.”

“So why aren’t you doing that?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he huffs, peeling an already peeled potato until Samu rips it from his hands.

“Tell me or I’ll get Kita.”

“Fine,” Atsumu props his head up with his hands and glares at his brother. “I miss you too, okay?”

Samu’s face softens.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey!”

But Samu thumps him on the back, not hard, like he usually does, but softer, almost like a hug.

“You know,” Samu adds after a while, the potatoes dancing in the boiling water. “Emi has some nice girlfriends if you’re lonely. It doesn’t have to be… you know?”

“I’m fine,” Atsumu insists, knowing he can’t tell Samu what happened last night. Not today and maybe not ever. “I have too much to do anyway.”

-

Too soon it’s time to pack up their things again, cram them into the cars and say goodbye to the ocean for yet another year.

At first, it seems like you’re not coming back with them, your suitcase already in Kita’s truck before Samu calls them back in for a last-minute second breakfast.

“I think I’ll go to Osaka first,” Atsumu hears you say when he comes back from the bathroom, “Uncle Jin wants to meet with me. I’m sure Atsumu can take me, or maybe Osamu?”

“Take you where?” He asks, taking Kita-san’s raised eyebrows at his interruption in stride.

You name the address and he does the mental calculations. “Sure thing, that’s right next to Omi-Omi’s place. I can drop you off there on my way home.”

It’s only a partial lie. Sakusa-san moved recently and it’s on the other side of town, but Kita’s not all that familiar with Osaka and Samu’s not there to correct him like he usually is.

So it’s settled and Atsumu thinks of the little Canvas Tote Bag sitting on top of his stuff, rolled up in his volleyball gear to make sure it doesn’t get damaged.

He’ll give it to you when you’re alone again.

---

Atsumu is not a scaredy-cat. 

He’s impulsive and he’s not afraid to take risks and he’s got scolded for that more than enough to remember it.

Still, he doesn’t open his mouth all the way through Osaka after spending almost six hours sitting next to you, not speaking.

Well, that’s not correct. He did speak. He did speak a lot too. Just not… about the important stuff.

At first, it was because there was Emi and Samu and Ginjima too, but now it’s only you and him and he still can’t open his mouth.

Not that you seem to make an effort to change that.

He stops in front of a red light. Just two more blocks and that’s it. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you again.

“Can I get your number?” 

Curse his nonexistent impulse control.

“What for?”

“Well, I thought you should have mine, you know, so you know how to contact me when… when you figure out what you want to do. But that would be weird, if I suddenly got a text from an unknown number so I figured it would be best if we exchanged numbers, you know?”

You eye him for a second befor you pull out your phone. “Give me your number then.”

He rattles it off and asks you to call him, rambling on about how he sometimes switches the five and the seven at the end - he’s never done that but he’s going to die if he gives you the wrong number in the end - and his heart only calms when he hears his telltale ringtone from the pocket of his jeans.

“I have something for you,” he almost spits it out at the next cross section, eyes on the road.

“Atsumu-”

“It’s not from me, well, maybe a little bit because I paid, but it’s from Tatabe-san. You should take it.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” he disagrees, nodding wildly to emphasize it. “How are you going to figure out what you’re going to do if you don’t take the gifts you get? Or... or the changes, you know? How many people get a starter kit gifted from a famous street artist, huh?”

You laugh. “I guess not that many people.”

“See?! And it’s not like you need to be able to sell it. Heck, you can be awful at it, for all I care. But if it’s making you happy, that’s more than enough.”

“Did you ever look at the drawings?”

“No,” he shakes his head, still looking for the right words. “Why? Did she draw me ugly?”

You laugh again, louder this time, snorting a little at the end.

“No,” you catch your breath. “No, not at all. I just figured you would have looked at it because you wanted to have one so bad.”

He parks the car in front of Sakusa’s old apartment complex, fully aware that he’s on the wrong side of the street but he needs just a few more minutes with you, just… just another chance to make you laugh.

“I know I’m a little conceited,” he admits, “but I don’t care for a portrait. You just looked like you wanted to stay a little longer, so I played my part.”

Your eyes are twinkling, as if you’d picked the stars from the nightsky and hid them in your face. “Are you sure it was only that? You did pose a little too enthusiastically.”

“Can you blame me for being a natural?”

You laugh again and his heart blooms at the sound, like a wave that rises high only to crash when he realizes that he’s going to hear it for quite some time, not knowing how long.

“We’re… we’re here,” he clears his throat, reaching behind his seat  for the Canvas Tote bag. “This is for you.”

You peek inside.

“Both drawings?”

“Yeah,” he swallows. “I don’t think I should keep it. I’m not going to forget how you look anyway, and if Samu sees it, that would be kinda hard to explain.”

You look up, surprised. “You wanted to keep my portrait?”

Atsumu flushes. “Shit, sorry, I mean sorry for saying shit, ah! Sorry! Sorry for… uh… considering that an option, I didn’t think-”

“Tsumu.”

He freezes like a deer in headlights. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You lean forward and press a kiss to his temple before pulling back. “I’ll… I’ll try to be quick.” 

“Take your time.”

You hesitate. “I shouldn’t, you know? You deserve someone easier to love.”

“Those hardest to love need it most.” He hesitates. “I don’t know where I heard that, but I… agree with it, you know? Mostly because I always felt like that line was about me.”

You smile. 

“Goodbye Tsumu.”

He can feel himself fold into each other but he keeps himself up, smiles for you.

“Goodbye.”

---

He drives around town aimlessly for a while, trying to think of a place to go.

Not home, because there’s no one waiting for him there but a pot of dried-up basil he forgot to water.

He could hit up Bokkun, tell him all about you. But Bokkun is a sap and they’d just end up crying together as they watch a rerun of Friends, sharing one too many beers as Rachel and Ross try to figure out their feelings.

Shoyou’s in Brazil for the month and Meian is a great Captain, but not the kind of Captain you go to cry over a broken heart.

“What do you want?” Sakusa’s voice snarls through the intercom.

“Omi-Omi, didn’t you miss me?”

“Not one bit.”

“Come on,” he whines. “I just got my heart broken.”

“Deal with it.”

“Please?”

Silence. Then, the long-awaited buzzer. “Don’t cry on my carpet. It’s new.”

-

Sakusa eyes him from the Couch like one does with an ugly bug.

The Couch is forbidden territory in his new apartment ever since they left a stain on the old Couch in the old apartment. Atsumu says they because in all honesty, it was Bokkun who left the stain, he just had the bad luck of being there at the same time.

The carpet isn’t too bad though, softer than the Couch at the Beach House anyway.

“You really like her, huh?” Sakusa comments finally before sipping his tea. No hard drinks at Sakusa’s new place either. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“You’ve always been as subtle as a tow truck,” Sakusa scoffs.

“Hey. You should give me advice instead. Or at least comfort me.”

“Get over her,” Sakusa deals the final blow. “She’s right, you know? You could have a lot of women. God knows what they see in you but there are some people who want you. Why wait for someone who might never come around?”

“She’s like you, you know,” Atsumu points out. “Convinced she’s really terrible when she’s actually really nice.”

“Thank you for the insult,” Sakusa tells him with a straight face. “Now can you please leave?”

Atsumu huffs and turns around instead, burrowing his face in the carpet.

Above him, Sakusa grumbles into his tea for a full minute before turning the TV on.

To anyone who doesn’t know him better, this would look insenstive.

But Atsumu knows Sakusa, maybe, probably, most likely better than Sakusa would like.

Because Sakusa doesn’t like to watch Volleyball Match on his dowtime. Atsumu does.

And that’s very much a Volleyball Match on TV right now.

Atsumu turns his head to see better.

“If you cry on my carpet I’m kicking you out.”

---

Atsumu ends up sleeping over, waking only when Sakusa kicks him in the side on his way out in the morning.

“I’m going jogging. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

“‘kay.” He turns back around, snuggling into a pillow that has magically appeared by his side.

He seriously needs a carpet like that in his own apartment.

His phone beeps. He ignores it. It’s probably just Samu or maybe Bokkun. They can wait, sleep can’t.

You: Atsumu, I went on a walk last night. Drew a little too. I thought about it a lot. If you want to see me again, my train to Hyogo leaves at twelve. Meet me at the train station? 

You: It’s okay if you don’t. Maybe I’m reading too much into this.

You: Forget that last message. I’ll see you when I see you.

Atsumu pulls into the train station parking lot at two minutes to twelve only to watch the only train present leave the station in front of his eyes.

He’s too stunned to even curse.

He’s never been that early to anything only to be too late.

“Atsumu?”

He turns around so fast he almost trips.

You’re sitting on a park bench, your suitcase to your feet.

“You didn’t take the train?”

“No, I…” You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t want you to be late, so I said twelve. It actually leaves in half an hour.”

“I wasn’t late.”

You laugh but it sounds almost like a sob. “I know, I….”

“Hey,” he rushes over, taking your hands in his. “I’m here. I’m here. I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, I slept until eleven because Omi-Omi didn’t wake me up and-”

You sniffle, laughing and crying at the same time. 

“You really are something, Atsumu Miya.”

He swallows, dares a sheepish smile. “But you like me?”

You nod. “Yeah. I like you. I… I draw you. Last night, you know?”

You hand him the paper, embarassment written all over your face.

And Atsumu’s never been good with art. He’s the kind of guy who likes to joke about modern art, pretending he could do that just as well when he doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be.

But it doesn’t matter if your drawing is good or not, if he can recognize himself in it or not. It matters that you drew. And that you drew him.

“Was it fun?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you pull your shoulders up, head down. “It was. I… It reminded me of spending time with you. Because that’s fun too.”

He grins. “Because I’m fun.”

“Because you’re fun,” you agree. “And I… I don’t know where I wanna go or who I wanna be but I wanna have fun. With you. If you want to, I mean.”

“As in a relationship?”

“As in a relationship,” you confirm.

Atsumu smiles, wide enough that his cheeks hurt.

“Heck yes,” he tells you. “Sorry about the curse word.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

You pull your shoulders higher for a second before you let them drop with a laugh.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, you can kiss me now.”

And then you meet him in the middle.

-

Those hardest to love need it most…

“Can you pick Kita-san up?” Samu asks during their daily phone call.

“Of course I can pick up my girlfriend,” Atsumu grumbles, pausing the music. He doesn’t need Samu’s nagging in the background when your song plays.

“Wait, you’re talking about my girlfriend, right?”

“Yes, Tsumu, I mean your girlfriend,” Samu scoffs and Atsumu can hear the eye roll through the phone.

“Hey, just checking,” he bites back. “Do I have to melt the butter before I put it in? It’s kinda not working.”

“Did you leave it out like I told you too?”

“No, I forgot.”

Samu huffs. “Put that stuff away, I’m bringing you cookies.”

“I don’t want your cookies, I want to make my own!”

“Then you should have left out the butter like I told you to!”

“Don’t yell at me, it’s my anniversary not yours on the line!”

“Fine!” Samu huffs again before calming down a little. “I have some soft butter, I can bring that over.”

“That would be nice.”

“I’m bringing Emi with.”

“Please don’t, she’s worse in the kitchen than I am.”

Atsumu hears it, just faintly in the background of the call, but he hears it, Emi’s instant reply.

“I heard that.”

And he can’t help but smile at the thought that in less than twentyfour hours, this will be his reality too. When Samu calls, you’ll be his background noise and when Kita calls, you’ll be his.

Fools, all of them. Fools in love.

[gumnut-logic]

Cethair (Bit 5)

Óen | Cethair - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5

Dashing out the door.

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the readthrough and all the wonderful support I have received for this fic. I haven't forgotten it! So here is the next bit for FishTank Week :D

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Pain.

There was only pain.

Somewhere beyond that, there were his brothers, but their touch hurt and grief burned.

Father.

His beloved father.

Gaat. He snarled the name. Begotten of worms and dung. Though he was doing shame to the worms and dung. Gaat was worthy of nothing that lived.

You have some fire in you, little one. Good. We will need it.

But above all, he was tired.

Tired of the pain. So much pain. It hurt to breathe.

Breathe, you need to breathe.

Máthair Chriona had been there. Virgil, too. There had been pleading, but he had not the strength.

You have the strength now. Breathe.

Something poked him in the belly. He opened both his eyes and his mouth without thinking and was bathed in golden light.

And water. So much water. It crawled into his lungs and he was drowning. A gasp for air and…

Count with me, little one, draw in the sustenance and let it give us the life we need…óen, dá, tri, cethair…

His body struggled with a density it wasn’t used to, pushing fluid in and out with a foreign strength.

Hmmm, yes, that’s good. Keep at it.

Panic began to wane and his senses finally came back with something other than pain.

He was floating in a golden light.

And there was a dragon.

All the gods!

There was a chuckle heard deep inside. No, I am no god.

It was only then he realised he was floating in water, breathing water, his belly burning with the effort.

How am I?

You needed breath, I gave it to you.

His eyes blinked slower in the water.

Why?

You needed it. The young one called for help. I could help.

But why?

The great golden creature hovered in the water column before him but didn’t answer. The light emanated from its scales. It lit up the water like a reassuring beacon in the deep.

And Gordon O’Treasaigh was breathing water with no pain, no terror.

And no clothes.

You have no need of the wrappings of the Above here.

That could be debated.

You have your skin returned to you. Your body is now part of the Below.

The Below?

The mother and cradle of all.

The voice was reverent.

Gordon was breathing water.

His mind churning memory and fact.

He looked into those large red eyes, unsure of what the dragon wanted or why, but sure of one thing.

I need to go back.

-o-o-o-

Virgil slept eventually, exhausted by grief. His brothers were curled up beside him, Cóic providing the feather pillow and warmth.

He did not know for how long, but the steady breath of the great dragon lulled him.

But his brothers were only three and his heart continued to ache for the fourth.

The spark of hope was there, but it hurt. By the gods, it hurt.

He did not know if he would ever see his little fish brother ever again.

Father…

No, NO! that way lay even more pain he could not afford.

Gordon…

Gods, please.

“Virgil?” His shoulder was gently shaken. “Virgil, all will be well.” John’s voice was as melodious and calm as ever.

Curses. He both hated and envied him for it.

And it fuelled that flame of hope he didn’t know he could afford.

“It is morning.”

“Wha-?”

A great white wing lifted off them revealing a cold blue sky still golden with the first rays of dawn over the hills behind them. The fine pebbled beach still muttered to the waves.

Reality and responsibility abruptly slid into place. Their clothes were still damp, though warm enough until the morning air had its way with them. This was something that needed to be remedied as soon as possible. People had died of less exposure than this.

Walking into the ocean had been foolish.

But what had been their choice?

John was sitting up with an arm around a sleepy Alan. The boy had tear streaks in the dust on his face. Virgil’s heart ached for the youngest. Alan, of all of them, had lost so much the previous day. He was still little enough to need his parents and now both were gone.

Virgil’s heart ached.

They would care for him, but they could never replace their parents.

On Virgil’s other side lay the Flaithri of their people.

Scott was still in slumber, his skin flushed.

Virgil swore under his breath, his hand reaching for the man’s forehead and finding it warm.

A fever.

Curses.

He should have stayed in bed!

Virgil was up and checking bandages and swearing further when he found the wound burning with heat. He needed to get his brother back to camp and Máthair Chriona as soon as possible.

There was a cough barely heard above the surf. A hacking, choking cough.

“Virgil!” John’s voice had so much hope, it cut through Virgil’s heart.

Scott stirred under his hands as he looked up.

A staggering figure was struggling against the waves.

“Gordon!”

Before Virgil could react, Scott was on his feet.

So fast.

“Scott, no!”

Óen warbled question off to his left, suddenly appearing with Dá. A short bellow urgent in its reprimand was ignored by his rider.

John was moving with Alan, and Virgil was running.

Down to the edge of the water. He slipped an arm around the waist of his wavering eldest brother as the surf curled around their boots.

But their eyes were only for Gordon.

Their fish brother strode purposefully through the water towards them. There was no sign of the golden dragon.

As bare as the day he was born, Gordon stepped up to them almost as golden in the dawn light as the dragon who had answered.

The burns on his body were gone, but there were scars. They glittered, shining in the sun.

He stopped several arm lengths away.

“Gordon?” Virgil felt that flame of hope burst into a wildfire.

“It’s me, Virg.” He frowned. “What’s wrong with Scott?”

Beside him, Scott straightened. “I am well. Gordon, what happened?”

Gordon’s eyes slowly blinked and Virgil frowned. There was something different…a membrane flickered over the surface of his brother’s eyes.

Oh.

Then he realised that not just the burn scars, but all his brother’s body was shining ever so softly almost as if he possessed the scales of the fish he loved.

Oh, Gordon.

“You’re different.” Virgil said it as his heart broke. What did it mean. Had he lost his brother forever?

Gordon nodded once. “Yes, I am.”

Virgil ached to run to him, but Scott’s weight kept him where he was.

“Gordy?” Alan’s voice was small and cut Virgil’s heart further.

“Hey, squirt.”

“What did the dragon do to you? Where is it?”

Young honesty. At least it asked exactly what they all wanted to know.

Gordon let out a sigh. “Cethair is not far.” Those different eyes looked back to Virgil and Scott. “He changed me. He had to. I was dying and he gave me life.” His shoulders settled. “His life. I am now bound to him.” His eyes caught Virgil’s. “And to the sea.”

Virgil reached out with his free hand.

Gordon took a few steps closer and grasped it in both of his.

His hands were cool and his skin different. There was strange webbing between his fingers.

But the warm brown eyes that stared at him with a hope that reflected his own were so Gordon…

“I am well, I promise. I need to go with Cethair for a while, but I will be back.” He looked to John and the Matriarch beyond. “Cóic will know where I am.”

John’s soft, ever knowing, ever loving smile said everything it needed to.

Gordon turned back to Scott and frowned. “You need to go home. You need Máthair Chriona.”

Scott reached out. There was a sob in his voice. “Gordy?”

Gordon drew that trembling hand to his cheek and held it there, bowing his head just a little. “I am well, Flaithri, and will always be your subject to command, ever honoured to stand with you.”

Scott shook in Virgil’s arms. “Love you, Gordy.”

Whispered on the wind. “Love you, too. Love you always.”

Óen bellowed distress as Virgil caught all of Scott’s weight, his body giving in, finally paying the toll for everything.

“Scott!” He scooped his brother into his arms. “Don’t you do this to me!”

As he ran towards Dá, conscious of yet another brother trying to die in his arms, he glanced back towards the ocean seeking the one who had survived.

But Gordon was gone.

-o-o-o-

Next

[achaotichuman]

The Last Time He Cried

"You were a Prince?" He, she, maybe it, asked. He couldn't figure out what exactly it was. It seemed to keep shifting every time he blinked. Draped in white. Covered with white itself. Eyes white, hair white, wings white. Only it's skin, which was golden and shimmering in light that surrounded them.

It wasn't like sunlight, but soft light that poured from every direction.

He supposed there was no sun here.

"Yes." He answered. He was tired. So, so tired. He just wanted to lie down and sleep. Though there seemed no place to lie down. They floated in amongst a kind of mist. It felt like if he stepped onto a cloud. Though the creature before him sat behind a desk made of pure, glimmering gold. Writing on long rolls of parchment paper with a long feather pen.

It seemed excited, as it scribbled away, wings fluttering slightly, "You also had a mate?"

At that he felt even more tired. His heart. His stupid heart, it ached and longed and screamed.

"Yes." He croaked.

It tsked, "Shame, shame, do not worry, after you pass through it will feel like no time at all between now and when you see her-"

"She rejected the bond." He managed to say, voice cracking, "She hated me."

It quickly looked back up at him. Eyes wide and full of soft sympathy, "Oh. We don't get many of those."

Fucking pity. He wanted to scream, he had enough of that in his mortal life, "Yeah."

"Well then." It seemed so sorry, "That is awful, do not fret, Fae, once you pass through all pain will be taken."

He wanted to pass out. He wanted it to end so badly.

He thought the rope around his neck had been enough to end it.

"I thought I would end up some where I'd be punished." He murmured.

It's eyes widened, "Why would you end up like that?"

He shrugged, "It seemed the Mother hated me."

He thought it might scream at him. For blasphemy. For daring to make presumptions about the God it served.

It jotted something down. Then it stood, walking around the desk. It's robes floating around it's bare feet. Only decorated by golden rings and bangles.

It then... He thought it might hurt him.

Instead it wrapepd him in warm arms and pulled him close. He stiffened. Suddenly feeling vulnerable. On display. Somewhere his tainted soul didn't belong.

But it stroked his hair with soft fingers, "You are safe now, child. You are where no pain will ever touch you again."

No pain..

Tears glimmered in his eyes, "Really?"

It gently rocked her, "This is whom you call the Mother's lands. You have paid with your life. And now you will be cared for."

"There is no more pain." It hummed.

No more pain.

No more broken bonds.

It was all done.

He cried, he sobbed into it's chest. His body, his soul quivering with the intesity.

"Let it all go, child, this will be the last time you ever cry." It promised.

"Thank you." He sobbed, "Thank you."

"Do not thank me child, you deserve this." It sung into his ear.

He didn't know how long he stood there. How long he cried for. He wept and wept. Until his tears were rivers below him. He may have stood there for centuries, simply crying into the chest of this strange deity.

But finally his breaths slowed, and his crying ceased. The creature pulled back. And he realised it had been braiding his long hair.

When he looked at the braid. He saw that it stretched so far down into the mist below him that he couldn't see the end.

"How?-"

The creature, the angel, cut him off, "You are now in the resting place, time works differently here."

It smiled so brightly, "Now child, it is time for you to truly rest."

It took his hands and began to lead him, but he stopped shaking. It lifted a white eyebrow, cocking its head.

"I'm scared." He revealed.

For a moment there was a silence, then it smiled, gripping his hands a little tighter, "I will hold your hand the whole way."

He didn't know why that consoled him, but it did.

Finally, he walked through with it. Through white light. Into the Mother's resting place.

And when he saw what laid on the other side, he knew the angel had been wrong.

Because he cried again.

But for the first time.

Lucien wept with joy.

[thespiritssaidso]

Scales and Feathers

Summary: Shawn needs his wings preened. Except he’s right-handed, so he’ll need Lassiter’s help.

Notes: had to phone a friend (my brother) for help to try and come up with something for today lol. Anyways, enjoy 

Flufftober day 14: Fantasy au 

—————

“Carlyyyyy!” Shawn shouted from his spot on the couch. Currently he was sitting on his haunches, legs nestled comfortably underneath him. 

“Yes, Shawn?” A voice from down the hall in the master bedroom answered. 

“I'm preening, I need you to do my right side!” He said as he messed with the feathers protruding from his left arm.

Shawn was a harpy. Winged arms, talons for fingers, legs covered in brown feathers, feet like a bird, the whole nine yards. Right now he was picking at his feathers, straightening them and plucking away the dead ones. He’d already begun to form a semi-decent pile next to him on the unoccupied cushion. 

“Don’t you normally have Guster do that?” The sound of talons clacked on the hardwood floor, indicating that Lassiter was emerging from their room. Slowly, the noise shifted from sharp taps to the thuds of normal footsteps.  

Lassiter was a Ryujin, or more commonly known as a dragon that could change its form into a human. He mostly preferred to stay in his human form when in public, as it garnered less stares from passersby. But in the sanctity of his home he liked to switch between both forms as he so pleased. 

From the hallway emerged Lassiter, quickly wrapping a robe around himself as he finished his transformation. Shiny blue scales sunk into soft skin, claws retreating and becoming just slightly sharper than normal nails. 

Every change was smooth, like butter, and took very little energy. But even so, he hated doing it too often, or if he didn’t see any need to do so. The feeling of switching when he didn’t want to always felt strange to him. Like forcing a balloon over a bowling ball, or like trying to inflate a balloon past its stretching point. 

“Yeah, but he’s not here right now, and I’ve already started on my left one.” Shawn quickly began shoving the few dead feathers he’d plucked off the couch, so as to make room for Lassiter to take a seat. “Besides, you’ve got those awesome-sauce talons like I do. Gus is great and all, but there’s only so much he can do.” 

Lassiter huffed, and sat down beside Shawn, opting not to mention how it was probably unsanitary to leave dead feathers on the floor. Instead, he simply situated his boyfriend’s right arm to fully face him while still allowing Shawn to work on his left arm. 

As he inspected the feathers, which were all in a state of distress, he couldn’t help but say, “Cripes, Shawn. When was the last time you preened?” 

“Uhhh… a month? Three weeks?” He didn’t look up from his left wing, sharp talons gently combing through and straightening feathers. 

“That cannot be healthy.” Nevertheless, Lassiter began carding through the mass, picking and straightening as he saw fit. 

Shawn never meant to not keep up with his wing maintenance. He was just so busy all the time, working cases that were most definitely not assigned to Psych took a lot of time from the day. Not that he was complaining, heck he loved his job. He got to catch bad guys (with the help of Gus of course) and get paid for doing so. No license needed. 

But his wings were definitely proof that he got around. He never really used them anyway, except to flutter to a higher spot and then glide back down. So of course he almost always failed to do routine maintenance on them. 

Shawn hummed. “Probably not. Hey, can you grab me a pineapple chunk?” He used his chin to gesture towards a bowl sitting on the coffee table, filled with cut up pieces of pineapple. 

Lassiter did not halt in his task. “You can have a piece once you're done preening. I don’t want you getting pineapple juice in your already filthy feathers.” As he went, he allowed his fingers to grow more claw-like, so as to make it easier to pick between good and bad ones. 

Shawn gasped dramatically. “How dare you assume I would be so reckless?” 

“Just the other day you spilled your coffee all over me!” 

“I didn’t spill it. It simply escaped from the cup I placed it in. Besides, I don’t know why you’re still complaining about that, you were a dragon.”

Lassiter huffed. It had startled him when it happened, but nothing was burned or damaged in any way. His scales were tough enough to take on the heat of molten lava, so coffee was really no problem. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

Once he said that, the two of them finished preening Shawn’s wings. A little pile of brown feathers lay scattered at the foot of the couch. Fluffy down mixed with whole feathers, all of them dirty or broken, some both dirty and broken. 

Lassiter stood up, disturbing the air and causing the lighter feathers to flutter away. He began scooping up large handfuls of the stuff and made his way over to the trash can in the other room. 

Shawn also got up, hopping off the couch and landing on the floor with a *clack*. He bent over and started picking the remnants as quickly as he could. “Carly, hold up!”

“Yes?” 

“You didn’t let me say thank you.” 

Lassiter, not looking up from the garbage can, smiled. He knew that tone of voice. He loved that tone of voice. It always ended in him getting the same thing from Shawn. Not saying a word, he turned to see that his boyfriend had made his way over to him. 

Leaning closer, Shawn placed a kiss on Lassiter’s lips. It was his go-to way of thanking his boyfriend whenever he did something small for him. The detective never complained, he loved how kissing him made him feel. Like fireworks going off, every time. 

Before he could stop himself, Lassiter felt his body shift, transforming back into that of a dragon. The robe he was wearing tightened against him before bursting at the seams. 

But still they never broke apart. They stood there, simply relishing the small moment between the two of them. They hadn’t kissed this long in… days, it felt like. So many things were going on in their work life that they didn’t have time for a good makeout session. 

As they finally pulled apart, Lassiter grumbled at the torn fabric surrounding him. “Dammit, that was my favorite.” His voice was a touch more gravelly now, the vocal cords having grown larger than they were a moment ago. 

Shawn just barely hid a moan at the sound of Lassiter’s baritone. “We’ll get a new one. Later. Right now, I’m gonna need you back in the bedroom.” 

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

—————

ao3 link

[alexanderlightweight]

Thank you again for answering my ask last week. I absolutely love that you included Nephilim wings in it. I adore your lore around those and seeing the importance of the gifted feather. The most fragile of poisons is a wonderful 'verse and I'm excited to see more of it, so for Writing Wednesday:

Alec keeping Magnus physically close, tucked up in his wings, so he can better see to his needs/dote on him/protect him and Magnus reveling in being given this place of honor and being close to his boy

yes! i loved filling it! so happy to do more

so here we go and i hope you enjoy it!

lumine

-

Alec shuffles on Magnus’ balcony and dusts the first layers of snow from his wings. He’s making a mess all over Magnus’ home and he scowls, trying to figure out how to clean it up.

“Oh darling, I have magic for that.” Magnus says, something sweet in his voice and before Alec can protest, he snaps his fingers.  He doesn’t waver and for all Alec knows, cleaning magic could be effortless. Still, with how the shadowworld is acting lately and with how many dangers keep popping up, he’d rather Magnus save his magic.

“You don’t need to exert yourself.” Alec reminds him, hand going out to cup Magnus’ own hand with his own. “I don’t mind a little cleaning if it means saving your magic for when you need it.”

Magnus makes a soft noise and then Alec is being backed into the door. It rattles against his spine but any thoughts of structural integrity flee when Magnus bites his bottom lip.

It’s instinctive, to open his mouth and let the whining complain he has slip free. It’s awful, how mean Magnus is being because Alec can feel and hear him chuckling against the corner of his mouth. His lips tender and his teeth sharp as they teased at Alec’s jaw.

“Magnus—” Alec gets out, not sure if he’s trying to remind Magnus that they’re still outside and then, because he doesn’t want Magnus getting cold, he wraps his wings around them both.

Magnus will be warm under Alec’s wings and they can keep kissing, both things that Alec is pleased by.

It also means that once again, Alec can relax knowing that Magnus is safe under his reach.

—

Alexander is like a large cat, if cats had feathers of course, Magnus muses.

Alexander is starved for touch and attention and while he tries not to be obvious, it’s clear that he’s desperate to be able to depend on someone. Magnus intends to be that for him, once he figures out how gentle his boy properly of course. Right now, Alexander is too skittish to fully trust him.

Alexander is still too hesitant, too careful of burdening Magnus just yet, but Magnus will get him there in the end.

Right now, he’s amused by Alexander curiously pacing around Magnus’ primary lair. He’d already made sure it could accommodate the width and height of Alexander’s wings and from the pink of Alexander’s neck, he’s noticed.

Magnus pats the small table on the floor and the cushions around it. Alexander sits and looks at the food, curiously wary as he carefully sniffs the air and then looks at Magnus in exasperation.

“Is there a reason there is every kind of edible fowl on this table, Magnus?”

“Indulge me in a spot of cannibalism?” Magnus asks, unable to help himself when Alexander’s scowl turns into a pout and his boy huffs, rolling his eyes as he blatantly ignores Magnus’ glee. “Alright, I’m sorry darling. This was a bit mean of me,” from the twitching of Alexander’s lips, it’s not truly hated. “I will suggest the duck for you, hmm?”

Alexander nods and reaches out, mouth opening to no doubt ask a question and instead Magnus picks up a spoon and feeds him a bite. Alexander blinks at him in surprise before carefully chewing and then, with a very put out sigh, he opens his mouth again.

Magnus is curious just how much he can milk out of Alexander doting on him so much, because it’s quickly becoming his favorite pastime.

“Can I bring you breakfast?” Magnus asks, because Alexander is going to need to leave him soon and Magnus isn’t happy or ready for that just yet. 

“Should you be coming to the Institute so much?” Alexander asks and his wings hesitantly press up to Magnus. “Is that safe for you?”

“I’m quite sneaky when I want to be.” Magnus assures him, leaning into the feathers that are ruffling against him sweetly. “You let me worry about getting to you and you just keep your hunters in line, hmm pretty boy?”

Alexander scowls, the way he always does when Magnus teases him about how gorgeous he finds him. Then, his boy gives a soft smile and leans forward to kiss Magnus’ cheek.

It’s so damn endearing that Magnus reminds himself not to ruin this for himself when he just wants to grab Alexander and portal them away.

-

Once again, Magnus wears a low, open shirt with Alexander’s feather resting against his skin. It makes several shadowhunter swallow with envy and look away, not daring to glare at him.

They don’t know who Magnus is, they only know he has their leaders favor and they loathe him for it with jealousy, not contempt.

It’s a pleasant change and Magnus smirks as he walks past them and to Alexander’s office, pleased to note that the minute he’s seen someone is opening Alexander’s door.

Rain from Berlin still coats Magnus face and Alexander is hurrying across the room, feathers reaching out to flutter over Magnus’ face.  It’s incredibly intimate and there are at least two other witnesses but his boy doesn’t pull away.

Magnus summons the food directly to the middle table and then he kneels next to it and pats his thighs, smirking at Alexander.

Magnus is given a dry look but Alexander joins him all the same, kneeling and letting his wings spread out rather than pulling them in.  It means that Magnus is resting against powerful, soft feathers while Alexander slowly eats the protein heavy curry that Magnus got him.  He seems ravenous and his wings tremble in little exhausted shakes around him.

Magnus understands better now just why nephilim wings are considered so intimate.  So much of alexander’s body is betraying him with letting Magnus know what it wants and needs.  It’s with careful, firm hands that Magnus starts to shake out the various feathers and when Alexander goes still, cautious over his bowl, Magnus says nothing

Slowly, Alexander offers more and more access to his wings and even lifts them up, baring access to his primary feathers, eating carefully as Magnus twists him this way and that.

[nerhusconnection]

Solveig: “… And as the third element I took pictures with your old camera and used those for that collage, too. I could feel how it added to the meaning, and changed the meaning of the cloth and the painted bits. It’s definitely something I’ll explore further. I have to say, this mixed media project was rather intriguing for a change. I didn’t expect Mr. Cramer to come up with a project like this. Not that my work made it into the exhibition. He decided to pick three rather boring works but they had big titles. One was called ‘Peace’, all blue and doves and feathers, one ‘Exploring me’, she used nudes of herself for it, can you imagine that? I wouldn’t be surprised if he had jacked off on it. And I forgot the title of the third one. Mine was just called ‘A Study in Black and Red’ because that’s what it was. But it was so much better than the ones he picked.”

Malte: "I’m sad I missed the exhibition. Sounds like we could have had a lot of fun there. Will you show me the picture when we’re back home?”

Solveig: “Sure, no problem. I can also show you some other stuff I made since you were here last time.”

Malte: “Yes, please do, I’d love that. But there is one other thing I want to hear about. Mom said the school called again?"

Solveig scoffed: "Oh, I knew it. Are you going full big brother on me again?"

Malte didn't reply, so they walked in silence, with the only noises being the sound of crunching snow and an occasional bird’s call.

After a while Solveig started to talk again. "They said I might fail this year and not get the recommendation for Art College."

Malte: "What happened?"

Solveig groaned. "I just hate it. I just hate everything. And now you are gone, and I hate that, too. Everything bores me and I'm just so angry all the time. The others in my year are mostly busy with calling each other gay or gossiping about who is doing it with whom. Or dissing each other for the most stupid shit. The other day Henrik told Line she was just as gross as her sister. You know, the one with cerebral palsy? I know I should have used other means to convey my averseness to this display of dumbassery. But I couldn't help it. And the biggest fuck? The dean told me afterwards that he feels Henrik had deserved to get his face smashed but of course blablabla."

Malte: “What a jerk. Are you still seeing Dr. Poulsen?”

Solveig: “Of course. And she is amazing, and it does help, and it got much better. I'm good, usually. And yes, we talked about it already. It’s just… it was ok when you were traveling, I knew you’d come back. But now… you’ll probably not. So I’m stuck here. And… it doesn’t make it any easier.”

Malte just nodded. She had been struggling with impulse control all her life and he had to pick her up from the dean’s office more than once in the past. She was her father’s daughter after all.

Malte: “So what’s the status now?”

Solveig shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom talked to the dean, he wants to have written confirmation I see a therapist regularly and I had to apologize to Henrik. And if anything else happens until the end of term they’ll expel me. “

Malte nodded. “That will be a long term for you then. Just one more term, Solveig… Do you think you will manage?”

She took her time with an answer. “I have to, don’t I? If I fuck this up, I have nothing. Mom is looking at me as if I had already failed. And her constant questions and offers... I know she cares, and I wouldn't want to miss it. But it’s not helping.” She grimaced.

“I’ll talk to Mom. And maybe we can arrange more sessions with Dr. Poulsen, like, two times a week?”, Malte asked. “I’ll help with the bills. Also, mom told me there was a new art school in town with an interesting program, maybe one of the classes would be something for you?”

Solveig nodded. “Yes, we already talked about that. Everything away from home and school is good." She grimaced again. "Man, this sounds so bad. I love them, you know I do, right? I just… I feel so trapped and I don’t want to hurt them.” She hesitated. “You know, I'm all happy for you, and I can't wait to meet Rachel, but can't you live here? Or, maybe I can come and live with you?"

Malte smiled. "You know the answer to that", he replied softly. "Also, Mom needs you, even if she is much better these days, and Anne-Lis does, too. And you need them just the same if you’re honest. At least for another while. But things will change, inevitably. And you'll do all the things you dream of, I know that. You can start right now, at least with some of it. You don't have to wait until some distant future happens."

Solveig: "I know, I know... Your footsteps are just so big, I can't walk in them."

Malte: "Solveig, you don't have to. You'll make your own, and they will be beautiful." He hugged her long and tightly. "And remember, I'll always be your pesky big brother, just a phone call away."

Solveig snuffled a bit. "When did you grow up, Fishhead?"

[willtheweaver]

Writerly questionnaire

Thanks for the tag @thatuselesshuman @the-golden-comet @the-letterbox-archives @theink-stainedfolk

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/ Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve been on Tumblr for five years, although only two of those have been as an active part of Writeblr.

What led you to create it?

There really aren’t that many places where I can go off about my writing. Most of the people I know have moved all over the place.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

All the support from fellow writers. It’s validating to know that there are those out there who enjoy your work, and that you made the right decision in pursuing writing.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

I am always open to asks. Ask about my writing, world-building, OCs, advice, writing tips, I’m open. I do my best to answer, but some stuff I don’t want to spoil just yet.

Is there anything more you’d like to see on your dash?

Nothing I can think of.

WIP it good

Which Works-In-Progress (WIPs) are you noodling about lately?

Right now focused on A Feather in the Forest. Drafting is done, and now I’m doing editing and revising.

How long have you been working on them?

Eight months.

Do you remember what inspired them/ what got you started?

I had a vague idea in my head for a story. Just some thoughts that I thought could be made into something cohesive, and so I jumped in.

When someone’s asks the dreaded “What do you write about,” question, what do you say?

Whatever is in my head.

What do you want to say (if it’s different from what you say)?

I said what I said, and I stand by my words.

Let’s rotate Blorbos

Name any character you’ve created. Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you’ve pulled out of your ass: whomever you like!

Are you sure about this? Very well then…here are some off the top of my head:

Fen, Playa, Opal, Sorrel, Caine, Leif, Ivy, Nettle, Rail, Quill, Volt, Halley, Hesper, Grey, Reed, Dirge, Zephyr, Cya, Gale, Morgan, Clio, Talvi, Marigold,Freya, Squall…(continues until the heat-death of the universe)

Who’s the most unhinged?

None so far, but there is more than enough time for screws to come loose…

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Whichever I’m in the mood to write.

Do you ever cringe at them?

On occasion.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? AKA do they ever “write themselves” , refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

Do the gods hide because they are afraid that the mortals are tired of their little games and are plotting to destroy all deities? That’s how it feels sometimes.

Do you enjoy people asking about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as Replies, as Reblogs, as tags, as comments on AO3, etc.

I do. Always feels good to have someone to talk to about OCs. As I am active on Tumblr and not on AO3, any and all asks, replies, reblogs and tags are welcomed.

On Writeblr Engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time to scoop out the blog to make sure it aligns with its contents? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I check them out before I jump in. Call me weary, but I like to get a good feel for potential moots. If I feel like they are a good fit, I jump on in.

What makes you decide against following?

Unnecessary negativity, AI content, hate, bigotry, overly political content all turn me off.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I do whenever I have free time. If anyone wants to ask about my WIPs, OCs, or tag me in tag games, I do my best to respond.

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy a space in your noodle?

Yes. A memorable character always sticks with you.

Do you interact with your mutuals often?

As often as I can.

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks @mk-writes-stuff @xenascribbles @words-after-midnight @nczaversnick

@bookish-karina @paeliae-occasionally @poethill @jay-avian @riveriafalll @lavender-gloom

@the-ellia-west @autism-purgatory @duckingwriting and open tag

[effervescentdragon]

If yes, can I get any pairing+ Daemon AUs?

happy bday @cerona10 ! im a bit late, sorry 🥰 i hope you still enjoy this. Also everyone go read Niamh's @milflewis fic that I adore :)

Charles sometimes thinks Esteban must be Pierre's soulmate or something similar. Why else would Ida be a rat?

Beatrice scoffs at him. "You are an idiot," she says, and if a peahen could roll her eyes, she would. "I keep telling you, you are your own worst enemy."

Charles shrugs. "I'm just saying. Ida and Marie get along great, and you can't tell me Este doesn't look like a rat."

He expects her to scold him. She has no problem doing it, and when Lorenzo's Arcana joins her, they can go on forever. She doesn't. "Marie," she says instead, her tone ice-cold. "What a common name."

"You're being mean," he says, because one of them has to be responsible. One of them must remember their duty and how to act when there's people around, and apparently it will not be Beatrice. So it must be Charles. "Why are you being mean?"

"No meaner than you," she says regally, ignoring his question. Her feathers puff up and Charles can't help but giggle, because she is as adorable as she is beautiful. "Every other girl is named some variation of Marie."

"At least you get those verses," Charles tries to placate her. "I'm getting better at Italian, and the book is full of expressions of love for Beatrice. I think they're all written for you personally. They feel like they are."

Beatrice squints at him like he's an idiot. "It's a book about hell, Charles."

"I don't believe in hell," he says, hurt a bit and not even knowing why. She folds her tail and steps closer to him, and he lets her, of course he does, she is his daemon, she is everything and he will always forgive her everything.

"I know you don't," she mutters. "That may be for the best."

"What do you mean?" Charles asks. Beatrice just shakes her head.

"Doesn't matter, little one," she says, and sometimes he forgets that she is not of this world, that she is other; never in moments like these, though, when her gaze goes through him and she seems to be remembering something. "Heaven and hell are not quite real, anyway."

Charles thinks on it a moment. He's reading Dante's Inferno, because Lolo insisted, but it's going slowly. He think's he may like Paradiso more, but Arcana insisted he does it in proper order, and he doesn't dare contradict her very much.

"And Purgatory?" he hears himself ask. "What about Purgatory?"

She doesn't answer for a moment, closing her eyes in a manner he's starting to recognize as the indication she's thinking of how much should she say. When she opens them, her voice is as far away as her gaze.

"Purgatory is in your head, Charles," she finally says. He blinks at her, because he doesn't understand, but he also doesn't like it one bit.

Before he can ask, she shakes her head, as if coming out of a trance. "Esteban isn't Pierre's soulmate." Her tone is final, and Charles bites his lip to prevent himself from poking her more. She won't appreciate it, and he doesn't want her to be mad at him.

"Okay," he sighs instead. "Let's go see if him and Ida are free after quali? We don't have to do anything after the F2 feature race, and we can maybe all hang out? Or at least Pear said so."

Beatrice smiles. "Yes. Let's do that instead," she says, and struts off elegantly towards the door, and Charles doesn't ask Instead of what?

-

Ida settled late. Even Beatrice settled before her; but then again, everyone knew Beatrice would be something special. Charles hated it and loved it in just the equal amount, and she knew that. She didn't really care.

"White peafowl, Charlo, how wonderful," Pierre had said to him when he first saw her. "And you, you look wonderful, my lady," he said playfully to Beatrice, and she scoffed, and preened, and let Pierre touch her snow-white feathers and caress her head.

Charles wasn't jealous of his own daemon. He wasn't.

Ida had sat on the couch by him, then, and Charles didn't dare reach out to her. It didn't really matter because she was just like Pierre. She went for what she wanted, and sooner rather than later she was in his lap. Charles didn't mind. He never did.

Why don't you settle, Charles had wanted to ask her back then. What is bearing down so heavily on his soul that he can't settle you?

He didn't ask; of course he didn't. He wouldn't put Pierre on the spot like that. He was content enough to watch Beatrice and Pierre talk as he caressed Ida's fur or feathers ir skin carefully as she flickered into different forms on his lap.

-

"Pierre Gasly's daemon is a rat," a boy says snidely on the track. "Just like him, the asshole."

The boy doesn't even get to finish his sentence properly when Charles punches him so hard, he breaks the boy's nose.

"Fuck you," Charles growls as Jules drags him away, apologizing to the boy's parents. "Don't talk about him like that!"

Jules doesn't say anything as he cleans Charles' hand except "Next time, clench your fist a bit more. It will hurt you less."

Charles smiles through the tears he doesn't let fall, and drives with his hand hurting the whole time, and wins the race.

-

Ida is already with Charles when Pierre walks into the room, Beatrice on his heels. Nobody says anything; Charles couldn't take it if anyone tried to speak.

His race trophy stands forgotten in the corner of the room as Pierre curls around him until all Charles can feel is Pierre. Beatrice is a heavy weight against his back; Ida scuffles until she is settled in Charles' t-shirt, her small body a little oasis of heat where Charles is so, so cold.

"I'm sorry," Pierre murmurs, and Charles doesn't want to hear it but he doesn't want Pierre to go away, ever. "I am so sorry, cher, I am sorry, I'm here, I have you, we have you."

Charles doesn't fall asleep that night, and it's not okay, but three warm bodies around him make it a bit easier to bear everything.

-

"Hello Beatrice, hello cher," Pierre says, and smirks, and looks so good and happy in Alpine's colours, Charles wants to kiss him.

Beatrice snorts. Charles always wants to kiss Pierre, that's not new.

"Hello Pierre." Beatrice inclines her head regally. "Where is Ida?"

Ida chooses that moment to scatter up Charles' leg, over his race-suit and up to his shoulder. Charles looks around warily, because daemons touching other people doesn't happen, it isn't something that happens outside strong bonds, and if the media got wind of this...

"Right where I belong," Ida squeaks, and Beatrice laughs, and Pierre almost blushes, and Charles does blush and pets her with one finger and tries not to beam too obviously, like a fool.

-

"We need to leave," Ida tells Charles and Beatrice as they wait for Pierre to be done with his briefing. Yuki's bear with the name Charles doesn't even know how to begin to pronounce isn't with them, so Beatrice is as relaxed as she ever gets in public.

Charles says nothing. Ida, much like Pierre, needs to be waited out to speak her mind.

"I don't care about loyalty anymore," she continues. "It's not about that. There is no loyalty there, and whatever he's clinging to, it's going to kill his spirit unless he stops. And I can't do it anymore."

Charles' phone pings.

From: Pierre

go on withiut me this will take a while

Ida hisses in anger. Beatrice coos at her, and Charles lowers himself down to the ground, and lets them both press against him, and waits for Pierre to be done.

-

"Be safe," Pierre says and pulls him into a hug. "And if at all possible, win."

"Always," Charles replies, and holds Pierre tight, and then goes out to drive the race of his life.

[multifandominfj]

A New Beginning: A Supergirl 6x20 Re-Write

Chapter Three: It’s A Long Story

“Well, Mxy came by and offered me a chance to change the timeline…”

“Aren’t you the person who said you’d never do that?” Lena asked.

“Yes, I know I sound like a hypocrite. But when Lex told you my secret before I did…and our…you're worth risking the timeline.”

“Kara…” Lena then scoots closer to wrap a warm arm around her girl, pulling her to her embrace as she gets her to lean back on the couch. “So what happened?”

“First, all realities ended up being hell. The first timeline Mxy showed me was during the Children of Liberty. I revealed I was Supergirl during a lunch date, but then Mercy Graves got in the way. After I come back…Mxy tells me you went to see Sam. She tries to convince you I’m still me, but you were too hurt. You were scared I’d see you like Lex. Because you didn’t make it back on time…I end up dying due to Agent Liberty poisoning the atmosphere.”

Lena could tell re-living this wasn’t easy for Kara. Now wasn’t the time for her to be asking questions. So, she simply offered a comforting embrace accompanied with forehead kisses, all the while, while stroking up and down her arm with feather-like delicateness.

“The next timeline was over the Kryptonite stash. I was Supergirl, and I revealed to you me as Kara. The look on your face…was one of the most devastating things I’ve felt. You tell me that you just found out Sam was a World Killer. You tell me that you can never trust me again, and don’t want to work with me. I…well, you can guess. What hurt more was seeing you not save other people just because of my own bone headedness of just wanting to protect you. Another timeline I had…”

Watching Lena die, even in a fake timeline, felt way too real. That moment was permanently ingrained in her memory; it was actually her greatest fear, she just had never outright said it.

“Reign killed you. You died in my arms. That pain was probably some of the worst I’ve experienced. Right up there with betraying you. It felt…”

“I’m not going anywhere, My Sunbeam.” Lena assured her by taking hold of Kara’s free hand, and squeezing tight.

“Another one had you testifying against Lillian. You refused to give up my identity. And the powerhouse that you are, you help win the case. But..,you end up getting kidnapped. The only way I could save you…was to reveal myself. I save you, but everyone else I love…” Kara’s voice became tight and shaky, and tears were definitely starting to form. “Agent Liberty killed them. Including Cat…”

She tries to take a steadying breath, to no avail; it doesn't really help. Just thinking about the last one was enough to make her cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Lena hated seeing Kara cry.

“This last timeline was practically a dystopian Horror movie. Everyone was on the run. Brainy and Reign were minions. You were a dictator, Lena. And…you were turned into Metallo. You wanted me to fight you…but I couldn’t. You may have been evil, but even then, in that timeline where we weren’t friends…hurting the woman I love was out of the question.”

“I know this isn’t the point…but all of those timelines tell me that us meeting, and the journey we went on to get here…all of the pain and healing. It was worth it. You are worth it.” Lena lifts Kara’s chin, gently wiping away her tears; flashing her famous grin to ease away Kara’s fear.

“You truly are amazing, Lena. I’m still amazed that…I get to call you not only my girlfriend, but my partner in crime. To use your favorite Grey’s Anatomy quote…” She lets a chuckle slip past. “You’re my person. Forever and always.”

“El Mayarah.” Lena answered back.

“You get sexier every time you say that, you know.” Kara smirked.

“Oh I know I do.” Lena jokingly gloats as she leans down, closing the distance slowly. “I just never get tired hearing you saying variations of it.”

“Is that so?” Kara loved that Lena was just as big a dork as her. Reaching up to cup Lena’s architecturally strong jaw, she sealed the gap. Stroking her chin, kissing Lena was equally invigorating and calming. With lips as soft and delicate as butterfly wings, it was the Disney World fireworks every time Kara kissed the love of her life.

“I’m glad you finally told me. With everyone knowing who you are now, it can’t be easy dealing with your trauma now.” Lena finishes their kiss with a kiss on Kara’s adorable button nose.

“I’m glad I could tell you. I’ve been holding onto that for a long time, and it feels like I can stand straighter now.” Kara sighs with content.

“Since we are sharing, there’s something I should tell you.” Lena takes a deep breath. “You know the whole thing with Leviathan? While you were helpless, in the virtual unity festival…Acrata showed up.”

“What?” Kara was taken aback by that revelation.

“Yeah, she somehow had gotten manipulated by Lex, no surprise there. She…was told to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen, so…I stood in between you and the Kryptonite shard she was holding.”

“Lena. Do you know how dangerous that was? Granted it wouldn’t have harmed you like it does me, but one wrong move and…”

“I know Kara. But after how I treated you those few months, and the regret I felt for not realizing how stupid I was for not taking steps sooner to mend our relationship…risking my life and every breath I took for you was more than worth it.”

“I will keep saying this because it’s always going to be true…the Luthor name never deserved your kind, breathtaking, beautiful soul in their family. And I’m so glad that I get to be that for you now.” Kara had felt her body begin to fall asleep as she gave her girlfriend a dopey smile.

“Come on Sleeping Beauty, time for bed. We both know Esme is going to want to come over and ask you tons of questions.” Helping Kara up from the couch as walking over to the bed, Lena got in first so Kara could nuzzle close.

“That is very true.” Kara gives a sleepy laugh as she follows, getting under the covers then cuddling close to Lena in the alcove of her shoulder and chest. “Thank you…” Her eyes began to droop.

“For what, Kara?” Seeing that she was getting tired, Lena began to stroke Kara’s hair to help her sleep.

“For listening…and for loving me…” She dozed off to sleep, Kara’s train of thought coming to a hypnotic halt.

“Always.” Lena whispered, kissing Kara’s head one last time. “Sleep tight, My Sunbeam.” Reaching, she turns to shut off the lamp. Resting her head atop her love’s she would also doze off to a land of blissful sleep.

Here is Chapter Three! Hope you guys are liking the story so far 🙏🏻.