#even the choice to make his eye colour such a loud green instead of the paler one

[sirenemale]

everything abt the httyd remake feels like such a deep insult to the first film. Insulting animation as an artform, insulting the texture and lighting work that still holds up so so well. Insulting everything they put in to make it such a tightly written and skillful film. Like what could you improve with this scene, the amount of character you get from toothless here and seeing his thought process, fhe mix of accepting his fate, weariness and curiosity, you're just sucking the life and intention out of it for what. To see the dirt in between toothless's scales? Guess what you can already see that in the first movie. To flatten the lighting, remove all mood so you can see how good they modeled his new scales? Show you how real the mulch looks. Whatever. They do this all the time but this is personal (autism) you're being shown up by a film from 2010. She is eating you ALIVE. Even the other httyd films couldn't quite re-capture what they did with toothless in this first one, they remodeled him ever so slightly and he lost that edge of intelligent Animal, and became a Slightly more condensed version of himself now that his personality was established.

[anika-ann]

Ochranuj me (Protect Me) - S.R. - part 1/2

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8,6k

Summary:  Your practice of magic is punishable by death. Your love is forbidden by law; and yet it has been blessed, more than he knows.

When the crown prince is poisoned, Knight Steven Rogers is faced with a choice: will he risk a war or the love of his life?

And what of you? If asked… shall you risk it all? For the lands where you live… for your knight?

Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, blood, mentions of death, polytheism, mentions of pregnancy (reader/OFC), Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a ň in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments

A/N 2: This is one less smut and more plot, forgive me 🤭 I hope you'll enjoy anyway. Yes, the Merlin inspo is real here. Inspo also from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here.

Chodila, chodila za tebou bílá laň lásky se napila navzdory všem přísahám. Prosila pány lesa ať ji pustí za tebou zažít si, jaké to je jít za srdce ozvěnou.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Jako bílá laň svoji duši chraň, ať záři neztratíš.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Tak ať nepotká tě kříž. (kříž, kříž, kříž) - Bílá laň by Vesna

Boisterous laugh. Wine poured in gallons painting cheeks nearly just as ruddy as the warmth of the torches illuminating the high halls of the Starkerbürg castle painted the walls. Rich aroma of butter, oils, meats and spices flowing in the air, clinking of the most precious silverware and a distant sound of flutes as the musicians tasked to raise the already high spirits could be barely heard over the noise of the feast.

Under the watchful eye of the gods or the only God it was now believed there was, a celebration of peace was raving, everything but peaceful and serene; loud and overwhelming instead, a whirlwind of emerald green threaded with gold welcomed by the steady colours of rich crimson and gold. An anniversary of the peace made between the kingdom of Asgard and Starkerbürg, a party led by Thor Odinson, the king of the lands, honouring the deal his late father King Odin had made right before his passing.

The high table with King Howard sitting at the centre, his son Anthony, the crown prince, by his right, along with the woman he was courting, Pepper of the Potts; on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana. On the king’s left, the guests of honour; King Thor, his wife Queen Jane, and his brother Prince Loki. Knights and warriors of the highest ranks, lords and ladies of nobility joining the celebrations, servants all but running around the hall to tend to everyone’s needs.

Then, a sound of a chalice hitting the stone floor, one that would have been met with more laughter, had it not fallen from Prince Anthony’s hand, suddenly scarily pale and trembling. Cold to touch too, a terrifying contrast to his burning forehead glistening with sweat. Body sliding down the chair, barely even faint frantic motions to his chest.

Brief, deafening silence.

The traitorous calm before a storm would hit and leave nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

Chaos.

Swords drawn.

A wave of threats of violence.

A thundering voice of the King of Starkerbürg himself.

Calls for the royal physician Banner.

Images of peace and joy shattered; a single inconspicuous calm face among the sea of others in the face of a tragedy in making.

“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”

Knights practically tripping over each other to tend to their prince, to their future ruler, to their brother in arms even as by rank he stood high above them. Rustle and grunts; a whisper of skirts as the culprit slipped away in the midst of disarray and cries of fear for the prince and the future of both kingdoms alike.

To think that an attack at the crown happening during the presence of a party of another kingdom – one similarly strong – was but a coincidence, would have been foolishly naïve.

Oh there were no such coincidences; this was but the first step towards a war.

And the perpetrator would be treated with that in mind.

“Aconite, most likely,” sounded the verdict, the words solemn on the physician’s lips as he fearfully raised his gaze to the King hovering over his shoulder as he inspected the second most important patient of the kingdom at the royal chambers.

The dark note in Banner’s voice snapped Steven from the haze as he, Sir Barnes, Sir Barton and Sir Wilson stood along the walls of Anthony’s chambers, tall and menacing, but just as helpless as Prince Anthony’s betrothed seated in the corner.

Whatever poison the physician was talking about, it was not known to Steven; but the message written in Banner’s expression was clear as day and terrifying like a night to be spent in the woods with rumoured presence of ghouls.

Inevitable death.

It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool. He perceived the solemnity of the announcement and received it with a shadow over his already distorted features.

“This… aconite, Banner. What kind of a poison is that?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but not bending. Not under the weight on the crown on his head, nor under the weight of the tidings he might be scared to receive. His face was but a mask of stern indifference; a silent warning to Banner to choose his next words carefully.

As if stating the patient’s condition was a choice, Steven thought darkly, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he exchanged glances with his best friend standing by his side. When he looked back at the physician, he could see him swallow dryly even from the several feet distance. Yet, the brave man faced the King with his head held high and his expression filled with sorrow.

“A deadly kind, Your Royal Majesty,” Banner said slowly. Rage flashed on the King’s face, Steven’s stomach dropping at both the sight and the worst tidings brought. Death. “It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”

A sniffle sounded in the corner of the room, completely ignored except for Sir Barton’s compassionate glance towards the woman who was on the brink of despair at the mere thought of the man she had clearly already learned to love leaving this world forever.

The King beckoned to the guards standing by the door, making them instantly step forward with their spears ready, heading for Banner menacingly.

Steven’s feet twitched as he wanted to step forward to protect the physician, outrage rising at the injustice even as fear twisted his stomach.

Sir Barnes brushed his hand discreetly to stop him.

Steven gritted his teeth, but stayed put for now, watching the scene unfold with disdain.

Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.

A raging man was an unwise man; and the King was only a man too, even as he compared himself to various deities and had nearly as much power as them – which only rendered him more dangerous. There was no point in scaring the physician to death or even hurting him, but such was the King’s power. Such was his God-given right to punish whoever as he pleased. It mattered little that Banner could barely be blamed for-

-for the crown prince’s impending death, apparently.

“Then I advise you, Banner, to find one fast,” King Howard sneered as the guards stood behind the physician now. “Otherwise, you shall meet the same fate as whoever of Asgard dared to try and rob me of my son.”

The guards grabbed the man’s shoulders and Steven’s hand instinctively went for his sword again; and he was not the only one. Still, the knights stood, hesitant to disobey their King even in the face of the glaring injustice, fighting an inner battle between honour and goodness of heart and the oath they had taken. Their loyalty was to the kingdom and the King represented it most of all, after all; even if he seemed to threaten it the most of all, too, at the moment.

Well, not on Steven’s watch.

“Wait!” he called out as he stepped forward, earning a hard glare from the King himself that should have told him to keep quiet and fall in line, but he could not. Not even for Bucky’s audible sigh behind him. Not when-

“Is there anything we can do for him as of now, is what we are trying to ask,” Sir Wilson spoke up before Steven could, moving to stand next to him.

Steven took a deep breath as his gaze flickered to his comrade, finding his face arranged in a carefully crafted humbleness – as it should be in the face of the ruler even when he was addressing the physician.

Banner’s words were kind, his voice firm and regretful.

“I am afraid there isn’t, good Sir.”

“The Royal Guard and all the knights have a clear mission given by the crown, Sir Wilson,” the King barked as he gestured for the physician to be dragged away, the poor man allowing it without a protest. King Howard’s gaze fell on his son’s pale face as he lied on the bed with nothing but soundless whimpers on his lips, before he snapped back to the four knights present. “Arrest all servants and nobility of Asgard. I shall have the King and his brother for myself. And should my son meet his forefathers, I shall have their heads on a spike by tomorrow.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and stepped out, his leave abruptly followed by Anthony’s wife-to-be rushing to her betrothed’s side, cheeks damp with tears.

Steven regarded the scene unfolding, frozen with horror and unease greater than anyone.

He feared the death of his friend, naturally, as they had just dragged the one single person with any chance of curing Anthony in the whole kingdom away from his bedside.

But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.

All the knights knew that; everyone knew that. They all had a heavy feeling in their stomach at the mere thought, their feet slow and unwilling as they left the chambers one by one. Yet, Steven’s heart was heavier.

The thought had occurred to him when he had wondered what exactly the King was expecting from Banner.

To turn back time so the prince had never got poisoned?

To pray to the gods for a miracle?

To perform a miracle himself and cure what was considered uncurable?

The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat.

He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted. He was still breathing solely because of it; and he knew the person who could achieve this closely, intimately even, mind, body and soul, the depth of the goodness of her heart.

Perhaps you would be able to replicate the feat of saving Steven from certain death.

Perhaps your magic was powerful enough to save thousands lives by saving one. Powerful enough to prevent a war.

But hope and miracles were not to be trifled with. Magic was not to be trifled with. Being seen practising magic meant a definite death sentence.

But would it? If it saved the future king’s life?

Surely, he couldn’t risk it; he couldn’t risk your life. Of all the things he had seen in his life, of all the things he had ever had the fortune to hold, you were the most precious one to him. If he brought you here, he could lose you. He could lose you, by his own hand no less, and that would be the highest price to pay for peace he did not even know would settle or not in the end.

No.

That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.

But if you only could… knew a potion, could do anything at all…

As he marched with his comrades to arrest the innocent – for it could not be the work of all Asgardians at once – his jaw was tense, the dilemma occupying all his thoughts, feeling like it might tear him in half.

Until it hadn’t.

If he did nothing, the war was be inevitable. If he did nothing, he would lose you anyway.

A raging man was a dangerous man and King Stark would burn the world in the wake of his anger and grief, heedless of whoever would burn with it.

Steven stopped dead in his tracks, Sir Barnes nearly colliding with him as a result.

“Steve, what the-“

“I must go,” Steven said in a hushed voice, swiftly changing direction; or attempting to. Sir Barnes’ hand was quick to grab onto his elbow, stopping him, heedless of other knights continuing their path.

“Steve, what in heavens do you mean by that?”

“I must fetch someone. I believe she could help.”

Sir Barnes bewilderment would perhaps be almost comical had it not been for the dread pooling cold in Steven’s gut.

“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.

Hold on, hold on-- Bucky knew?!

The look Steven received back was unimpressed at best – of course Bucky knew. He knew Steven almost better than he knew himself.

“Save the surprise for another day. How could she possibly help? Is she a physician’s assistant? Or even an apprentice for some insane reason?”

Had Steve had the capacity, he’d glare at Bucky for the offensive tone with which he had asked the question; however, he did not have it and in the brief moment he spent pondering, he realized that Bucky was not opposed to the idea itself. It was simply the ways of Starkerbürg: to try and take a woman as a physician’s apprentice was insane indeed. King had the God-given right to appoint physicians – and King Howard would certainly never approve of a female one.

But that didn’t matter, because that was not who you were.

“She’s… she is a healer.”

“A healer?” Sir Barnes echoed pointedly, doubt colouring his words. “What does than even mean? We do not have time for this.”

Steven huffed, trying to tug his arm free from Sir Barnes’ grasp as his impatience grew along with the number of doubts whether it was ever a good idea to consider your aid; but there were no options. No time to search for them. No time to waste and no time for finesse. He needed to go and he needed Bucky to understand – and more than that.

“She saved my life, Bucky. Back when I fell from the crags into the river… when you thought I was dead-“

“You must have been lucky, fell into deep water. You had superficial injuries. This is a poison. One the best physician of the court claims to have no antidote for.”

Steven swallowed thickly, the heaviest of feelings in his stomach as he chose to reveal his greatest secret as to make a point and be released to act before it’d be too late. “Bucky, I had much more than superficial injuries. She… she helped then. She might be able to help now, but… I will need your help with protecting her should it come to it.”

Bucky looked at Steve as if he had just grown a second head, glancing around nervously as guards and knights alike kept passing them, casting strange looks at them for their stillness. Sir Barnes lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Are you saying you were wounded much worse and yet she was able to tend to you? In such short time that you were missing then? And that she might be able to help here, now, with a poison that has no known cure?” Sir Barnes demanded hastily, bewildered and clearly irritated. “Are you hearing yourself, Steven? What kind of a healer would she have to be to-“

The almost sardonic voice suddenly fell silent, all blood draining from Sir Barnes’ face when the horrifying realization finally dawned to him. His hand fell limp, finally releasing Steven’s arm.

“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”

Steven swallowed heavily, heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his temples. He shouldn’t have told – but he had to. He had to, right? Bucky needed to understand-

He sighed quietly, whole body strung tight in expectation of his friend exploding in rage – rage he had no time for.

“I am not joking. And you are right, we are losing precious time, I should-”

The sudden grip on Steven’s his shoulder, appearing as to stop him from leaving, was much more brutal than the hold on his elbow had been, fingers digging into flesh even over the layers of clothing.

“You— have you been… lying with a--”

Steven’s voice was quiet, but as sharp and dangerous as the sword resting in the sheath on his hip. “Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”

“That could be exactly what she wants you to think!” Sir Barnes sputtered. Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes – the absurdity of such statement was glaring.

“Oh for heavens-- I might be a fool sometimes, but I am not an idiot-”

“Debatable!” Sir Barnes whispered as madly as if he was in fact yelling. “As you’re proving it this very moment!”

Steven shook his head, the feeling in his gut growing more gnawing by the second, every frantic beat of his heart feeling like a waste of precious time.

“Bucky, you said it yourself – we do not have time for this! I must go. I will get her, but… please. Help me protect her if the King is blind to the fact she uses--- it to do good.”

Sir Barnes simply stared back, the halls empty by now as much as his gaze, however inquiring.

The grip on Sir Rogers’ arm loosened.

Silence stretched. Precious second ticked by, grains of sand in hourglass no one could turn back falling; and with each and every one, Steve’s stomach tightened further with creeping horror.

Surely his most precious, most loyal friend, having been standing by his side since childhood, would not abandon him now? Surely he would not betray him in moments that might be deciding his fate, the fate of his beloved, of the whole kingdom?

“Bucky, please. I swear-- I’m begging you. I need to-- I need to protect her. At any cost.”

“What of your sword?” Sir Barnes asked dully, appearing indifferent to Steven’s desperate pleas.

What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?

The smile which found its way to the corners of Steve’s lips was soft; sad and torn, for it was the greatest honour to serve, to protect, to help. He had been and always would be grateful for the rare chance he had got.

But there was no greater blessing of the gods themselves than you having entered his life and taking it by the most beautiful of storms. He loved you. He loved you more than anything and anyone in this world and that was what he would not even dream of giving up.

He didn’t respond with words; and yet, the exasperation on his closest friend’s face told him he did not have to. Sir Barnes understood from Steven’s expression alone. He always had.

“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”

Most foolish one? Echoed in Steven’s head, the words absurd. No. The most gorgeous one, the purest one, the most blessed, he allowed himself to muse. The most honourable one too, no? Love. Where was justice, if love, the purest emotions of all, was considered a crime? Did the new religious teachings not speak of love being kind, patient, knowing no dishonour and wrongs?

That was how he loved you. Wholly and entirely, kindly, patiently, even if passionately.

It was only then when Steven snapped from his haze and finally noticed a trace of hurt on Sir Barnes’ face when it occurred to him why Bucky had taken so long to respond. He was cross with Steven; but not as much for the alleged crime, but for having kept it a secret. Keeping you a secret; the one closest to his heart, his beloved, hidden from the one person he had always trusted with anything.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s-- she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”

Sir Barnes continued to regard him, stunned into silence still, expression unreadable.

Then, he shook his head; what might seem as disagreement however, Steve recognized as resignation. He had known Bucky for too long to not be able to decipher which shake of a head was a no and which was an expression of indignation and regret at his own choice of a best friend.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

And with those words, Steve took his hasty leave, his minute relief drowned in the sea of worry when he sneaked into the stables to rush through the gates of the castle, claiming to be running a King’s errand.

Seeking his closeness the pretty white doe having sipped at love all despite her oath, she begged the forest spirits to let her go to follow her heart and its eternal song.

Light breeze caressing your hair like the tender fingers of your lover, brushing away a lose strand from your face. Gentle September sunrays of a late afternoon warming your cheeks, long leaves of grass tickling your ankles and your hands as you gathered brownwort, thyme and lady’s mantle, the smell almost too much despite its pleasant notes. Your hand instinctively laying over your belly as the reminder of why you were gathering these particular herbs blossomed in your mind anew, a smile settling on your face. It was not just the time of year blessing people with abundance of these flowers, a nature’s reminder the time was coming to bath in the blessed lake on the Autumn equinox; it was the sweet secret humming under your heart too, growing stronger and more beautiful by day – and slightly bittersweet for for now, it was only yours to keep, your beloved knight none the wiser.

Steven.

The very reason, you suspected, for the heavy feeling in your heart; the reason why none of the kind offerings of mother nature seemed to sooth a jittery feeling you had woken with up from your restless sleep. Unease had been crawling over your skin; a solemnity’s shadows, despite the beautiful weather and the joyful morning realisation that a barely noticeable bump was now showing on your body, a testament to the blessings of love.

The sky was beginning to colour with sunset with no clouds in sight; and yet, you could feel a storm coming, one you did not feel would be of the refreshing purifying kind. The air did not smell of rain; if you breathed in deeply, it reeked of the very death the wind seemed to whisper about in the tallest of birch trees. A warning; a witch’s intuition tuned to the finest hints of the gods of nature and forest spirits. You had tried to sooth yourself, coaxing yourself into peace by wondering if it perhaps was but a new future mother’s anxiety.

Yet, an instinct as old as time whispered to you to know better.

Which was why the wild stomping of hooves nearing your cabin should have not taken you by surprise. But it did.

You rose from your crouch so fast your head span, gathered flowers falling from your hands at the brief faint sensation; you steadied yourself just as Steven’s horse came into view, slowing into a walk as not to startle you or crush all the blossoms on the meadow.

The silent thank you to the gods for seeing your love alive and well left your lips without prompting, followed by your spine tingling with a shudder of power at its base.

Almost as if the gods blessed you for your genuine gratitude and gifted you with strength. Strength you shall no doubt need, for Steven might be living and breathing, dismounting his mare in a thousand-times practised manner, breathtaking as ever, but the distress on his face and the tension of his wide shoulders told you those shoulders carried the weight of the world at the moment.

Feet waking with motion, you met him halfway as he rushed to you, his arms quick to embrace you lovingly but so tight all air left your ribcage for long moments. Steven’s heart thundered against your ear as you hid your face against his chest. Fresh air had washed his clothes of most smells, but sweat and wine and rich spices still enveloped your senses, a tell-tale signs of the feast which he had told you about being interrupted by something vicious.

Yet, you took precious moments of simply breathing your lover in, basking in the comfort his arms offered no matter the circumstance.

He nuzzled his face in your hair, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, a steadying breath which made his heart race faster, as if attempting to outrun the very storm you had felt arriving.

You ran your hands down his broad back, feeling your own heart leaping into your throat as the silence between you, often so sweet and comforting, stretched ominously.

“Steven… love,” you whispered, attempting to shift in his embrace, only achieving his hold growing firmer, his muscles almost shaking with effort not to let go.

Oh Steven… What a terrible feat had been laid upon him?

“What has happened?”

Finally releasing your body, his hands were quick to cradle your face instead, achingly gentle, even as his eyes roamed your face wordlessly, brimming with so much emotion it stirred your unease further.

“Rytier moj?”

Steven’s face softened minutely, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as tenderly as butterfly wings despite the power – or the lack of it – in his grip.

“My love…”

Lips curling in a tiny smile, you mirrored Steven’s affection, reaching to settle your palm against his cheek, fingers of your other hand carding through his hair; your heart fluttered when he leaned into your touch, a wavering breath escaping his lips before they pressed against your palm to sooth the scratch of his beard against your skin.

Despite the dulcet image he made, eyes fluttering close for a blissful moment of nothing but love shared, you felt his body pulse with anxious urgency seemingly seeping into yours through your fingertips.

“I did not sleep well…” you confessed, his already pursed lips turning down. “I had a heavy feeling in me. Now I know the gods had not warned me simply for their own whims. What’s happened?”

Steven opened his eyes again; with a single caress of the breeze, he straightened, his aura of a knight – a fierce protector, a loyal friend, a humble determined servant – returning with its full force as did his worry.

“I need your help.”

A simple plea.

A simple answer.

“Always, rytier moj. Anything,” you promised.

One would expect relief to fill your lover’s features; instead, dread twisted them into a frown of dismay. Almost as if he had been hoping for your rejection.

Why?

The whisper of death among the trees grew louder, haunting, sending such a shudder through your body not even your lover’s warmth could hope to protect you from it, another urgent question scratching at the back of your mind.

Death, the trees seemed to whisper.

Whose death?

“Oh bosorka moja…”

Not Steven’s. Never. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

And not your child’s. You’d claw a throat open with your bare hands had anyone tried to take them away. Take her away. You had dreamed two nights prior, dreamed of a girl with Steven’s beautiful eyes and your hair caressed by the wind, her laughter filling the air as he sat her on his shoulders and she placed the daisy crown on his head-

The image had been so full of hope, so bright, so full of promise; it battled the current scent of death fiercely, one blending into another, and it felt like you were stood in the middle.

Your choice. Your power.

Your victory; or your loss.

You gulped, your gentle hold on Steven’s face growing shaky; with fear or the weight of responsibility, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, love? You are worrying me… come in. Tell me what weights down your-“

“Prince Anthony has been poisoned,” he said at last.

The whisper of the wind seemed to turn into a screech of a gale, even as the tree leaves and grass barely rustled.

The Prince… was he the one whose death you felt impending? It must have been.

In a split second, it became so clear why Steven was so shaken.

An impending death of his brother in arms. Of someone whom he served and appreciated.

Of the future ruler; quite possibly caused by the attempts of the party of Asgard.

An act of war.

Should Prince Anthony die, there would be no stopping at one death. Devastating number of lives could be lost. Including Steven’s.

No. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

But could you stop it?

Stood in the middle. Your choice. Your power.

Could you prevent a war?

Your mind was set into a whirl, various herbs and remedies for different poisonings refreshed in your mind.

“Do you know which poison it was?” you asked urgently, dropping your hands; and confused as why Steven’s remained firmly on your face, his expression speaking of pain greater than before. “Steven, love. What are his troubles? I can send a potion, pass it as a remedy from a physician-”

“Burning feeling in his forehead, weakness of muscles, trembling, cold sweat… he fainted and could not be woken up, only for a brief moment. He had trouble speaking, began to shake, fainted again...” Steven listed slowly, his unease growing with every word.

And so did yours.

Determination bled out from your body drop by drop, replaced by dread, the very weakness your lover was talking about as if settling in your own muscles and bones.

“The physician believes it might have been... aconite?” he added.

You had figured as much, seemingly endless moments before Steven spoke the dreaded word.

Aconite.

The worst nightmare of all living things; the deadliest daydream of those who meant harm and would not stop until their enemy released their last breath.

Death, screeched the breeze in the crowns of the birch trees; the yew trees, the very symbol of passing, joining in.

Death. War. Death.

Your power. Your victory. Your loss.

Your voice shook more frantically than young aspen leaves in the wind.

“Steven… aconite is deadly. I have no potion or salve for this. There is no cure-”

“That is what physician Banner said.”

“But then what…”

Your voice trailed off, words stuck in your throat, air stolen from your chest. A lighting from clear skies could struck you at the very moment and you would barely take notice of such.

It all made sense now. You having lost sleep. The whispers of death. The assumed shiver of power you shall no doubt need. And at last, Steven’s almost palpable dismay when you had said you’d help. That you’d do anything.

He had hoped you’d help.

He was terrified of it all the same.

You could feel blood draining from your face, rushing past your ears; unspeakable horror and determination swept you like the non-existent gale in the tree crowns.

“Steven…”

His grip on your face grew firmer, unsteady but urgent, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes slid shut, his whisper a frantic promise, a confession and a prayer at once.

“I know. Believe me, my love, I know, and I have never been more scared of anything in my whole life,” he said huskily, barely audible over the wild thundering of your heart, the shaky sound of your quick breaths, even as the rest of the world faded into background, all noise ceasing. Or perhaps even the sparrows forgot how to sing, struck by fear for their life.“I would have not asked this of you if I did not fear that Anthony’s death would unleash a war with Asgard and might destroy us all… and if I did not believe I could protect you.”

“Steven-“

A thumb over your lip, gently pressing to silence your protest, Steven guided you to look up to his eyes, every word falling from his lips an oath signed by his own blood.

“Bosorka moja… I shall protect you, no matter the cost. You must know I would lay my life for you. I will, should it come to it. As long as you are safe.”

Consumed by adoration and terror at once, you slipped from Steven’s hold, shaking your head.

He had not the slightest idea what he was speaking of, the reckless fool.

He had no idea.

And he had no idea whom he would be leaving should he deliver on his terrible promise.

“These words are not nearly as comforting as you believe them to be! How would we-- how would I live without you?” you lamented, feeling the fire of power and indignation burn inside of you, chasing the fear away for several beats of your heart. “And I-- I am not even sure I can heal him.”

“You healed me,” Steven offered kindly, encouraging, confusion and the softest trace of hurt at you having escaped his touch twisting his face. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. “You said I was at the brink of death myself-“

“You were,” you spat, not appreciating the reminder – not of his injuries, nor of your past recklessness, as grateful as you were for the latter, not a single regret in your mind for having risked it all to save the handsome stranger with goodness etched into his very soul, having shone so bright it had outshined your doubts and fear for your life. But this was different. So much circumstance had changed. “But I was… I had faith in your soul, saw your good heart. I believed to be safe from you should I be too weak to protect myself after I casted my spells, and for that, I was able to pour all my magic into the healing. And I-- I was much more careless with my power then… “

You made a pause, inhaling slowly, gathering courage in the face of Steven’s features twisting further with distress.

“But Steven… that was before. I-- before we-“

“What is it, bosorka moja? Before what?”

Your lower lip trembled, regret lacing the soft touch of your fingertips to his face.

This was not how you wished for him to find out. You had told him before, erased his memory to ease his conscience and to prepare for the right moment, a moment fit for such joyful tidings; but much like him, having rushed here asking for help despite the unspeakable risks, you had no other option.

You had no choice.

You had no time.

The deep-sea blue with a forest green shade of his irises brimmed with emotion, tenderness and silent question.

With a lump in your throat, you dropped your hands again, curling them around your middle as if to protect the secret and save it for a reverent moment your love and lover – and your child – would have deserved.

Steven regarded your stance with dread visibly climbing up his throat. You could see it in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty, the questions written in his eyes growing frantic and painful.

Why had you stepped back from him? Why had you evaded his touch? Why did you seem taken by sorrow? What secret had you been keeping from him? For you must have had some. You must have not told him something crucial – and in a dark time like this, it shall come to light.

You appeared so shaken; you appeared scared. Of something he had failed to protect you from?

Or of his reaction to the revelation?

You chose your words carefully, speaking them slowly, even though you could feel him hanging onto every syllable.

“It is not only me anymore who needs to be protected.”

Steven did not understand; that much was clear from his expression, from the step he took closer to you only for you to take a step back, etching his hurt deeper into his face.

“I… I do not understand, my love. Do you have—do you know of someone who could help you? Do they need protection too?”

The they tasted of poison much bitterer than aconite; disbelief and profound pain.

You could almost hear it, the absurd questions he seemed to be asking himself. Was there… was there someone else? Someone else who had earned your love more fiercely than he had? More deserving?

The way your love remained hidden, the distance he still had to keep, laid heavy in his mind, always, now feeding his doubt; his fear that someone else now occupied the space he had so selfishly taken up in your heart.

But had only been here mere days ago, yes? Surely you could have not--- you would have not… or had you? No. That wasn’t possible. You were the kindest most loving person he had ever met, loyal to a fault – and he was blessed to be yours, to be loved, unconditionally, more than he deserved for keeping you his little secret.

You could not read thoughts; but Steven’s always seemed to be laid bare in front of you to card through. Betrayal and resignation all at once, jaw tight to mask his hurt, to hide the very doubt you read so clearly. Doubt, but not of you; of him. He had always carried it with him, the guilt of not providing for you as he imagined he should for his beloved.

Doubt, crystal clear in his gaze. It was possible, was it not? The most wonderful woman he had ever met, finally fed up, the goblet of your patience finally having overflowed, deciding to find a man worthy of you, able to take care of you, truly, one you were willing to-

You could not bear his mind screaming anymore, even as you had not heard a single word, a single thought, all of it but achy questions expressed by his gaze alone.

“No, Steven, I do not--- I merely cannot only think of myself now,” you said softly, searching for words to reveal the secret at last, not, not wanting to and craving it all the same. “I… I need to protect us.”

His shoulders sagged, doubt and heartache erased at once, tenderness at your worry for him melting into his smile.

“Do not fret, bosorka moja. I can hold my own.”

The faint smile in the corner of your mouth hurt, tears burning in your eyes.

“I know, rytier moj… and yes, I meant us, but I--- I also meant us.”

The arm you had curled around your middle shifted. Your palm spread pointedly over your belly as you met his gaze with hesitance and silent hope; for as much as you dreaded revealing the source of your worst fear, the tidings were still joyful. And you hoped with the entirety of your heart that Steven would accept them as such, much like the first time.

But first, he had to comprehend them.

Several rushed beats of your heart it took him; but then he finally did.

Suddenly, it was his turn to stand still and rigid as if a lightning from the perfectly clear skies struck him. And it might have as well.

His voice was barely louder than a breath, hoarse, laced with careful hope despite the glaring truth.

“You—we- are we-?”

A crystal-clear memory of those being the very words he had spoken the first time entered your mind, a single tear spilling over; the awe and reverence on his face mirrored his expression all the same as you confirmed.

“Yes.”

“You are with a child? My child?”

It would have been amusing, the questions, if you hadn’t been on a brink of hysteria and hadn’t there been a metaphorical sword hanging above your heads while you indulged in revealing the sweetest secret there was between lovers.

“Yes.”

Countless grains of sand in hourglass fell, Steven simply observing you, his gaze feasting on the entirety of you with newfound emotion that touched your very soul and made it shiver with delight. He observed you with such adoration and devotion you could only imagine he would show to a deity descending to walk the Earth.

And then he was surging forward, falling on his knees in front you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around your lower back to keep you close as he laid his forehead on your belly, shaky, slow and careful; nothing short of reverent. Despite the circumstance, all the tears prickling in your eyes found their release – every inch of your body sang, feeling Steven’s love for both you and the life he had a generous hand in creating.

“Oh bosorka moja… láska moja,” he muttered into the fabric before he looked up, hesitant fingers slipping under, to feel the very bump you had only noticed today. His lips parted in mute awe, eyes turning glassy with sheer delight and wonder at the miracle.

You allowed yourself another moment of basking in his love; feeling the delight spreading through every vein, through every bone and nerve, all the way to your very core and source of power. Your hands found gentle purchase of Steven’s hair as his lips pressed to your belly.

But then, the inaudible crackle in the air brought you both from your reverie, the breeze screeching of death instead of new life returning.

There was no choice; dread filled your being along with a haunting whisper of opportunity from a voice speaking in tongues you barely understood and yet deciphered as guidance.

You must go. You must try. Despite the risks.

Stood in the middle. Your power. Your victory; your loss.

Your only hope and your possible doom.

“I shall try my best to help, even as I do not know if I will be able to. But Steven…” you addressed him softly, revealing one more piece, one more source of joy, “our little girl must remain safe at any cost.”

The hands sprawled around your middle twitched, a single tear escaping him as his eyes shone.

“Our--- a girl? How-“

“It is but a feeling,” you admitted, earning a brilliant smile which lasted too shortly.

You smiled tightly in return, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as Steven’s hand softly caressed your barely-there bump again, butterflies seemingly to erupting in your stomach, your heart humming.

He rose to his feet with something in his eyes turning steely, his gentle voice once against taking on a heaviness of an oath.

“I will protect you both, even if it should be the last thing I will ever do.”

One wavering breath was all the luxury you granted yourself before springing into action, not allowing yourself to lament at the potential of death weaved into Steven’s promise. You could not afford any more distraction. The hourglass was unrelenting, rushing you.

“I know. We shall get going.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a mute confusion as you ruminated through the cabinets, the fire lit, a small pot placed on it, two handfuls of water, milk thistle, ginseng roots, and sprinkle of uncaria leaves added to the mix.

“You can sit down, love, I shall only complete the potion swiftly and we will be on our way,” you assured him, reaching for a pinch of turmeric to add.

Steven did not, in fact, sit down – if anything, you could feel him grow taller behind you, as if his growing bewilderment added an inch or two to his already impressive height. His stare was firmly set on you, a little burning and slightly insulting since you could almost hear his silent questioning of your sanity.

A potion? But you had said-

You looked over your shoulder briefly, your lover’s body nearer than expected, causing you to need to crane you neck a bit.

“No, there is no potion to neutralise the poison – but this remedy strengthens a body, aids it to fight off an infection and weakness,” you explained, expecting Steven’s face clearing, but not waiting for it do so, busying yourself with reading the mental list of ingredients, recalling every indispensable element. Milk thistle, ginseng, uncaria leaves, turmeric… ah. Yes. Where herbs were concerned, rare or common, that would be all. Only one last ingredient.

A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you were turning to the stack of knives, halting your movements tenderly but firmly. Blinking, you lifted your gaze to Steven’s face again, disconcerted by his unreadable expression.

“Is it… safe?”

Had it not been for the large distress he was in, the feeling oozing of him and adding to your own shakiness, had it not been for the tenderness of his touch, you’d feign a slap to chase his hand away at the almost silly question – and at the sudden doubt in your knowledge and power and your reign over it.

“Steven, love, my apologies for the bluntness, but Prince Anthony is on his deathbed, so I cannot very well hurt him further and I shall have you known that this very potion you have drunk yourself-”

“For you,” he clarified, two soft syllables in contrast to your slightly exasperated words, your voice falling silent as sweet worry reflected in his sky-blue irises. Despite the circumstance, your heart seared at the fussing, no matter how groundless and ironic. “I am asking whether it is safe for you and our… our child to prepare that. I know it may seem irrational given why I am here, but-“

It was, you had to admit. And yet. You spent a precious moment, precious grains of sand falling in the ominous hourglass above your heads, placing your palm over his hand, reassuring.

“It is perfectly safe, rytier moj… certainly no more dangerous than rushing to the castle, the very heart of the Kingdom, and attempt to save the prince using the most outlawed practice in these lands,” you added with an unsteady cheekiness, earning an exasperated glare; and a full body shudder he couldn’t hope to contain.

The same tremble ran through your body; and yet, the whisper for caution was overshadowed by a tingle of energy unknown, a wordless encouragement. Almost a haunting promise from the Fate itself that bravery shall be rewarded.

But if that were true, where would the ever-present whispers of death and upcoming end fit in the mosaic then?

Shaking your head as well as the overwhelmingly bewildering sensations off, you charmed a soft smile for your lover and love – for the father of your child, already caring so deeply for the life to be born out of your love – and let your hand fall, turning back to your work as stream began to fill the cabin.

One last ingredient; a life essence to help maintain life.

You cradled the handle of the blade carefully in your hand, turning your other palm against the tip; the knife was out of your hand before you could comprehend how, pressed flat to Steven’s thigh, shielded from your touch.

“I’m sorry. I--- is that necessary?” Steven asked with a painful edge to his voice, his continued concern causing your heart to tremble.

“Yes… it is but a drop of blood, my love, I promise. A speckle of life essence to maintain life.”

His frown deepened as you reached for the knife again, fingers brushing his soothingly as you grasped at the handle. So many emotions played over his features; hesitance, concern, guilt. He must have realised you had used your blood before to cure him before you had even learned his name, another sacrifice having been made aside from having left yourself completely vulnerable to him when you had drained your magic and body alike to bring him from the death’s doorstep where you had found him at.

Then, an almost shy question, as if he felt too bold to even suggest such heretic thought.

“Life essence… would mine suffice, then?”

Where his implication was shy – that his mere mortal, human blood could match yours, the blood of a born witch – his determination was not.

He met your eye, a brilliant satisfied sparkle lighting up his irises when he read the truth in your hesitant gaze.

“Yes… it would. But-“

Your knight offered his left palm outstretched, no further questions. The bottomless trust in his gesture and in his eyes caused a lump to grow in your throat; the mere idea of cutting him, even if it was to only be but a scratch, had ache sting deep within your ribcage.

“Are you cert-“

“Would you rather I lead the cut myself, love?” he asked, his voice tender upon your hesitance, understanding the action would cause you pain – as if you were to hurt yourself instead.

And you might as well.

Your hands were made to heal his wounds, not cause them; your hands were made to erase his aches, not bring them; your hands were made to love, not hurt.

Your read in his gentle gaze as he nearly read in yours: I despise the thought of hurting you, rytier moj; It is but alright, bosorka moja.

You shook your head.

“I-- no. I may do it. I apologize, we do not have time for-“

A hand grasping your jaw, soft lips silencing your apologies; your eyes fluttered close despite seeing right through the trick. You felt the pressure of his hand against the blade, the silent sound of protest earning you a deeper kiss, a softer caress of his lips against yours, tasting sweeter than summer breeze, so achingly tender.

“There you go, bosorka moja…”

With his retreat, Steven ran his thumb over your cheek, smiling; then, he moved his injured hand into yours, leading you above the pot.

Slightly dazed and exasperated still, you sighed and carefully squeezed his wound to indeed only spare a drop of his precious blood.

As you pressed your lips to his fingertips in a thank you, you let your healing power flow through your touch, closing the cut your body should have worn.

“This had better be the only blood spilled today,” you whispered; and prayed too. You met your Steven’s stormy gaze as the contents of the pot sizzled, sweet coppery aroma rising in the air.

“It will, bosorka moja. It will.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss, sweet and desperate and bruising.

And falling on deaf ears, whisper in the crowns of the birch trees, his and your words echoed the very same song.

Blood had better be spilled…

Today, today, today…It will, it will, it will…

Next part

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Endearments used: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine)

I hope you liked this - let me know your thoughts!

May your November be sweet and cosy ✨

[dreamingon-forever]

hi can you give some levihan headcanons as a couple , maybe in modern au

Thank you so much for the request! This is my first headcanon request so I tried to make it as perfect as possible! Also, bear with me because I got overexcited with the ask, and instead of the point form HC formulation I should've followed, I may or may not have thought up their whole freaking backstory... and their follow up story... Oops. I won't post it here today, but I do think I will make it a separate post some other day if anyone is interested enough. Either way, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy!

AO3 link: 💚💜

I like to think that even in modern AU, Hange would still have her cheery personality, but instead of obsessing over Titans, she'd be more interested in microbes (I know, transition between giants to microorganisms, LOL). She'd still be interested in saving humanity, but more in the bacterial and medical kind of field instead.

Levi on the other hand, no longer having to be a soldier, he'd happily run the tea shop he'd always wanted right next to his best friends Isabel and Furlan.

The two met on a subway ten years ago on Levi's first day of work in the city. Where an unfortunate mix up of personal belongings caused by clashing into each other got them acquainted and familiar with each other. Despite the unfortunate meeting and the roller coaster of events that unfolded from their collision, it eventually became a pleasant story to tell their friends or at parties when asked how they met.

They were complete opposites of each other. Hange loved the outdoors while Levi preferred staying at home. She was loud and upbeat while he preferred silence and tranquility. Hanger had a habit of being free willed and letting her spontaneity take her, while Levi liked to have everything planned and set before getting into anything

And it wasn't just their preferences that differed, it was every aspect of themselves. Their life choices and ways of thinking were drastically opposing. Even the way they disagreed on what they wanted to eat for dinner caused heated discussion when brought up, as Hange would pick sweets for dinner instead of something sustainable like Levi wanted.

They were complete and utterly the opposite of each other. And while everything pointed to them not working out and onlookers put their money on their relationship ending in a messy breakup, they proved everyone wrong every time with how much their bond only grew stronger overtime. And how their loving partnership became more and more obvious the more time spent around them, erasing any doubts they had about the couple.

Yes, they fought occasionally, and they drove each other absolutely insane. But their differences also brought them out of each other's shells, together experiencing new things they would've never seen without the other otherwise. They saw the world in a different light through each other's eyes, and came to love the new combined word they created together. Because with being opposites of each other, it also meant they filled each other's holes and missing pieces. Almost like creating a stained glass window meant to be clear with splashes of purples and greens instead. Creating an accidental masterpiece that came to be adored by those lucky enough to bask under the kaleidoscope of colours in their inner chapel. Bathing those closest to them with the deep love they had for each other.

Throughout the years of getting to know each other, they found a way to put their differences away, and somehow managed to build up their relationship status to best friends. So much so that Isabel and Furlan, Levi's childhood friends complained about being replaced so quickly. Although, in all considerations, it felt to Levi like he was the one being replaced by Hange instead with the way his friends loved her. Hell, even his mother and uncle seemed to love her more than him.

"Welcome home, runt. Where's Hange? I wanted to discuss about the new wine she mentioned to me last time." His uncle would say when he'd visit.

"Oh Hange! I've made your favourite pudding!" His mother would greet, throwing herself at his girlfriend before she caught sight of her own son staring at them with a roll of his eyes. "Oh, Levi! Nice to see you too of course."

Contrary to his grumbles and complains about Hange being overburdened by his family every time she visited, he couldn't help but feel his heart beat happily at knowing the love of his life was accepted by his family, and that they loved her as much as he did himself. Having the two most important parts of his life get along was all he cared about.

Despite having known each other for ten years, having met when Levi was 26 and Hange 24, they didn't start dating until... well that was a mystery of its own as they themselves didn't really know when they started dating. Not fully at least.

Somewhere along the years of their friendship the lines blurred, and they somehow ended up with the shocking, yet not surprising realization that they were and had been dating each other for a while. But the way they realized it and came to terms with it wasn't an easy one. When Levi finally came to terms that he harboured feelings for his best friend, he initially thought that Hange had feelings for someone else. And he could only put up with the unbearable pain he went through when he overheard Moblit mention to Nifa that Hange couldn't meet with them for a work dinner because she had a date already.

So one can only imagine his surprise when Hange showed up with a smile at his shop door on Saturday, greeting him and his workers as happily as ever. Even throwing herself at him for a hug like she always did whenever she visited. A hug that would be considered too personal and close for two individuals that were only considered friends. But not once during her whole afternoon spent there did she mention anything about meeting up with anyone else, but the suspense was absolutely killing Levi by the point the clock struck half an hour to dinner time.

But Hange continued being her usual self. Greeting new and old clients alike as if she'd been friends with them for ages. Making a complete mess of his usual clean counters only to be scolded off by Levi to go to the corner and read instead, and even teasing him about random things like she always did. All the while being completely unaware of the turmoil and the pain Levi felt at thinking about how he would have to hide his feelings and having to pretend to be happy for Hange being with someone that wasn't him the rest of their live. It was becoming an unbearable and depressing Saturday to say the least. His mood only soured more as Hange still acted all upbeat and nonchalant as ever. Not once having brought up her dating life to him, despite being her so called bestie. And it brought about this ugly feeling of disbelief and jealousy out of him that he'd never experienced before.

As nighttime fell over the streets, Levi finally broke his silence and lashed out at her bitterly, asking why she was hanging out with him when she already had plans with someone else.

And out of all ways she could've reacted to his interrogation, being laughed at was something he didn't expect.

"But Levi, YOU are my date." She finally gasped, having finally gained the capacity to breathe again after having laughed at his question.

"Huh? How am I your date, fucking Four- Eyes. We never made plans for anything. Besides, I overheard your coworkers talk about you meeting someone instead of eating with them... How can I be considered your date?"

Hange tilted her head, amusement flowing in her brown eyes as she caught the usual poised and self-assured raven-haired individual lose his composure. "Huh... But I thought we've been dating for while now, Shorty. I've even been referring to you as my boyfriend to my friends and coworkers for the last few months."

Turns out, her date was none other than Levi. And her idea of a date was hanging out with him at his tea shop on the weekend like she's been doing the last five years. And Levi, as clueless to feelings as ever, never put two and two together.

The whirring of machine cogs and espresso machines filled the silence between them as Levi processed whatever Hange had just said.

"The fuck?! You can't simply just call me your boyfriend when I haven't even been aware of us dating this whole time!" He finally retaliated, throwing the rag in his hands onto the tabletop.

Hange giggled, noticing the reds on his cheeks. It wasn't a no, she could read from his eyes. "I like you too, Shorty. So? Are we officially dating now?"

"You better make up for the last few months I've been out of loop of my own relationship."

They ended up adopting a black goldfish adorably named One-Eyed Moody after the professor of the dark arts from the Harry Potter series for the fact it was both very moody and in fact, one eyed. Levi had reluctantly agreed to let Hange get a pet for their apartment once they had moved in together after a year of dating. He expected her to get a cat, a big dog, or a lizard for all he knew. Although he made it very clear the last one were on the black list.

Instead, Hange had found One-Eyed Moody on a cart ready to be discarded off at the pet shop. Having instantly connected with it, she begged Levi to get it. And with a heavy sigh, he couldn't say no. Mind you, it was pretty much dead at that point, but through endless observation and whatever mutated food concoction Hange whipped up, it came back to life in a matter of weeks. And in turn, Levi had somewhat grown attached to it. Hange liked to joke that it was their baby and it resembled them both in some ways.

Their days spent together were a blend of their interests mixed into one. When Hange wanted to settle down and read, Levi would do skin care for both of them to make use of their time. All the while Hange reading aloud the words from her book so Levi could listen as well. When Levi wanted to clean the house, Hange knew better than to lend a hand as he was peculiar in his ways. So instead she'd make some tea for both of them and cook dinner for a famished Levi by the end of his cleaning session. On days Hange felt like watching a documentary on bugs or microbes, Levi would lay his head on her lap as she brushed her fingers through his locks. The soothing motion letting him get some shut eye he usually never got due to his insomnia.

Hange had a habit of working overtime, and sometimes even staying overnight at her lab. On days like these Levi would pack up some sweets from his shop and some warm tea and bring them to her office as he kept her company. On the off days Hange had a day off, she'd use it to help around in Levi's shop. Chatting up customers and bringing a bright feeling to the atmosphere. Levi absolutely adored watching her laugh and interact with regulars from behind the counter. Although he'd never voice these thoughts aloud. But it wasn't needed, as his employees, Jean, Sasha, and Connie all make kissy faces to each other whenever they caught Levi glancing a little too long at his partner.

Levi didn't like to admit it, but most of his photos on his phone were of candid pictures of Hange. But not the flattering ones most boyfriends take of their girlfriends that are Instagram worthy. No, most of them were completely unflattering. Many consisting of Hange snoring with her mouth wide open, of her laying in a pile of dirt after having chased a squirrel. Of Hange throwing a middle finger to the camera after being caught without caffeine early in the morning, or even of her snorting in laughter after something funny Erwin had told them during one of their get togethers.

He was absolutely infatuated with her. With her quirks and her being. He was in love with Hange Zoe.

And similarly, Hange kept a record of all the plants and bouquets Levi gave her over the years. A collection of pressed flowers and dried leaves from every flora and fauna he'd ever gifted her. Because as much as she loved flowers, she loved more the effort gone into picking a different flower each time they had a celebration. Because as Levi had once told her, she was so unique that not one flower could ever describe her, and that he could never tie her down to one specific plant.

Normal dates like going to the mall or watching movies before dinner on a weekend weren't their thing. Instead, beach dates in mid freezing February nights, stargazing spontaneously on a random Wednesday night, running around the fields of the neighbourhood Hange grew in during summer afternoons, hiding from thugs after trespassing someone's property to take a look at the size of a wasp's nest, ending with the nest falling to the ground and its inhabitants swarming around the local outlaws on a spring morning... All were chaotic memories that belonged only to them. Those were the kind of dates they had.

They never had to verbally express their admiration or love for each other openly. Or make it everyone's business to know that they were together because they had upmost trust in their partnership and relationship without having to project it to the world in a fright of being misunderstood. Both knowing perfectly well how much they cared and loved each other in the small gestures they shared: The little brush of fingertips as they greeted each other goodbye before work. In the way they worked in sync when working together on a project for their new home. Of how they made love to each other in the warm embrace of each other, blinds closed and moans silenced between their interexchange of kisses. Making their love known only between themselves. It never became a pressing matter having everyone else know their business or feeling the need to explain their relationship to others. In the end, their actions spoke louder than words, and everyone could tell that they had the upmost trust in their relationship.

But in the calmness and safety of their bubble, eventually doubt would emerge, and leak a hole in their safe haven, no matter how much effort they put into keeping it afloat.

Hange absolutely loved and had a strange fascination for energy drinks infused in coffee, the ones that had 10 times the amount than should be allowed by any manufacturers or allowed to pass inspections. So much so that she'd stop by the convenience store on the corner of their apartment every time she came back from work. Bringing with her at least 10 cans with her.

Levi, despite his eye rolls and grumbles about over caffeination and annoyance at having a bunch of empty cans to constantly recycle, still got them for her whenever he passed by on his way from the tea store nonetheless. Loving and having a soft spot for the way Hange's eyes lit up and the way she threw herself at him every time he brought it for her.

Due to their different time schedules they never got to meet up to shop together, but nonetheless they each become regulars in the little shop for the drinks Hange so badly craved.

It was one day that Hange came back, a look of complete defeat on her face as she slummed against the door that Levi understood something was wrong. That, and the fact her hands were empty of her usual drinks.

"Finally figured out you were consuming poison?" Levi questioned as he started unclasping her shoes, carefully placing them on the shoe rack.

Shaking her head sadly, Hange sighed. "No... they hiked up the prices again. I know we're tight on money so I can't go buying five dollar coffee from the convenience store anymore... I guess I'll just have to settle for the stale decaf coffee they have at the office."

"Tch... don't exaggerate, Four-Eyes. The drinks were never more than two bucks." Levi muttered, taking her jacket off and placing it on the hanger.

Hange's brows furrowed. "Two bucks? When have they ever been that cheap? I've always been paying four fifty."

"Huh? What fucking store have you been to? It's been two fifty since we've moved here." Levi grumbled, flicking his finger over her forehead.

The topic brought on an argument that lasted the whole night over who was right and wrong. And it only settled when they both agreed to go to the store the following day together. Luckily it was a national holiday and neither had to go to work.

The following day, in typical Hange fashion, she'd forgotten to feed One-Eyed Moody. Refusing to leave the house without feeding him first, she told Levi to go on first, and that she'd meet him in the store.

But what she found as she entered the familiar shop was something she'd never expected. The usually bored clerk was suddenly chirpy and chatting up no other than her boyfriend. Levi on the other hand, seemed quite discontented from the conversation, but kept adding a word or two in politeness.

Suddenly catching his girlfriend's gaze, Levi started raising his hand to signal her over, when Hange crossed her hands in front of her, shaking her head vigorously as she unlinked and relinked her arms in the cross motion, signaling behind the cashier's back for Levi to not blow her cover.

Confused at her sudden antics, he furrowed his brows, but did as instructed, following Hange's pointed look to the cooler housing her favourite drinks before she mouthed "cashier, go pay for them!".

It was only after he exited the store ten whole minutes later, an annoyed look on his face that Hange finally pounced on him.

"So?"

"So what? You left me to listen to that girl talk about bad dates alone for ten minutes. Here's your stupid drinks." Levi grumbled, throwing the plastic bag into her arms.

Shaking her head, Hange stopped him from walking towards their home's direction. "NO! I meant, how much did you pay?"

"Ah... like I said, two bucks each." He said, annoyance still laced in his words.

And that's when it clicked for Hange. "Ah huh! I knew it! Levi! She's into you! She's been giving you a discount in order to get you to pay attention to her! She's been flirting with you this whole time!"

And instead of how a typical girlfriend would act after having found out their boyfriend was being hit on by someone else, Hange looked absolutely elated.

"Why you so happy about that? Are you not afraid that I'll reciprocate her someday?"

Of course they both knew he was kidding. The bond and love they shared with each other, despite being subtle, was very much irreplaceable.

"Because, it means that from now on, I get to stock up on my favourite drinks at a nice price!"

"Tch... you don't even know if she actually lowered the price, Four-eyes. Maybe you got charged extra by accident."

But having stepped into the store and bringing back a drink with her, Hange had confirmed for both of them all they needed to know.

And so, that day forward, it became their little secret. Levi would get Hange her drinks at a discounted price because of a crush the cashier had on him.

At first everything seemed alright, but slowly as time progressed, Levi seemed more distant and dejected every time he returned from the store. Hange seemed to pick up on his change of mood, but wasn't sure what was causing it. So instead she watched on in silence as Levi's presence became more and more cold.

Unsure of how to bring it up, she watched silently, until eventually Levi was the first to bring it up.

"Hange... are you okay with someone else hitting on me? Are you fine of having others perceiving me as single?" Levi asked suddenly one night. They were doing their usual pre-bed night routine as Levi prepped their ten stepped skin care for both of them. Hange resting her head on his lap, a book open in front of her.

"Hm? No... Should I be?" She asked, her eyes still glued to the words on the pages before her.

Levi's hands stilled completely, bringing a silence over them following Hange's words.

"No... nothing." He muttered finally, getting up. "I'm done. Don't go to bed too late." He said before walking towards their shared bedroom, his face concealed by the dark room.

At first Hange sat there in confusion. What was up with him and his weird questions? She thought about going to him and getting an answer out of him, but as her gaze fell over the bottles of her favourite drink sitting by the doorstep, realization fell over her. And her heart shattered.

The following day, Levi was doing the usual run. Head downcast and eyes unfocused, he forced on a smile that didn't reach his eyes as the cashier continued telling him something he assumed was supposed to be funny.

"Anyways, that'd be ten dollars."

The usual conversation... the usual dissociation... the same dull pain he felt at pretending to be interested in someone he had no feelings for.

"If you're free, I've been thinking... maybe we can get to know each other outside of the sto-"

As Levi started handing over the bill, already coming up with a plausible excuse to not go on a date, a hand suddenly stopped him, pulling him back.

"Sorry, I think you've got the wrong price! The price tag reads five dollars for a drink, and we got five of them here. I think- I think you might be undercharging us!" A bright voice chirped out of breath.

"Hange?" Levi asked surprised, turning to see the mess of a woman before him. She was absolutely out of breath, her lab coat was still on her figure, where a bunch of stains of various unnatural colours painted the once white cloth, and worse of all, she had goggles over her glasses, and that wasn't counting the pair that hung from her neck or the one on her forehead.

"Sorry I'm late. Work took longer to finish than I thought." She puffed out, throwing him a wide smile.

The cashier cleared her throat, noticing the gaze between them, not liking how close they seemed. "Uh... I'm sure I put the price right... I'll go check on the price tags after I ring this customer." She said as she turned back to Levi, her eyes still turning to take a look at Hange. "Don't worry about it, pay the usual price you pay."

But before she could continue, Hange inserted herself once more. "No need! I've got the rest of the money here." She said, pulling out a bunch of lose change from her pockets. Some which fell to the floor if not rolling on the counter.

"Oops..."

"Ma'am... I'm sorry, but can you please wait for your turn? I'm helping this customer over here first. I'll get back to you af-"

"We're paying together. These are for her. She's my girlfriend." Levi said.

A stunned silence fell over the three of them at Levi's words. His confession even surprising Hange as it was the first time she'd heard him introduce her as his girlfriend to anyone else other than their family and friends.

There was a certain pride in his eyes as he finally got to call her his in public. He wasn't one for public affection, or making the world know of his business. But there was something that warmed his chest in having others see them as a couple. Of having made it known that Hange was his. And only his.

Hange smiled. "25 should be the full price." She said, picking up the forgotten coins on the counter before interlacing her fingers with Levi's, and rushing out the door together with his hand in hers. The wind carrying her contagious laugh as they made their way to their apartment. Onlookers and everything else be damned.

"Aren't you sad?" Levi finally asked as they crashed onto the floor of their entrance hall after having run all the way up the stairs to their home.

"Over?" She asked breathlessly, turning to look at her lover.

"The fact you'll have to pay more for the drinks. Or at least cut down on them."

Hange chuckled, a bright twinkle of amusement amongst her brown eyes. "It's worth it. I'd rather pay more for my drinks than lose that warmth of yours... I don't want the love of my life to feel like I'm hiding our relationship. Besides... It was kind of sexy having you put claim over me in front of someone who had eyes on you for a long time."

"Fucking unbelievable." Levi grumbled, causing Hange to giggle before rolling over so she was just over his face. A serious look suddenly taking over her features.

"I love you, Levi. You and no one else."

"I love you too, Four-Eyes." Levi whispered back, placing a hand to the back of her head to bring her closer to him. "Who else can drive me as insane as you?"

And with it, they melted into a kiss.

[8aji]

do you think he’ll think i’m really pretty? // s.s.

pairing: shinichiro sano x baji!reader, ft. little brother baji

wc: 1.6k

synopsis: harmless threats will get to you eventually, but you’ll tolerate it as long as he helps you pick out between silver and gold, and a pair of heels.

tags/cw: fluff, gendered terms used on reader (nee-chan), baji is reader's little brother, cursing, baji/reader dynamic centric, shin appears at the end, mentions of knives but in reference to a meme, reader does her makeup and wears earrings, heels aren't explicitly mentioned i just put it in the synopsis, typos, grammarly lied— let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: im so tired idk what to say LMFAO but i hope you enjoy as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 i adore baji so much and he deserves the world. thank u @thelastoreo for helping me figure out my crisis and @guav your flaco shinichiro MWAH!

m.list 𖥻 tags 𖥻 byi/dni

Tunes were tuning, and you were laser-focused on the mirror, ignoring the indescribable mess sitting on the counter. Keisuke sat on the green step stool he used to brush his teeth, cheek smushed against his fist with a bored expression looming on his features. He couldn't help but roll his eyes every time you groaned in discontent, rubbing with your fingertips at the smudged makeup.

“I can’t believe Shinichiro-nii asked you out,”

You whispered a shut up under your breath, rolled your eyes at him and continued flicking the blending brush against your skin. Despite putting together a nice outfit, a dashing makeup look and picking out a couple of accessories, your inherent indecisiveness when it came to impressing Shinichiro Sano was too much for you to handle on your own. 

“He’s too good for you anyway,” He huffed, pouting.

Biting your lip to hide the cheesy smile threatening to grace your features, you ignored his taunt and grabbed both pairs of hoops sitting in front of you. One gold and one silver, you let them dangle on your fingers enjoying the coolness of them both for a bit, before holding them up in front of him.

“He’s so cool and you’re…you— I like the gold ones better.”

The urge to smack the back of his head, overpowering, but you held back. Instead, you agreed with his choice, following him blindly through your wishy-washy decision-making tendencies. 

“You know he rides a motorcycle, right?— I like the red one the most—you can’t even get your driver’s licence,”

You went to pick the colour he was referring—or the one you thought he was referring—to, humming along the song under your breath until you felt his hand smack yours. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it did make you flinch in surprise, almost gasping in disbelief. He stood up, hands on his hips, annoyed, a disproving look in his eyes.

“I meant the other red, see? You’re dumb.”

How silly of you, almost as if the lipsticks you had shoved under his nose for him to pick were all varying shades of the same colour, red.

“I’m dumb? You can’t even write your own name, stupid.”

“You didn't— Mom! Nee-chan called me stupid!”

“Shut the fuck— I didn’t! Keisuke’s lying!” 

“I’m not! You said— oh, pick that sparkly one.”

All it really took to calm him down was to show him a couple of highlighter options for him to choose from, little fangs poking his bottom lip as he grinned. He’d never admit to it out loud, but even if you didn’t force him to work as moral support, he’d willingly keep you company while you got your makeup done, entranced with the way different products sparkled under the bathroom lights, entranced with the way you seemed to be using your face as a canvas.

He sat back down, legs dangling back and forth. Cute, anyone would think, but the smugness behind those evil-manipulative-child-sized eyes made your blood boil, frowning because you knew, he knew you needed him on your good side, play nice with him for reasons like a) needing his help, and b) if you wanted your mom to let you hang out with the love of your life. And, you knew, he knew, you knew that; he’d be stupid not to exploit this opportunity.

“Where are you guys going anyway?”

“None of your business.”

“Remember that time you broke the tv?” He asked, eyes sparkling as if he didn’t know what he was doing. “you had to use my piggy bank to buy a new one before mom got home, do you think she noticed the colour change?"

“We’re going to a party.” Muttering the answer between gritted teeth, your response made him sparkle with joy. He looked uncannily similar to the smug cat from that one meme.

“What kind of party?”

“Why do you care?”

“I think the pan you threw at me once still has a dent on it.”

Vibing to the music coming out of your phone’s speakers was getting progressively harder, you could almost feel a vein pop out on your temple, you could only take so much teasing without being able to ‘jab back’. Even if you asked him how the hell he got so annoying, he’d probably Uno-reverse-card you, tell you he learned it all from you.

“When are you leaving anyway? I don’t wanna see your ugly face anymore—”

“Keisuke,” you cut him off, making eye contact with him through the mirror; he shuddered. You could handle being threatened with a death sentence, AKA him snitching to your mom, but would not tolerate this little shit (endearingly, and only slightly threatening) calling you ugly. “Rephrase that.”

“Sorry,” he disliked getting scolded, but even he had to admit he might’ve gone just a little too far; breaking the unspoken rule of never mocking each other’s appearances. “I meant, when is Shinichiro-nii getting here? I wanna see him.” 

Right after mentioning your beloved his best friend’s brother, the roaring sound of a motorcycle engine broke through the music, catching the both of you off-guard. It was only when it shut down that you looked at each other, making eye contact in a state of despair.

“Grab me a pair of heels while I finish here.”

This time he didn’t try to playfully exploit his role as an executive assistant, instead going straight to your closet and picking a pair of shoes that went the best—or at least good according to a child’s standards—with the outfit you chose, helping you fasten the straps on your ankles as you finished spritzing some setting spray.

He ran out the door, screaming SHIN-NII!!!!!! as if he hadn't seen the older boy in forever, jumping onto his arms and making him lose his balance as the both of them laughed. 

“I missed you!” He exclaimed, beaming as Shinichiro ruffled his hair after putting him down. “Can I please sit on your bike?”

Their laughter could be heard from inside the house, and after you let your mom know you were heading out, you were met with the wholesome scene of Keisuke sitting in front of Shin, as the older tried teaching him the correct way to hold onto the hand clutch, how to switch on and off the light, and so on. 

You didn't dare intrude on the moment, though announcing your presence wasn't necessary because as soon as you entered your brother’s peripheral field of vision, he called out to you.

“Nee-chan! Look! Shin-nii is teaching me how to ride a bike!”

The sudden intrusion made his companion stumble, trying to stabilise the bike as Keisuke tried to stand on the seat. Still, even after regaining his balance, he fumbled, hard, as soon as he took a moment to take in the sight of you, almost missing the bike when he tried leaning against it, in a very nonchalant, very not Shinichiro, way.

“Hey,” he prays to anything out there that you didn't notice the subtle voice crack that accompanied his words; news flash, you did. “You look really neat, nice, I meant nice.”

“Just nice?” you teased, not letting the opportunity of taking the upper hand go; he was cute while flustered.

“I– no, I meant that I think you’re really pretty.”

“Thanks.” You beamed, soaking in the praise like a cat would roll around in the sun, though trying to keep your cool regardless. After all, You were as weak for him as Shinichiro was for you.

But good things don’t last, because of course he saw the opportunity to tease you back, even if his teasing sucked and left him a bigger flustered mess.

“So you agree?” another one of your boys looked like the smug cat with a knife against his throat. “You think you’re really pretty?”

“I’m never showing you the shit I like again.” 

Ah, Shinichiro Sano, to get lost in his eyes was not only the ultimate fantasy but a very plausible reality, that was until Keisuke tugged on your hand, shaking the jar he had taken from the kitchen in what seemed like milliseconds.

“Swear jar,” he prodded. You rolled your eyes, once again basking in Shin’s chuckle as you searched in your purse for some loose change. “You said ‘shit’.”

The clatter of coins filled in the comfortable silence, it seemed to satisfy your brother enough because without any other words he took the jar back inside.

“Shall we go now?” you cocked your head lightly, holding back the urge—how many urges did you need to hold back today, huh?—to kiss him right there and then. “‘Don’t wanna be later than we already are.”

"Sure, but, uh, movie references aside," he joked, running his hand through his dark locks. He grabbed the spare helmet hanging from the handle of his bike and fastened the straps against your neck, the slight touch making your heart flutter. "I do think you look really pretty, all the ti—”

“Wait!”

Neverendless energy giving him what seemed like a boost of speed, Keisuke made his way back to you, side-eyeing Shinichiro—in the oddest fashion possible because this man was something akin to an idol to your little brother—and signaled for you to lower your head to his height, wanting to whisper something in your ear.

“I’m sorry for calling you ugly,” he mumbled, though his whispering voice was still something that needed some tweaks here and there because Shin could hear the message loud and clear. “I think you’re always pretty.”

And after a quick hug, careful enough for you not to tumble over, and an enthusiastic wave, he was gone.

That’s what Keisuke was for, moral support.

“Okay so, this shirt,” he said, raising the hanger a little higher to emphasise his options. “Or this shirt.”

“They’re both white shirts.” Manjiro deadpanned, speaking despite the lollipop poking at his cheek.

Shinichiro rolled his eyes, a groan threatening to leave his throat in discontent. He would’ve asked Emma for help, she’d give him pretty decent advice, but she was hanging out with some friends from school. So Manjiro it was, and he could use all the advice he could get regardless of what, or who, the source of information was; he too, could be indecisive when it came to you. 

“They’re not,” He retaliated, pointing at one of the shirt’s sleeves with his eyes. “This one is longer than the other.”

Manjiro sighed, laying completely flat on his brother’s bed as if he had given up on helping the unhelpable. 

“I don’t understand why y/n nee-chan said yes to you,” already having the habit of teasing the shit out of his big brother, the jabs that left his lips came out way too flawlessly. But because Manjiro, despite being a little shit, knew his brother was struggling so he decided to go a little softer on him. 

“Nee-chan is so cool and,” yeah, going a little softer on Shin would work, he wasn’t heartless after all. “You suck.”

Yeah, Shin should've just begged Emma to stay.

© 2022 SHINACHIRO ; Do not repost my work. Do not recommend my work outside of tumblr. Do not translate my work.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

hear me out yandere god Wilbur falling for Reader who is a dancer and even though Reader is a dancer they don’t worship the god of music Wilbur but instead a different god (whatever god of your choice)

Ughghg Gods make the brain go brrrrr I sweaaaarrrr I love writing possessive gods. It's so great. I want to see more God AUs of MCYTs.

Pretty lame compared to my normal writing tbh

Dance for Me (Yandere!God!C!Wilbur x GN!Dancer!Reader) Headcanon/Fic

(Hints of Yandere!God!C!Dream x Reader)

He wanted more parties.

He wanted any little excuse to see that little dancer again.

It didn't matter how much he hated Dream, if inviting him to his parties meant he brought that dancer over, by gods he would beg Dream to stay longer.

When Tommy told him he was invited to a massive peace treaty banquet, he dreaded going.

He hated so many of the other gods and honestly, it didn't seem worth the migraine.

But there was wine.

He must've been close to downing his fifth cup when he saw the most lovely figure he's ever seen.

They twirled around Dream in a perfectly rehearsed pattern, the green fabrics of their clothing swiping through the air with delicate grace.

He was pissed, seeing how the God was skillfully ignoring you to talk to George, missing the beautiful display you were putting on.

"I'm going to hate every second of this..." Wilbur murmured under his breath as he pushed open the door, a few of his dancers and servants in tow behind him, one holding his beloved guitar as instructed.

The massive golden room with a long grand table standing in the centre. Placed strategically around the dark oak table were dozens of thrones, styled to suit each god that was likely attending. There were quite a few dancers dressed in their gods' respective colours, as well as a few servants standing behind their gods' thrones, waiting for commands.

Giving a sigh, he dragged his feet towards his throne that was decorated to his liking and plopped down in it, immediately grabbing the glass of wine that was placed in front of his blank plate. Beside him, his father who was sitting on a black-feathered throne, chuckling to himself, "Long day, mate?"

"I hate here..." He mumbled bitterly into his glass, downing the scarlet coloured liquid as quickly as he could to make this event more bearable, "Why would I want to be in a room with Tommy AND Dream?"

Philza chuckled quietly and have him a pat on the shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, trust me, I know." He shook his head before adjusting his hat, "It'll go quickly, just focus on the wine and dancers. You'll be fine."

Once he got a refill on his glass, he began downing it again as people began to party and celebrate. Honestly, he couldn't chug the glasses of wine down fast enough, the party just got more and more annoying. Anything from Tommy's breathing being slightly too loud, to Techno's usual snippy remarks, even Dream's very existence, everything was filling him with unnecessary anger and annoyance.

By his fifth or sixth glass, he was about to stand up and leave, until the flowing of green fabric brushing past his vision caught his attention. Normally, he would just ignore it, as he was used to fabric always flitting around him (albeit his dancers were dressed in tans, golds and yellows) but the movements were so... different.

He lifted his head completely and stared in shock. There was an elegant figure twirling around Dream in a perfectly rehearsed routine, their lime green silken and chiffon fabrics with diamond and white gemstones tied perfectly around their smooth (s/t) skin. Their soft (h/l) (h/c) hair was neatly styled out of the way while perfectly accenting their flowing movements.

Wilbur's mouth parted slightly in shock as he watched the beautiful dance, which is more than Dream was doing. The idiot was ignoring such a beautiful dance to talk to George, which made him realize that Dream didn't need such a skilled dancer in his court. Wilbur wanted them in his court, and by the gods, he would worship them as if they were a god and he was a mere peasant. Whether they wanted him to or not.

Time must've passed very quickly because, by the time he had shaken himself out of his stupor, he saw Dream staring at him from across the table with a knowing smug grin and his hand on the dancer's mostly bare hip.

"Stunning, aren't they?" He smirked, looking up at them, "This is my lead dancer and my personal favourite of my worshipers. Introduce yourself to him, Doll, let the other gods know who you are. And how you belong to me."

Wilbur was almost trapped in a state of awe as they hurriedly went around the table before stopping at the side of his throne, immediately dropping into a bow, "(Y/n) (L/n), Lead dancer of Dream's temple. Thank you for allowing me to be in your presence. How can I please you, God of Music?" While their lines seemed a bit robotic and possibly more rehearsed than their dances, the God found himself melting at the sound of their voice.

"Please, continue dancing, and enjoy the party to your heart's content."

You honestly were quite tired from dancing all day and all night, but such is life.

Dream definitely wasn't the most merciful god.

But the praises you received from the harsh god made your heart soar. It felt nice to be treated so sweetly by someone who was considered cruel.

The banquet was filled with laughter and joyous music, dancers in different outfits and colours expertly twirling around their gods in an attempt to appease them and hold their attention for long enough.

You briefly glanced over in time to see the God of Music staring at you with his mouth parted in shock.

The amount of pride that filled you as you realized you had another gods attention was almost overwhelming.

Unconsciously, you found yourself dancing more elegantly and passionately, determined to keep his attention on you, and you only.

Your movements stopped immediately once you felt a calloused hand place itself around you and land on your waist.

Keeping your head down respectfully, you tried your best to ignore the murmuring of the two gods, but couldn't help but bite your lip at the praise Dream was giving to you.

After introducing yourself to Wilbur, Dream told you to follow his orders and continue enjoying the rest of the party.

"Name your price for them." Wilbur turned to Dream the second the dancer left his side, "Anything. Everything. Now."

"Eager, aren't we?" The man smirked, adjusting his position to lean forward slightly, "Is your attention that easy to grab, Wilbur? A mere dancer with skill and a tiny bit of green fabric?"

Hiding his growl in a sip of wine, the music god rolled his eyes, "They have immense amounts of skill, they should be worshipped rather than worship. Name your price, Dream, I want that dancer and I will do anything it takes to have them in my grasp."

"Hmm... I'm not sure... They are very good at their job, and I quite like their presence around my temple. Isn't your temple's independence enough? Or are you not satisfied? Always wanting more and more..." He shook his head in mock disappointment, "I'll give them to you... But just know, you owe me one of your dancers and a favour. Where I can ask for anything I want from you."

"Deal," Wilbur smirked, barely thinking about it. He would lay down his entire temple for that single dancer. With a quick motion, he signalled one of his best dancers over and told her that she now belonged to Dream, and in response, Dream called the lead dancer over and told them the same thing.

While the two dancers were surprised, they knew not to disobey orders and went around the table to meet their new gods more personally.

The second (Y/n) got close enough, Wilbur pulled them into his lap and held them close, gently holding their chin so they would look at him, "Hello, (Y/n), you're going to be worshipping me from now on. Now, let's get you out of this... Awful colour..." He gently grabbed at your lime coloured clothing, turning it into a golden hue after touching it.

Upon seeing their shocked expression, he smirked.

"Only gods are supposed to wear gold, my darling, and you fit the bill quite well."

[wondersofdreaming]

Sex on Fire

Co-written with @radaofrivia​

Characters: AU Captain Syverson - Gynaecologist, dr. Syverson x female reader

Word count: 4.522

Warnings: NSFW! Smut, so smutty. Gamahuche. Licking. Bodily liquids. Fingering. Sucking. Hair pulling. Begging. And I’m out of whatever else there is, but I’m sure there’s more - let me know and I’ll add them XD

Author’s note: This story was co-written with the always gorgeous and incredible @radaofrivia​! She is the Brain to my Pinky! The Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone! My goddess Saga and my muse Erato! My drinking buddy and who will stay up till 4am with me to finish this story.

Please go enjoy her stories here:

Rada’s Masterlist

I do not own any characters in this short story, except the reader who is a figment of my imagination.

*Edit: The title was decided before I realised that it is a song by Kings of Leon. These two have nothing in common except for the title.

MY MASTERLIST

Sex on Fire Masterlist

Feedback is appreciated.

(Credit to original gif owner - if this is yours please contact me so I can give you proper credit)

The grey concrete building stood tall in front of you. You leaned your head back to see the top, but it was nearly impossible. All you could see were windows leading into the sky. A doorman in a black uniform stood by the entrance, watching whoever went in and out. He nodded his head with a stoic look in a greeting.

The lobby looked more welcoming than the outside building. There was a fireplace with three sofas surrounding it and a coffee table stacked with magazines. A few women were already sitting there, gossiping about the new dapper doctor that had rented the entire top floor.

You rolled your eyes and went over to the reception. A man stood to greet you with a smile, but he was talking to someone in his headset, which only took a few seconds before he hung up.

“I am sorry about that, how may I help you, miss?” he asked.

“I’m here for an appointment with dr. Syverson,” you said a little nervously.

“Ah, yes. I have a form you need to fill out,” he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, “The elevators are just right over there. Take it all the way to the 52nd floor. Another receptionist will be there to guide you further.”

You accepted the paper and went for the elevators. A chill went down your spine as the cold air from the air condition hit you. You pressed the button for dr. Syverson’s floor. An orchestral song started playing over the speakers. It wasn’t until you listened closely to the lyrics that you noticed it was ‘Nothing Else Matters’ by Metallica.

You closed your eyes, swaying to the beat of the soft drums. Lars Ulrich had been your celebrity crush as a teen, and you still listened to their older songs when you had a bad day.

The elevator doors opened with a loud ‘ding!’, pulling you out of your trance. Another receptionist stood at the opposite side. She looked up from the computer and smiled.

“Welcome to dr. Syverson’s clinic. Do you need help filling out the paper?” she asked nicely. You quickly scanned what you needed to scribble down. It was mostly your personal information and history of health.

“No, I think I can manage, thank you,” you smiled back.

“You can take a seat in the sofas, and when you’re done just fold it and put it in the mailbox, dr. Syverson will call you in, shortly,” she motioned to a black mailbox by the elevators that you had missed when walking past it.

You nodded and went for the sofas. The room was warm and comfortable with green plants everywhere. The sand-coloured leather sofas were softer than you expected as you sank down. You filled out the form and put it in the box.

Instead of sitting back down, you decided to walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a look at the impressive view of the city. Your eyes widened at how far you could see, all the way to the ocean, and if you squinted your eyes, you might have been able to see your apartment building, even the bar you had often been frequenting lately.

Dr. Syverson walked out of his office. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a bit sore from having sat down reading his patients’ charts all afternoon. Now he just needed to check on his last appointment, before he could go home and enjoy an ice-cold beer.

His receptionist was packing her stuff, sending him a kind smile. The perks of working with his sister were that she didn’t try to seduce him, or leave her underwear in his white coat pocket like some of his patients tended to do.

He smiled back and looked around the room. His gaze landing on you. His first thoughts were not ‘oh there’s my patient’, no, his mind went straight to ‘YOWZA!’.

“Last patient for today, Luc. I’ll be leaving now, see you tomorrow,” he heard his sister say to him. She smacked his arm to get his attention. He was pulled back to reality, saying goodbye to her before walking towards you, changing his mindset from dirty to professional.

You gasped when a flock of seagulls flew by, making you take a step back and hit a wall. Except the wall had arms that grabbed your shoulders before you hit the floor.

“Whoah, careful there, miss,” a deep rough voice said. You looked up and saw a man with a trimmed beard, a soft smile on his lips, and a mischievous look in his cerulean eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. You quickly remove yourself from his arms, first now noticing that he was wearing the white coat signalling he was dr. Syverson. And if that didn’t kick your brain in gear, then the name tag on his chest should do it. Dr. Lucas P. Syverson.

“It’s all good. This way, please,” he made sure you followed him to his office. The wall colour changed to a more soothing beige colour and was adorned with colourful paintings. You didn’t notice what they depicted before you stepped closer to one. It was of naked human bodies in various forms and shapes, very fitting for a gynaecologist’s office.

He had various books about his profession, but a few stood out to you. One had a peach on the cover and was written by dr. Syverson himself. You were impressed but wondered about the peach until you saw the title that made you blush deeply.

“How to eat a peach for dummies.”

He motioned for you to sit in the armchair, while he plopped down on the opposite one. He grabbed a chart from his desk and a pen.

“I’ve had a look at your medical history, and the…” Dr. Syverson looked down on the chart, “three gynaecologists that you have been referred to have written that you are in a state of good health. Well, we’ll see about that, I’m not too keen on some of these doctors you’ve had appointments with. They’re as old as Methuselah.”

You let out a peal of laughter. The joke having put you at ease with the doctor, who was smiling as you calmed down from your fit of giggles.

You were a little bit shocked by this doctor. Dr. Syverson was nothing like how you had imagined him. He couldn’t be over 40, with the extended educational schooling he would have had to go through. You remembered having read somewhere that it took at least 12 years to become a gynaecologist.

“Oh my gosh, they were. Another thing they had in common was that they would take a “quick” peek, not caring that I was screaming in pain, and then tell me that I’m healthy as a horse.”

Dr. Syverson sat back; his brow pushed together. You could practically hear the gears turning behind his forehead. He ran a hand through his beard, which made you notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring. If he wasn’t your doctor, you might have asked him on a date. Had you only met him at a bar instead of his office, and not being his patient. Damn it.

“There is definitely an issue we need to figure out here. I want you to know, miss that I plan on solving this mystery. Please, tell me in your own words what you think is wrong?”

You opened your mouth to explain, but all the sentences you thought of were too embarrassing to say out loud.

“Miss, you can say anything here. Nothing leaves these four walls, I promise you,” dr. Syverson tried to make you feel more comfortable with him with his gorgeous smile. His presence alone was putting you at ease. How did he do it?

“It burns when I’m penetrated,” you confessed.

“Penetrated how? During intercourse or masturbation?”

“I haven’t had sex since this happened. I can barely stuff two fingers in there,” you blurted, turning tomato red, confessing something so private to a total stranger, but it felt great to finally say it out loud, like a heavy stone being lifted from your shoulders.

“How about I take a look? Let me see with my own eyes that you’re ‘healthy as a horse’,” he quoted the old men, making you giggle. “You can leave your trousers and underwear on the bench, and have a seat on the table. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The dashing doctor left the room while you removed your clothing. Feeling a little self-conscious, as you walked over to the gynaecologist table with the stirrups and sat between them, trying to cover your private parts with your shirt.

Dr. Syverson came back soon with a variety of scented candles in his arms.

“The smell of something nice usually helps my patients to relax a little,” he explained. He held them up for you to choose.

“This one,” you smiled and handed him the one called Ocean Mist.

“Nice choice, that one is my favourite,” the doctor grinned. He set the lit candle on his desk. The scent of a sandy beach and salty ocean soon filled the room. The doctor pulled the ultrasound machine towards you. You leaned back on the table inhaling deeply, willing your abdominal muscles to relax. The sounds of a guitar reached your ears. You watched as he set a portable speaker on the small table next to you.

“I hope you don’t mind a little music,” he said, smiling, while he put on a pair of bright orange gloves.

“I love Metallica, so please keep it flowing.”

“Can you guess the song I’m playing? Put your legs up here for me,” he patted the stirrups.

You lifted your legs, intensely listening to the instrumental version of the song.

“Is it ‘The Unforgiven’?” you asked.

“Correct, you’re good. This is going to be a little bit cold,” he squirted a large amount of gel on the ultrasound wand. He slowly inserted the rod inside you, pushing ever so gently. “How long have you listened to Metallica?”

You winced at the invasion but tried to keep your muscles from tightening around the smooth object. You didn’t see the set jaw on the gorgeous looking doctor. Your sweet scent was tickling his nose and making his mouth salivate by the thought of tasting you.

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve been to at least one concert per tour they’ve done,” you groaned in pain.

“I’m sorry, your right ovary is a little difficult to find. You’re doing great. Your left ovary is the epitome of health. Are you on any kind of birth control?” he asked casually, trying his best to make you feel safe around him.

“N… no… I…” your voice broke, and tears started streaming down your cheeks. Doctor Lucas quickly removed the wand, cleaned it and sat down next to you.

“It’s okay. Let it all out,” he told you softly. Concern for your well being was painted on his chiselled face.

“It’s just that… I haven’t had sex for years, YEARS doc. No man wants a broken woman, especially not a woman that cannot be penetrated without her screaming in pain.”

You babbled so much you forgot that you were in a gynaecologist’s office and not at a psychologist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt all that out,” you started to blush a crimson red.

Lucas fought hard not to pull you into his arms. His protective instincts were on high alert; he wanted to make you feel safe, make you feel loved. He was cursing the bastards who had hurt you. To him, women were the stronger sex, had to endure more pain than men. Women are precious, made to birth life, made to give love and be loved.

“It’s quite alright. You’ve had a rough time,” he patted your arm, the safest place to touch you and went to get up. “I’m going to feel around to see if there’s something I’ve missed with the ultrasound. What other bands do you listen to?”

You watched as doctor Syverson slapped on another pair of gloves and squirted a smaller amount of gel on his finger, on his long thick finger. You were practically drooling by watching him prepare to examine you.

“Eh… I listen to a little bit of everything,” you said. You laid back down and draped an arm over your eyes. Watching the handsome doctor working was becoming too much for you. He was stirring feelings inside you that you hadn’t felt in a long time, and not in this form or quantity. You had taken a look at his well-proportioned ass when he walked out earlier, and his black trousers did very little to hide his hefty package.

“I’m sorry, but, again, this is going to be a little cold. What was the last song you listened to?” he warned.

It was an erotic scene, watching him standing between your legs, one hand on your belly, while the other was about to enter your most sacred place. You felt him enter. A soft moan escaped your lips.

Lucas’ ears perked. He hadn’t expected to hear that sound coming from your full lips. Had he heard correctly? The little vibration from you sent a jolt straight to the beast he was trying to keep dormant. This wasn’t the first time a woman had moaned while he examined them, but you were different. Another sweet sound reached his ears. You were so responsive to his touch, so open, so reactive. His mind was racing, but one word kept popping up, more.

You had forgotten how to speak, how to form sentences, how to communicate. You could only feel.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

“The last song? You listened to,” he didn’t mean to sound so tense, but he had to distract himself, his treacherous mind, he needed to keep the small-talk going, to break the silence. He wanted to kick himself in the balls for thinking about you, while he was fingers deep inside you. His compassionate instinct was winning over his lust.

Stop it, Lucas! You’re a professional. You cannot mess up! You CAN NOT fuck this up! She needs your help. Lord, give me strength.

“Oh...” you murmured, coming back from whatever universe he had sent you to with his finger technique, “Ehm, before the Metallica song in the elevator, I listened to ‘What’s Your Country Song’ by Thomas Rhett.”

“That’s a great song. I like country music.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you as a country kinda g… GOD!!!” you gasped as he curled his finger, touching the spot.

You released a louder sinful sound, a sound that hadn’t left your lips in a very long time. Lucas watched as your chest was heaving, gasping for air. The room was suddenly suffocating him. He felt like he was burning up from the inside. His breath was hitched, and he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Why did you have to sound like desire itself?

“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked, his voice lowering an octave and reduced to a velvety whisper. He hooked his finger once more, listening intensely to the sounds escaping you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your eyes rolled back in your head. You lifted your hips, moving your pelvis closer, needing more friction, needing to feel him deeper inside you.

Fuck!

He was watching you, vehemently. A fire was burning deep in his groin, heck even his eyes were flaming. His shoulders moved fastly up and down as he was heaving in the air through his parted lips, he needed oxygen, he needed to control himself. He was scolding himself for feeling like a horny teenager.

“This is… wrong,” he said in a panic. He moved his hand away from you. You wrapped your fingers around his wrist in a fierce grip.

“Please…” you begged, “please don’t stop. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Please, Lucas… I need you… I need you to finish this.”

He could hear the need in your voice. He could smell your arousal. You were clawing your nails into his skin. The look in your eyes was clear that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. The same eyes were shining with unshed tears, begging him for release, and the sound of his name from your lips was making him so close to breaking his resolve.

“I… can’t… you’re my patient,” he groaned, his forehead showing the concerned lines of wrinkles, which made him look even more desirable.

“Can’t you make an exception? Just this once? Please...”

Lucas ran a gloved hand through his short-cropped hair. He turned away from you, needing support for his shaky legs he leaned against the back of his office chair. He was thinking about it, really thinking about it.

“Please, doll. Don’t test me. I’m standing on the edge, and I’m this close to jumping in with both feet. I can lose my career, and I don’t want you to regret this tomorrow.”

You watched as his shoulders sank. You moved off the examination table, pulling the hem of your shirt down to try to cover your nakedness.

“I’m sorry, dr. Syverson. I… I didn’t mean to put you in such a precarious situation,” your voice was small. Your gaze firmly on the wooden floor beneath your feet, you felt so ashamed to have tried to seduce your gynaecologist, who was only trying to help you. Lucas turned around to the sound of your voice breaking, and a little saddened that you started calling him his title again. Your cheeks flushed, your arms wrapped around yourself. You gathered the courage to move towards your clothes.

“Damn it!” he cursed. He moved towards you with the speed of lightning before you could take a single step. His large muscular frame wrapped around you, your head was laying on his chest, listening to the racing of his heartbeat.

“Say ‘you’re fired’,” he ordered, his voice husky and commanding like some kind of army captain, but it was also desperate. Desperate for you not to leave him. Craving your touch. Desiring, longing, yearning, lusting for you. 

Your eyes widened in shock as you processed his words. He heard you gasp as you realised what he was saying.

“Dr. Syverson… you’re fired,” you whispered seductively, although a little shaky too. You watched as the sweet and calm doctor changed before your very eyes.

He clashed his lips with yours in a hungry kiss. He was starving; his only thought was to taste you that was his only goal. Your scent had been making him insane; famished was more correctly described.

While holding you in his arms, he made you move backwards until your bum found the end of the exam table.

His kisses were desperate, and so were you. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. Your breathing was shallow. It was going to happen; it was really going to happen.

He lifted you up and made you sit on the exam table. He parted your legs and went to stand between them. He cupped your face between his warm palms, leaning down to kiss you again. He kissed your jaw and all the way to the shell of your ear.

“Please, don’t regret this,” he whispered and went to touch his forehead against yours.

“I want it, even more than you do,” you answered breathlessly.

With your consent, there was no turning back now.

He devoured your mouth while his hands roamed all over your body. He unbuttoned your blouse while you shoved his white coat to the floor. You pulled at his button-up, buttons were flying everywhere. He shoved your shirt down your shoulders and off your arms before he threw it somewhere behind him. You ran your hands up and down his hairy chest, wanting to feel all of him, not the doctor, but the fine specimen of a man that he was.

He removed your bra with a flick of his fingers. Slowly revealing your breast to him. Your nipples two hard buds, waiting for his mouth to suck, lick, bite, whatever he wanted to do.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His voice was desperate, so filled with lust, but also something oh so sweet.

Lucas moved his lips down your collar bone. Feasting on your breast, nibbling at your skin, before he finally went to town with your nipples. With the first touch of his tongue on your left breast, while he pinched the right, you let out a loud guttural sound. Just him playing with your bosom was about to send you over the edge. The coil in your belly was so close to snapping.

“More… Please, Lucas, more,” you whimpered, pushing his head to the place where you needed his mouth the most, right between your thighs.

You heard him chuckle. He gently pushed you down, making sure you were comfortable before he hooked your legs over his shoulders for better access to your glistening desire.

“Fuck…” you mewled. The sight of the mountain man between your legs, the growing bulge in his dark trousers was so erotic you were about to combust. Your sex was on fire.

“Your body is divine, bug. It was made to be worshipped. I want to make the pain go away,” he said softly.

You didn’t get to say a word as his tongue ran along the seam of your wetness, making you shutter from the first contact. His tongue was wide and long, his mouth blowing hot air as he sucked your lower lips gently.

That tongue of his was everywhere, inside you, lavishing you, adoring every centimetre of your flushed skin. You lifted your head to watch him working you into a frenzy, right as he sucked his index finger into his mouth, coating the digit with his saliva.

The pleasure that he was giving you was overwhelming. The moment he pushed his finger inside your womanhood, was like nothing you had felt before. His finger was warm, and it was a whole different feeling than when he was gloved. His tongue darted out to play with the glistening pearl hiding between your lips, sucking in his finger. Your wetness allowed his movements to be smooth and easy, in and out, and he found that spot that made you howl in ecstasy.

“Luc… I’m… I’m so close… FUCK!”

The coil broke, snatched, ripped apart. You weren’t pushed over the edge, you were shoved, hard, and the pleasuring waves kept coming and coming. It felt as if your orgasm was never-ending. You never wanted to come down from that high. It was addictive.

You released your hold of Sy’s head from your thighs, not having noticed you had trapped him. You were panting hard, trying to catch your breath after the tsunami of an orgasm the doctor had given you.

Lucas’ palm covered your cheek, wiping the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Did I hurt you, doll?” his face scrunched in concern.

You shook your head, no.

“No… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced.”

The smile on Lucas’ face was breathtaking. He was beaming with pride. You watched as he leaned back, noticing he was still wearing his trousers. The apparent bulge in his abdominal area looked painful.

You moved to sit up, motioning for him to stand.

“I want to return the favour,” you told him, unzipping his trousers. You were gentle, as the tent grew more extensive, the more you released his manhood from its confinement. You helped him out of his black boxer briefs and came face to face with the finest cock you had ever laid eyes on. You were drooling, licking your lips, dying to taste him.

“You don’t have to, angel,” he groaned as your tongue darted out to taste the precum leaking from the tip, hearing him growl, a sound coming from deep inside him.

“Please let me, Sy,” you pleaded, taking his length in your hand. You looked up to see Lucas nodding slowly. He groaned in acceptance.

You ran your tongue over your palm to lubricate it. Lucas’ eyes widened to the size of teacups. His cock jolting in excitement, his heart skipping a beat at the erotic scene happening right before him.

One hand touched his hips, moving to the small of his back, to have a grip on his ass, pushing him closer to your face. He filled your hand beautifully with his hardness, yet he was still soft to the touch of your palm. You started moving your hand up, slowly, hearing his gasp was turning you on even more than you already were. You smeared the clear precum around the glans with your thumb. Delicately wrapping your mouth around him. Your lips were stretched to max capacity, a voice in the back of your mind was telling you that you had to be careful not to lock your jaws, but then again you had a doctor right in front of you if the situation should happen.

You languidly moved his member further into your warm mouth, coating him with your saliva. Your tongue gliding over the tip. Lucas released a low moan that sent vibrations through his body. He lifted his face towards the ceiling. Your hand left his ass, moving down his thighs, tickling the backside of his knee, before travelling up the inside of his thigh and gently cupping his balls.

“Fuuuuuuck…” he guttered. You sucked the part that could fit in your mouth in synchronicity with your hand’s movement. He felt the tightening deep within his testicles. The hitching in his breath notified you of his coming release. You led his hands to your scalp, letting his fingers fisting your hair, before giving him a sultry look with his cock in your mouth.

He was grunting hard as he set the pace, while you did your best to keep up with him. Moving his hips, chasing his release inside your mouth. You relaxed your throat, letting him take over. You wanted so much to please him. 

“Fuck, sunshine… I’m so close,” he growled.

“Come in my mouth,” you uttered. It was like something within him snapped the minute you voiced the words. He moved faster, harder, rougher. Until you felt the first spurts of his seed hitting your palate. You swallowed everything he spilt and then licked him clean.

Sy fumbled with his office chair as he sat down with a satisfied hum and pulled you to sit on his lap.

“That was amazing,” he smiled at you, kissing the tip of your nose, your cheek, the corner of your mouth and lastly a lingering kiss on your reddened lips.

“Glad you approve,” you grinned back, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About those books,” you pointed towards the books you had peeked at earlier.

“Theses I had to write for med school.”

“Tell me about them while you rest for round two.”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Will you accept me? [Loki Laufeyson x Reader]

Title: Will you accept me? Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Avenger!Female!Reader Word count: 4.1k Published: 19 May 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: Firstly, this is my first ever Marvel fic, so go easy on me. Secondly, Infinity War and Endgame didn't happen in this house. I accept none of that. Summary: [x] In the past three years you’ve been trying refrain yourself from murdering the mischievous God, or so you have been telling yourself that. Your little game with Loki has been driving you crazy and if that wasn’t enough, you had to admit that a part of you enjoyed his company, regardless of how much you tried to hate him.

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Loki Laufeyson was nothing, but a mischievous little boy stuck in a man’s body. His mere presence lit a raging fire within you, wanting to remove that smug grin across his face. God of mischief they said countless times in the past three years, but you could only see a man who found enjoyment in dancing on your nerves.

The first time you met him, it became very clear to you that there would be no boring moments around the man, so when he left earth, you finally felt like you could breathe again as if all your frustration disappeared into thin air. You had nothing against Thor, but you wished he would just stay in one of his many realms and leave Earth forever. Of course, it had nothing to do with him per se, as far as you were concerned Thor could have stayed on Earth and it wouldn’t have bothered you. But Loki was brought along like an unwanted package, making your life miserable as though you were his little toy. So, each time Thor returned to Earth, you didn’t feel like welcoming the God of Thunder because his lap dog was attached to his hips.

As to why Tony Stark decided to give him a place to sleep in the compound, you didn’t understand, after all Loki had tried to wipe out your planet. Tony was one of those who hated Loki the most, but somewhere along the line, as though he had gone mad, he decided to give him a second chance. So, for the past 3 years you have been trying to refrain yourself from carving Loki’s eyes out, from trying to stab him in his sleep when he stayed longer than he should have. It took you a great deal of effort not to murder him in his sleep.

It doesn’t mean you haven’t tried. Oh, you did indeed. Although it took you two years to get to a point where you couldn’t handle him anymore.

One night, feeling brave or reckless, whichever is a more reasonable statement, you snuck into his room, rage building up inside you, wanting to end his miserable life. Oh, but you were naive. As you swung your dagger, stabbing it straight into his chest, it went straight through his bedding set, the astral projection of his body disappearing.

“My sly little vixen, did you really think I would make myself so vulnerable?” He asked as you looked over your shoulder, his dark form seated in the corner of his room. A proud smirk was plastered across his face, his smug smile lit by the lights towering over the large building on the outside, carefully finding their way through the blinds. “But regardless of your intent on taking my life, I’m rather pleased with your bravery,” he chuckled as he stood up and walked over to you, earning a loud groan from you as you held your dagger to his chest, this time feeling his flesh under the edge of the blade.

“I could kill you now,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He leaned closer, his mouth right beside your ear, his cold lips brushing against your earlobe. “I dare you to,” he whispered into your ear, his hushed voice sending electricity through your spine, making your breath hitch. “I’m waiting, my little vixen,” he smirked. Although you couldn’t see it, you didn’t need to, you could read his tone, his body language, the little games he was playing. He found enjoyment in riling you up and you fell victim to him. He leaned back to be able to look in your eyes, his signature smile still plastered across his face. “You see, I understand that rage within you, feeling exhausted from our little games, but that’s only the surface. If you dig just a little deeper, you will find that even if it’s only a tiny part of your fragile mortal body, but it craves that attention, it enjoys our games. You can deny, oh you have been doing that for the past two years, but a part of you, a part that’s honest and dares to accept the truth knows that I’m right.”

A part of you wanted to argue and push the dagger further into his chest, wishing to watch his gaze become glassy, his soul moving onto Hel or Valhalla, though the latter seemed unlikely. But even against all his manipulation and tactical little games, always steps ahead of you, it was clear even to you that he was right. A part of you, even if it was hard to accept, found your shared games somewhat amusing. But you couldn’t say it out loud, you couldn’t agree with him. It would have broken the spell, the core of your entertainment. It was fun only because you never accepted to enjoy it. If you ever voiced the truth, it would have ended it all.

“You wish,” you hissed through gritted teeth as you dropped your arm beside your body. “I will have many other chances and when you expect it the least, that’s when I will be giving you a chance to go back to wherever the hell you came from,” your lips formed a thin line, your gaze holding determination. Those were the words you said aloud, but nothing like the ones you thought of. “Watch your back, Loki,” you whispered into his ear, before you headed towards the door, ready to scold yourself for the night in hopes of regaining your sanity.

“Good night, darling,” he chuckled silently as you stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind you with a loud thud. You couldn’t care less about who could have heard it, as fun as your little games were, they were also playing with your mind, leaving you flustered and frustrated. Loki affected you in many ways from your body to your mind, physically and mentally. You hated it, but at the same time, a part of you enjoyed it.

You tried to shake off the memory, but some of your encounters often appeared in your mind at the most unwanted times, as though a part of you missed him already. It’s only been months since he has left with Thor again, but since then life seemed somewhat boring. Although it was refreshing to focus solely on your duties as an Avenger and work hard for your people, but at times it felt as though there was a lack of something in you, a tiny part of emptiness.

Leaning back against the sofa, you continued to clean your guns. It was a small task that you could have entrusted F.R.I.D.A.Y. with, but this little chore brought you a sense of familiarity, a calming sensation in the midst of your storming thoughts.

“My dearest, why do you look so upset?” You heard his voice, but you didn’t look up, knowing it wasn’t reality. Another little game that your mind started to play with you, making you feel as though you were going insane. “Have I made you mad?” He chuckled playfully. You lifted your head, eyes growing wide as realisation hit you. He was indeed there. He was standing right beside Thor, wearing a smug grin, your presence seemingly bringing enjoyment to him. A part of you wanted to smile, mirror his expression, but instead you chose to play his game and rolled your eyes.

“Yes, you have. The day you decided to appear on this goddamn planet,” you groaned, concentrating back on your gun, cleaning it with a dirty cloth. Those words that left your lips weren’t the ones you wished to say. But you were afraid, terrified of being honest. You knew as soon as you admitted enjoying his company, he would stomp all over you as though you were a mere bug on the ground. A useless piece of life that he had no gain in caring for. So, you bit your tongue and played along.

“Now, now, my dear, that’s not a nice way to welcome a guest,” he smirked, raising a brow quizzically, finding your tone amusing.

“You are no guest to me,” you huffed as you placed your gun back in one piece. “You are nothing but an itch on my back, a fly circling around me, an annoying presence that I can’t seem to get rid of,” you lifted your head, meeting his emerald-green irises, their colour even brighter than you remembered. His gaze felt as though it was burning you up from the inside, your unrhythmic breathing drying your lips, your heart taking on a dangerous pace.

“Why, thank you,” his smile didn’t falter if anything it grew. “I must be doing something right if you can’t get rid of me,” he chuckled with a playful glint in his eyes. “Tell me, do you think of me often? Do you find yourself remembering all those memories we had the pleasure of spending time together?” He leaned closer, placing his hand on the small of your back, his touch making you shiver, his cold lips brushing against your ear, just like on that particular night you could never forget. “Do you think of me before you go to bed, maybe whilst you are in the shower?” He leaned back with a smug grin still painted across his face. “Or perhaps as soon as you wake up, your first thoughts are occupied by your memories of me? If I’m that hard to get rid of, I’m terribly proud of myself,” he chuckled as he let go of you and stood up. “Well, unfortunately I have to leave, but as always it’s been a pleasure meeting you,” he watched you with an intense gaze as he licked across his bottom lip, before he turned away and joined his brother.

As soon as he was out the door, you had sunk deep into the soft couch, planning a way to clear your head, because you weren’t sure how long you could play Loki’s games before you were declared completely insane. A small part of you just wanted to be honest and tell him how you really felt that indeed you enjoyed his company, that there were more to your feelings than simple entertainment, but a larger part of you knew if that ever happened, Loki would be long gone before a surprised gasp could even escape your lips.

To avert your thoughts, you decided to head to the training room and beat some sense into yourself. Trying to get rid of your frustration meant your body needed to tire out, so for hours you kept hitting and kicking the punching bags, imagining one particular person in its place. You hated him, you despised him, or so you tried to tell yourself, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Your feelings were indeed strong, but not of hatred, rather some sort of an attraction that you couldn’t really explain because you convinced yourself that hating him would be the logical decision, regardless of your feelings not matching your thoughts.

Time flew by quickly and before you knew it, the sun had gone down, and darkness ruled over the sky. You headed back to your room, taking a hot shower to clear your mind before you decided to grab a bottle of wine from Tony’s collection and drown yourself in your toxic thoughts. There was no escape, you might as well just give in, at least that’s how you thought.

You leaned against the kitchen counter as you opened the bottle of wine. Ignoring formalities, you didn’t take out a glass to pour yourself from the liquid, you placed it straight to your lips and chugged as much as you could, hoping it would silence your thoughts.

“Darling, you seem to be troubled,” you heard his voice, a sharp exhale leaving your lungs as you turned in his direction. He was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a small smile that you haven’t seen much of. It was usually smug or playful, but in that moment, the expression across his face just seemed soft.

“I wasn’t until you arrived,” you rolled your eyes, taking another long sip of your alcohol, trying to numb your mind.

“Shall I help you relax?” His face changed into his usually smug grin as though he was planning something.

“I think I can manage. As a mischievous God you would just cause more trouble than you could possibly help,” you huffed, knowing he always had a plan a, b, c, the whole alphabet and beyond.

“I’m not a mischievous God, I’m the God of Mischief,” he corrected you with a momentary surprise before he regained his composure.

“Same difference,” you shrugged nonchalantly, earning a silent chuckle from the man.

“If that makes you feel any better, call me whatever you want,” he stepped closer to you, stopping right in front of you as you took another sip of your drink. You watched his green eyes staring at you shamelessly, studying your face as though he was trying to read you.

“Can you stop staring?” You asked with a questioningly raised brow, but it only earned a silent chuckle from the man.

“No, I don’t wish to,” he replied as he stepped closer and with a swift movement, he turned you around. Your head shot back around over your shoulder as you met his playful gaze. “I mean no harm,” he meant to relax you, but you didn’t trust him, nor did you trust yourself in his presence. His cold fingers caused goosebumps on your neck, making you slightly shiver as he brushed your hair to one side and placed his palms on your shoulders, slowly massaging the tense muscles. You gasped at the feeling, the idea of a god massaging you felt unearthly.

“What are you doing?” You asked cautiously, although the feeling of his fingers on your skin made you feel weak in your knees, his breath fanning your skin making your heartbeat speed up. A part of you just wanted to lean into his touch and enjoy the moment.

“I’m helping you relax,” he whispered in your ear as you realised you were completely devoured by his presence. You couldn’t even recall when he leaned so close to you, you could only focus on his cold touch burning your skin.

“Why would you do that?” You questioned his intentions, a silent gasp leaving your lips as he found a tender point.

“Do I always have to have an ulterior motive?” He asked, but you could hear the proud smile in his tone. You turned back around, a deadpan look across your face, his touch leaving your skin.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” You asked, squinting suspiciously.

“Fine, I’m often motivated by certain ideas, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be genuinely helpful,” he tried to convince you, but you shook your head.

“Loki, what do you want?” you tried to just finish the conversation to drown yourself in your bottle of wine.

“How long has it been?” He asked, earning a confused frown from you.

“What are you talking about?” You tried to take a step back, but the kitchen counter stopped your movements.

“How long have you been pretending to hate me when in fact you know it couldn’t be farther from the truth?” His face fell serious, his previously playful expression long gone.

“I haven’t been pretending. It’s not my fault that you think it’s a game. I hate you and I think I made myself very clear from the first time we met,” you attempted to convince him, but his smile returned even wider than before.

“Still adamant I see,” he scoffed as he stepped closer, his arms caging you against the furniture behind you, his face getting closer to yours, only leaving just enough space for you to be able to breath. “So, you mean to tell me that my presence doesn’t affect you in any other way, it only brings you hatred?” He asked as his gaze wandered down to your lips, watching them intensely as though he was an animal wanting to catch his prey. Your breath hitched as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you against his chest, a silent gasp leaving your lips as you shivered in his cold touch, still your skin burned feverishly.

“That— that’s right,” you stumbled through your words, your own confidence leaving you vulnerable.

“For once, be honest with me, dear and accept that you enjoy my company,” he whispered against your lips, your mind feeling dizzy, incapable of forming a simple, coherent sentence.

“I— That’s not— I hate you,” you finally composed yourself and pushed him away from yourself.

“Why can’t you just accept it?” He asked, this time more serious than before. “Why is it so hard for you to be honest with yourself?”

“Says you, who can’t be trusted even when you ask a question? Oh, please, Loki, you should know better,” you huffed as you folded your arms in front of your chest. “You say I should accept that I like being around you, that I don’t hate you as much as I say so. But why would I do that?” You asked as you walked up to him this time, standing in front of him sternly. “Let’s say, hypothetically of course, that indeed I don’t hate you per se and a part of me might enjoy being around you from time to time. If that was true, why would it be beneficial for me to accept it? I know you Loki and if I was to agree and say you were right, you would walk all over me and disappear faster than I could take a breath,” you huffed as you shook your head.

“Well, my little vixen, hypothetically speaking,” he started in a humorous tone, “if you stopped acting like you have no feelings for me and finally accepted that your hatred might not even be hatred but something more, we could actually break down this wall between us that you so carefully built and we could enjoy being in each other’s company,” he explained as though it was the most natural thing.

“Loki, you can’t possibly believe your own words,” you scoffed, earning a surprised expression from the man, your resistance catching him off guard.

“And why is that?” He asked curiously.

“The only reason you enjoy playing around with me is because I behave the way I do. In reality, nothing is black and white and so if I was to hypothetically enjoy your company, that means there would be disagreements, there would be fights, there would be emotions and Loki, let’s be honest, you find it even harder to trust people than I do and as soon as things would turn serious, you’d run,” you explained your worries. Even though the conversation was supposed to be theoretical, both of you spoke the truth, but the lack of trust hung high in the air.

“If that was my intention, I would have run a long time ago. I had the option to do so many times before, but I’m still here, am I not?” He asked as he brushed a piece of hair from your face behind your ears, his touch sending electricity through your body.

“I just feel like I can’t trust you,” you shook your head, letting your face fall forward, massaging the bridge of your nose, before you lifted your gaze again “I feel like if hypothetically speaking of course, I accept that there’s more to it than simple hatred, it will end in my feelings stomped on and my heart crushed into piece and I’m not naive enough to let that happen,” you tried to reason with him, but in reality you were trying to convince yourself why not to put your trust in him.

“I have to admit, I would have done so, years ago that is, but the one who I am now wants nothing more than to claim you mine,” he spoke in an endearing tone, his voice serious, but somewhat caring, unlike his usually cocky personality. Your eyes widened at the confession, his words ones you never thought you would ever hear from someone like him. “If it was someone else, I wouldn’t care what happens to them, I’m not a saint after all, but with you it’s different. You are my sly little vixen, my other half and nothing and no one can change that, only you if you wish to of course,” his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, his words making you feel uncertain about what to do. Your mind and your heart battled against each other, confusing you further. “Will you accept me finally?” He asked with an expectant expression.

“I have been trying to stop myself from murdering you for the past three years, it’s not as simple,” you tried to argue, but the words leaving your lips were more to convince yourself.

“Well, that is very romantic,” he replied with a low chuckle as you mirrored his expression. “That’s a good start,” he pointed out the smile across your face. “I’m not saying it will be easy, nor do I see it will be perfect, but isn’t it worth a try?” As much as you wanted to argue, he was right. If you didn’t accept your feelings, it would forever be a ‘what if’ stuck in your head and deep down you knew you wanted to see where you two could go from there.

You stepped closer to him, placing your hands on his chest to balance yourself, or so that was the plan, but as soon as you touched him, your hands went through his body, his astral body disappearing. “Loki!” You raised your voice in a warning tone, your deadly gaze looking for the man, his silent chuckle coming from behind you. You turned around in a swift motion, hitting him across the chest with gritted teeth both out of frustration and testing if it was his real self this time.

“I’m so sorry, love, I wasn’t sure how you would react, you can be rather unpredictable at times, so I had to have a backup plan,” he tried to explain himself, piling up excuses upon excuses. “But now that we are on the same page, we could get back to what you were trying to do. Did you want to kiss me? It looked like you were about to kiss me. Shall we try again?” He smirked proudly as he stepped closer and wrapped his strong arms around you. You tried to resist, attempting to push him away from your body, but his strength was unearthly, you didn’t stand much of a chance.

“Not happening. That was your one and only time to see a weaker side of mine. I don’t even believe what you ask anymore. I hate you, Loki!” You groaned, trying to get out of his hold.

“No, you don’t,” he replied with a smug grin across his face, dipping his head down to your level, but he didn’t move any closer. Your breath stuck in your lungs, your gaze fixed on his lips, however you tried to battle against your heart, your reasonable thoughts flew out the window as soon as Loki closed the gap between the two of you. His cold lips touched yours, sending a shiver across your spine, thousands of butterflies awakening in your stomach. Could you have resisted? Yes, if you really wanted to. But deep down you were craving for him and when his lips met yours, you melted into his arms and bathed in the physical pleasure his arms around you provided, the feel of his touch on your skin burning, a long-awaited connection bonding the two of you. As you finally parted, you gazed up into his green eyes, a loving look painted across his face.

“I still hate you though,” you added with a mischievous smile, as he mirrored yours.

“You really should watch that tongue of yours,” he warned you as his gaze fell on your lips.

“Why don’t you watch it for me?” You asked with an inviting tone and without a second thought Loki captured your lips again. It was hard to believe that he was holding you in his arms, but you chose to trust him and even though you knew there would be difficulties with the God of Mischief, a proud man being your other half, but not for a second did you think about taking a step back. It just felt right.

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[dreamescapeswriting]

Fake Fight ~ JJK [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

GENRE: Non idol Au! Normal Jungkook boyfriend, hard smut, request

PAIRING: Jungkook x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Strong language, explicit content, teasing, dirty talk, domination, possessive Jungkook, jealousy, spanking, orgasm denial, choking, light slapping, squirting, degradation, safeword, after care, fluffy at the end.

No matter what happened between you and Jungkook during a fight the makeup sex after it was always the best. It was passionate, rough and honestly the best sex that either of you had had together so you would do anything to get it to happen again. The fights were normally pointless or really not a huge deal so it wasn't toxic whenever it happened. You both agreed that fighting over small things wasn't a huge deal to either of you. You would rather get the fight out of the way before it evolved into something major. Plus the sex always made up for 99% of it and it wasn't as though you said things to one another that would hurt each other. There were no accusations of cheating or calling one another names, or hitting one another. One fight, for example, was because you'd come home to see that he'd done nothing all day after promising to do something around the house. Both of you worked long hours so you shared the household chores between one another. Tonight was just like any other night, you were both going out on a Friday night to get a drink, cool down from the long work-week and cool off from the stresses of your jobs. Jungkook, as usual, was running late to meet you without a good reason so you decided to take advantage of this.

The club was relatively full since it was a Friday night so you had your choice of who you wanted to flirt with until Jungkook got there to see what was happening. Jealous Jungkook was always the best kind of Jungkook for you. You'd been needy all week since he'd been too busy with work to pay any real attention to you, and if this was going to be the only reason he came to you then so be it. Glancing over at the bar someone caught your eye he was 5''10 with curly blonde hair. He had this huge boxy smile on his face as he laughed at something the bartender was saying to him. Your head was so caught up in his smile you sort of got lost in your thoughts as you made your way over to him.

"Can I have a glass of pink Gin and lemonade please?" You questioned the bartender as you looked at his nametag,

"Sure thing," He nodded at Taehyung before going to make your drink.

"Thanks, Jimin," You always found that bartenders or waiters reacted better when you used their names. That was what their nametags were for.

Instead of flirting with Taehyung right away, you pretended as though you hadn't seen him. It was much easier to do it this way than to go right up to someone.

"Thanks," You whispered paying Jimin more than he needed for the drink and telling him to keep the change. That was when you turned on your heel and ''accidentally'' spilt the drink onto the floor in front of you, hitting the black classy tie-up heels you'd word that night. You'd paired them to go with the black satin wrap dress with a diagonal cut so it was shorter on one leg than the other. Black was Jungkook's favourite colour on you after all and you wanted to make him see what he'd been missing that week.

"You okay?" Taehyung reached out to take your wrist in his and you hissed at the spilt drink.

"My cousin's going to kill me, these are her shoes." You lied as you reached up for a napkin from the bar but Taehyung beat you to it and reached for the napkins instead.

"Sit, here," He pulled out a barstool and reached down to your shoes cleaning them off as he spoke to you.

"I'm Taehyung," You smiled at him sweetly as he introduced himself. He seemed sweet not to mention he was hot so he could have had anyone in the bar yet here you were setting him up to fail. You almost felt bad for him but it wasn't as if you were going to intentionally make him think there was something there. You just had to make it look like you were flirting when Jungkook walked in.

"Y/n, it's nice to meet a guy who appreciates shoes as much as me." You teased as he still continued to dry the shoe you were wearing which was already cleaned.

"O-Oh right! Sorry, I just- Your eyes-" You looked at him, tilting your head to the side confused by what he meant.

"They're really pretty," You could feel the back of your neck heating up as he paid you a compliment, you looked down at the floor with a small smile on your lips. Maybe you had to worry about him flirting with you and getting the wrong impression.

"Look Taehyung-"

"Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I'm just not normally good with talking to people. I only came out because Jimin finishes early tonight. I don't normally do this kind of thing." You felt even worse than before but nothing was going to compare to how you would feel in a couple of seconds.

"Y/N!? What the fuck?!" The voice was so loud you could have sworn most of the club turned to look at Jungkook who was now standing in front of you. He was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans with a white button-up shirt on.

"Kookie what-"

"Who's this?!" He wasn't going to let you get a word out. The moment he'd walked into the club he saw you sitting with someone else. Someone else's hands on his girlfriend and that was all he needed to see red. That and the giant smile on both of your faces as you flirted with one another mindlessly. As though you had not a single care in the world for your boyfriend.

"Taehyung he was just helping me clean-" Again Jungkook wasn't going to let you finished. You could see how red in the face he was turning as Taehyung still had your foot in his hand so you slowly tugged it away.

"He was just touching my girlfriend," You could hear the growl in his voice so you jumped down from the stool and stood with your chest flat against Jungkook. Your hands resting on his upper arms as you tried to calm him down.

"Jungkook, look at me. He was helping me." You whispered in a calm manner, Jungkook glanced down at you before shaking his head and snapping his eyes back up to Taehyung.

"You think it's good to flirt with women who are taken!?" He was yelling once again and Taehyung looked terrified of what was happening in front of him. Jimin came back over to the side of the bar you were sitting on.

"Jungkook please-"

"No! This fucking good for nothing thinks he can flirt with you!" He pulled you by the elbow so you were standing behind him as he continued to yell out at Taehyung. As much as you felt bad for what was happening to Taehyung there was still that one part of you inside that was getting turned on by the thought of Jungkook taking this anger out on you.

"Sorry Jungkook...H-He was just so hot-"

"You are my girlfriend!" He was facing you now, Taehyung was sitting with Jimin both of them wide eyes as they watched you and Jungkook stared at one another.

"What will you do? Punish me?" That was when everything began to sink in for Jungkook, he licked the inside of his lip as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close to him.

"Is that what this is about?" He roughly pulled on your waist and squeezed you waiting for you to answer him but you stayed silent. Wanting more than just a squeeze from him and he knew that as well.

"You're not going to answer me, baby?" You stared into his eyes, staring him down and he tuts at you before grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your head up.

"Is this what the little slut wants?" You nodded as much as you could with your hair in his hands and he smirked at you. His eyes cloudling over darkly as he leans down his lips just above yours as he teased you with the temptation of kissing him. But you weren't allowed to. He had to be the one to kiss you, those were his rules.

"Good little kitten," He chuckled right before smashing his own lips against yours, biting down on your lip causing you to whine out and part your lips for him.

"What the fuck?" Taehyung whispered to Jimin as you and Jungkook walked out of the club together as if nothing had happened.

"What makes you think you even deserve my dick tonight?" Jungkook questioned as he slammed you chest first into the wall. His hands ripping open the satin dress you were wearing to reveal you were naked underneath.

"Shit princess, your punishment is getting worse with each passing second," He slapped your bare ass harshly and you hissed. Bucking your hips into the wall as you heard Jungkook chuckle to himself.

"What happened to my slutty little girl out there? She's suddenly shying away?" You turned around to face him ready to come back at him with a comment but instead, you received a harsh slap across your right breast making you whimper out in pleasure as he touched you again.

"Were you trying to say something?" He asked softly as he reached up to cup your face, the mood swings would be enough to knock someone off their feet but you knew what he was doing, you'd agreed to this when you started your sex life together. There were rules and safe words so that neither of you would go too far.

"Green," You whispered to him as you knew he was checking to see where you were with all of this. The small touches of his hands on your face were his way of checking without ruining the high for you. With the confirmation he needed he gripped you by the wrist and began walking you up the staircase.

"Such a dirty whore! Dressing up and getting naked for anyone to see?" He shoved you face down on the bed and slapped you across the ass again, this time you kept the hiss back as you knew he hated when you didn't respond to him and you wanted him to be hard on you this time around.

"What makes you think I should even waste time on punishing you huh?" He was laying on top of you, his hand at your core and as ran the pads of his fingers through your folds.

"Your cunt is already dripping wet for me," He whispered in your ear before biting down roughly so you smirked at him,

"What makes you think I'm wet for you?" This earnt you a slap on the pussy making you scream out into the bedsheets, he smirked. Thankful that he'd used soundproof pads on the walls around the room so the neighbours wouldn't accidentally think he was murdering you.

"Who's it for then? That boy that wouldn't be able to make you feel the things I do?" He questioned forcing you to lay on your back and look up at him. You nodded at him and he grabbed you by the throat, softly applying a little pressure as he stared into your eyes.

"H-He can make me just as wet." He knew what you were doing but it didn't stop the anger boiling up inside of him so he applied more pressure and ground down against you. The fabric of his jeans making you moan out in surprise,

"You wanna ride my thigh princess?" He repeated the same action as before, pushing his thigh against your core as he moved it slowly and you moaned out again.

"Dirty little bitch, you'll hump anything like a real bitch in heat." He chuckled deeply before letting go of your neck and sitting on the bed. He stared at you as you stood up and held your neck,

"Ride." He ordered as he watched you stare at him, this was something you'd never tried before but from the feeling of before you wanted to experience it before.

Placing your legs either side of his thigh you straddled him slowly and bit your lip,

"W-What now?" He chuckled at how innocent you were acting and so he reached down to rub your clit softly.

"Ride it," He whispered as he locked his eyes with yours. You were already moaning out at the sudden contact from his thumb so you began bucking your hips up and down as if you were riding him instead of his thigh. The denim was making you whine out as it rubbed you in all the right ways, combined with Jungkook's fingers on your clit.

"Good girl, humping my leg like this." He chuckled darkly as you continued to pick up the pace of your hips. Whimpering and whining whenever you reached a certain spot that made your eyes roll back. It wasn't enough to make you cum the way he did but it was enough to make you cum.

"Feels so-so- good." You giggled excitedly, a smile appearing on your lips as you felt the familiar build-up of your orgasm approaching you. But once Jungkook saw that smile he waited until he knew you were about to cum and pulled you up from his lap, slapping you hard across the ass while chuckling at your whimpering state.

"Look at the mess you made on my pants, princess." His tone was condescending as he looked down at you, shaking his head at you before moving closer to you and pulled you so his mouth was against your ear.

"You're fucking mine! Do you understand that?!" He barked as he pushed you down onto all fours beside the bed, slapping you across the ass so hard it sent a tingle through the palm of his hand.

"Yes!" You screamed out, digging your nails into the carpet as you closed your eyes. Ignoring the tears that were building up in the corners of your eyes. This was nothing compared to what you and Jungkook had done before but after not touching you for so long and only coming at you roughly. You felt bad for it.

"Dirty little slut needs fucking back into her place doesn't she?" He chuckled as you nodded at him, looking over your shoulder at him as he began unbuckling his trousers.

"Face forward. I don't want to see your face." A whimper left your throat as your head went back down to facing the floor as you heard his belt hit the floor.

"See, you can be such a good girl when you want to be." He tutted, running his fingers up and down your folds as he watched you.

"Why can't you be this obedient all the time?" As he finished his questioned he pushed two fingers into you making your moan out in surprise, gripping onto the carpet at the sudden contact.

"J-Junkook." You whispered out in bliss as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you quickly. Curling them up whenever he hit that one spot that made you see stars.

"Good girl, moan out my name louder." He chuckled moving his fingers faster.

"Jungkook!" You yelled out and that was when he slapped your clit with his palm again,

"Louder." He growled out in your ear, bent over you as he continued to push his fingers in and out of you roughly.

"S-Shit!" You whimpered as your legs began to shake, your orgasm building up once again as you clenched around his digits.

"JUNGKOOK!" You yelled out as your hips bucked back trying to chase your orgasm but as soon as you bucked Jungkook ripped his hand away from you.

"Bad girls don't get to cum," He slapped you with his hand before pushing his two fingers into your mouth.

"Clean them." You nodded at him, swirling your tongue around his two fingers. Sucking them clean as you locked your eyes on Jungkook's.

"Good girl, on your knees, mouth open." Following along to what he was saying you sat back on your knees and opened your mouth. He smirked taking his cock from his boxers and tapped the tip on your tongue.

"Get me ready, princess," You knew what he was going to do, he was going to fuck your throat for talking back to him at the club not that you were going to complain. You licked from base to tip, dragging your tongue along the veins as you glanced up at Jungkook.

"Just like that, good girl." He whispered out in pleasure, rolling his head back as you continued to coat him in your saliva.

"Do you remember the taps?" He questioned as he grabbed you by a fistful of hair, looking down at you and waiting before he went on with everything.

"Two taps is a warning, three taps is to slow down and four is to stop." Once he heard you tell him he pushed himself into your mouth going slow at first until he began to build up his courage. That was when he began to piston his hips into your mouth, making you gag around the girth of his cock as you tried to fight back the tears threatening to spill out.

"My pretty little fuck doll, hmm? All pent up. Is this what you wanted tonight? A good fucking?" He slapped you softly across the cheek making you droll around him as you looked up at him. He continued to fuck into your mouth, pulling out for a couple of seconds so you could catch your breath. Droll and precum rolling down your chin as you looked up at him, panting heavily.

"So fucking hot." He grunted, getting caught up in the sight of seeing you fucked out. He thrust back into your mouth and closed his eyes tightly as he continued bucking into your mouth. Your throat contracting around the head of his cock whenever he hit too far.

"F-Fuck baby! Just like this, good girl." You moaned around him at the nickname and he chuckled picking up the pace of his hips suddenly.

Your eyes widened as he continued fucking into your throat when he normally would stop every couple of seconds to let you breathe.

"Taking me so fucking well, good little slut." You cried out around him not wanting to stop but you knew you had to. He pulled off as you struggled to catch your breath,

"You'll only breathe when I want you to." You began pumping him in your hands to try and grab more air but he pulled you off him and pushed himself back into your mouth. You gagged around him but he continued thrusting into you, chuckling as you tapped one on his leg. He knew that wasn't the warning and so did you. He moaned out in pleasure as he threw his head back fucking roughly into your throat.

Four taps later and Jungkook was away from you, his release on your hair gone as he knelt down in front of you to check you were okay. His expression was still hard as he wasn't going to break out of character.

"Don't cry baby," He winked at you, wiping away the tears that were rolling down your cheeks. He leant forward, kissing you on the forehead gently.

"You've been so good, what do you want me to do?" Your throat felt as though it was on fire but you kissed him roughly.

"F-Fuck me, I need you." He wasted no time in taking you over to the bed and laying you faced down on the bed. He squeezed your ass cheeks in his hands, massaging them to soothe them from his slaps before he spread them apart. The cold air hit your slicked cunt making you whimper out in surprise.

"You wanna cum on my cock baby?" Jungkook lined himself up at your entrance, running his tip between your wet folds,

"Y-yes." You moaned into the bed and he chuckled, plunging into you from behind with your legs together. The sudden deepness of his cock made you yelp out and he smirked,

"Such a snug tight little cunt." He grunted, slowly thrusting into you with a rough hit whenever he reached your hilt. Your hands stretched out to the sides of the beds, gripping onto the sheets as you cried out his name loudly into them.

Your whole body felt as though it was on fire as Jungkook's hands roamed freely over your body. Slapping you across the ass as he began to pick up his thrusts. Pistoning in and out of you rapidly as he could feel his own orgasm building up inside of him.

"Will you be a good girl from now on?!" He questioned looking down at you as he continued to bury himself deep inside of you. You were so lost in the clouds you'd barely remembered to speak back to him,

"Y-Yes! I'll be such a good girl," You whined out as you squirmed beneath him, your hips automatically bucking as he hit into that spot that made blood rush to your head and had your toes curling.

"Look at you squirming all ready for my hot cum," He twitched inside of you and you giggled knowing he was close, you clenched around him as he thrust into you, spreading your legs wider this time.

"Fuck you feel so good around me." He moaned out into your neck, kissing up and down the skin before biting and sucking into the base of your neck.

"You're only a good girl for my cock, aren't you?!" He slapped you across the ass again ramming into you as he grunting.

"Jungkook! C-Close." You warned him as he continued to fuck into you, spreading your legs so he could see how wet you were making him whenever he pulled out of you.

"Cum for me princess, squeeze me and milk me dry. Go on. Work for my cum." He commanded so you did, you whimpered out as he continued to slam into you, his skin slapping into yours as your eyes rolled back.

"S-Shit!" You whimpered as you clenched around him, your orgasm ripping through you as he continued to fuck you through it making it last longer. You gasped out as he continued to fuck into you, his hands repeatedly slapping against your ass as you cried out his name.

"Jungkook!" You screamed, gripping onto the sheets as he slammed into you. Your ass rose from the bed and you were on your hands and knees as you tried to move away from him but your body was fighting back. Your entire body was fighting for him to keep going, ignoring the intensity of it.

"Fuck baby, beg for my cum. Go on," A rough slap hit your ass cheek and you let out a pathetic squeak in response to him. Cumming again only this time you screamed out loudly, ripping the sheets beneath you as he slammed into you. Filling you up as you gushed around him, your juices hitting the sheets and the floor as you squirted around his cock. The euphoria of your orgasm left your body instantly and you began to whimper and cry,

"Red! RED!" You screamed out as your body began to convulse. You were shaking uncontrollably and Jungkook ripped out of you instantly, letting you sink into the mattress as you shook. Wrapping a warm blanket around you and pulling you into his arms.

"I'm here, right here. Breathe baby. Breathe." He whispered in your ear as you continued to shake in his arms. Whimpering as you came down from the intense orgasm, shaking against his touch.

"Do you need anything? Water? Hot water bottle?" You closed your eyes listening to his rapid heartbeat to calm you down. As you tried to speak you realised you couldn't so you just pointed at the nightstand. Jungkook stretched for the bottle he kept on the nightstand and you started to chug it.

"Easy," He soothed and you slowly began taking sips from it, sitting up straight as you looked at him. Your head still felt as though it was spinning and he sighed, he was disappointed in himself for taking it to the point where you screamed your safeword.

"You were such a good girl, did so well." He praised you as you laid your head on his shoulder. Watching the way his chest slowly raised and fell again to calm your own breathing down.

"That was a big one, I'm proud you got through it." He kissed the top of your head again and you whined out in disgust.

"What princess?" You looked down at the sheets below you to see them covered in him cum and you felt your body heat up.

"I'll change the sheets once I get you in a hot bath and get some hot tea down your throat." He whispered as he made you look back at him kissing your lips softly.

"You feeling up to speaking yet?" He questioned as you looked up at him, your head finally returning to the ground.

"Y-Yeah," Your voice was hoarse but you finally felt as though you could speak again so you smiled at him softly and laid your head on him.

"C-Can I have some chocolate?" He nodded at you,

"I'll make you a hot meal first though darling, and then you can have all the chocolate in the world." You smiled weakly and Jungkook lifted you up into his arms, carrying you off towards the bathroom not leaving you alone for even a second. 

Tagline: @fluffyjoons​ @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @fan-ati--c​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @taestannie​ @rjsmochii​ @bisexualmess007​ @sw33tnight​ @sweeneyblue1​

[startanewdream]

so you've got one character, with their back pressed against the door, fighting the urge to kiss the character on the other side of the door, but the tension is unbearable, the character mutters ''fuck it'' and flings the door open, runs back in to kiss the other character

fic request maybe?? ❤❤

HEEEEY! Your request gave me angst vibes, but I’m still on the fluffy mode, so this turned out... a mess of feelings with an imaginary door? (Sometimes we make our own closed doors, I guess)

Hope you enjoy, hon, thank you so much for sending this prompt! 💖

______________

‘So’, Lily starts, and this beginning makes her flinch. It’s the worst start ever. It’s what people say when they don’t know what to say, and that’s not Lily. She knows exactly what she wants to say.

Fortunately — but not surprisingly — James doesn’t comment on her awkwardness. Of course not. He was the perfect company today. He won’t tease her.

‘So’, he agrees, voice warm.

Lily raises her head, allowing herself to admire his hazel eyes; she loves their colour. It’s a greenish brown sprinkled with golden, sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees in the forest. Being with James always makes her feel at the edge of an enchanted forest, full of magic and mysteries, and lately Lily wonders if the fairy tale that is promised in his eyes also ends with a happily ever after.

She imagines herself taking a step even closer to the forest, not yet entering it, but so close.

‘I had a really great time today’, she says.

His face doesn’t change — he is still grinning, joyfully and at ease as always — but his hand flies to his hair and she knows he is feeling nervous too.

Her heart skips a beat.

‘Enjoyed being ditched by our friends?’, he jokes, and she has to grin too. It is so easy being with him.

‘Their loss’, she assures him. ‘It was perfect’.

The golden in his eyes is warmer now, inviting, promising, but James doesn’t move. They are at the edge of the stairs to her dorm, where he can’t follow her, with one single step separating them. If any of them moves, they will be really close — that kind of closeness that removes any doubt of one’s intentions, that declares quietly how one feels. And what one wants.

Lily knows what she wants and yet she stays still. He didn’t move after all.

And then there is the silence.

The silence is a complex thing. A short silence can be a half-open door, a pause where they can look at each other, understanding and admitting their feelings in a rush, and then they can move at the same time, holding each other and pressing their lips fervently together, unable to wait anymore, desperate to make up for the lost time. If the silence lasts more, then it’s to savour the moment — a hand raised to touch the other’s face, tender, soft, before taking a slow step closer, their breathes coming short, lips trembling in anticipation; it’s the eyes fluttering close, the tip of their noses touching hesitantly, a smile on the lips as they part, waiting and longing for the final touch, and then there is the kiss, tentative, curious.

But if the silence stretches too much, then it’s awkward and Lily knows she lost the timing.

Not only her. James too. It takes two for a kiss.

Maybe it’s time for her to accept that fear that had been on her mind all year. He doesn’t fancy her anymore. They are just friends. All those moments they shared today — and in the last months, the two of them, so happy and teasing and close — have no meaning at all. She was just interpreting things wrongly.

She takes a step back.

‘Good night, James’.

He takes a moment to answer her. There is trouble in his eyes, which shouldn’t be unusual for him — James courts trouble —, and yet it is a trouble she has never seen before. For a moment she pictures him at the edge of a cliff, watching the stormy green sea way below, and she is sure he will jump, considering and disregarding the risks, longing for the adrenaline rush that it will come and then the explosion of when he reaches the water.

But maybe there are some risks James isn’t willing to take after all, because he nods. ‘Good night, Evans’.

It feels wrong, painfully wrong, but she turns her back, climbing the steps in the circular stairs until she is out of sight. Until James is out of sight.

Then she presses her back against the cold stone, panting as if she climbed the whole tower. Hesitating. Unsure.

She should go to her bed. Accept that whatever she thought it was happening between her and James Potter is just a misreading of their relationship — and of her feelings.

No, Lily has many self-doubts, but not about what she feels. She knows why she is always impatient on Wednesdays – the only day they don’t share classes – and why she enjoys doing the bureaucratic work of the Head Girl when she hated doing reports when she was Prefect. She knows what attracts her in spending hours in the Prefects Meeting Room with James, sharing stories with him, enjoying his laugh, the way he talks moving his hand, incapable of standing still too long and how his presence feels right.

She knows why she goes to the grounds Saturday morning, hoping to meet James as he leaves the Quidditch pitch after practice, looking so fresh after a shower, his hair still wet and forever messy, beaming so happily as he does after flying.

She knows why she has been drawn to him in the last months – first almost without noticing it, and then simply unable to resist his gravity.

Lily knows what she feels for James Potter. She only isn’t sure if it’s mutual.

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slow. It doesn’t help at all. James’ eyes flash in her mind, a whole wild world of adventure that she has to wonder if it’s open for her. Her heart longs for it.

There are only two choices now. She can walk away, truly away, and leave that mystery for another moment (if it ever comees) or go back and ask him. Both options present the unknown. It’s scaring.

And yet adrenaline rushes through her veins, arousing all her senses, urging her to do something instead of staying there; it is rather exciting and for a moment Lily wonders if that’s how James feels when he makes a sudden dive on his broom or when he is doing something very stupid and dangerous. Maybe she can’t fault him for searching for this kind of elation. She can see how addictive it could be.

She lets that adrenaline infuse her with bravery and she opens her eyes, decided to take her chances, consequences be damned. Whatever fear she feels of him rejecting her is nothing compared to how she fears not ever finding out.

But when she turns, there is a loud noise and then the world shifts under her feet. The stone steps turn into a smooth slide and Lily falls, coming to rest at the bottom of the stairs, tumbling over a body.

‘I am so sorry, Lily!’, James cries, still in the ground.

‘What happened?’, she asks, a little confused, turning around. The stone ground is cold, but she doesn’t notice anything other than the way James is close to her, their faces almost touching.

His smell takes her to a forest in the morning, still glistening with dew drops from the night.

‘I was trying to reach you’, he admits.

‘I was coming back for you’, she whispers.

Following her words, there is a silence, but this time the silence lasts the perfect amount of time.

[booksforevermore13]

The Mystery Girl

This is my too late entry to the Hinny Ficfest. I just got to know about it a few days ago, and I just loved the concept of something solely being for Hinny fanfiction. I haven't been writing very long, but I just had to participate.

Thank you to @clarensjoy for organizing this!

Also written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

Huge thanks to my QLFC teammates for beta-ing this!

Prompt 68: "Are you just `going to stand there and gawk?" / "Yes." / "Well stop it. You look stupid." Prompt 23: "I'm not afraid of your sister, you're afraid of your sister." Prompt 29: "Do you even know what a whisper is?"

Summary: "I swear, if you're Draco Malfoy or another one of his cronies, I'll hex you where it'll hurt. Badly."

"I'm not," Harry replied hurriedly, though he suspected even Malfoy would answer no to that.

Missing moment in HBP between Harry and Ginny.

Read it on Fanfiction if you prefer.

...

"She's crazy," Harry heard Ron moan, "and just when you think you've reached the bottom of her craziness, there's a crazy underground garage," and winced as the latter banged his head on the table.

That morning, when the sky was barely blue with a chorus of greys, Harry had heard Ron scream bloody murder and shot up off the bed, only to see him behind a huge oval mirror — courtesy of Neville's grandmother — and went back under the covers. He'd figured that if Ron was potentially being threatened by a crazed homicidal maniac, he wouldn't have been screaming about it while standing behind a century old mirror. So he'd gone back to bed and been woken up an hour and a half later by a snickering Fred and George on a visit to Hogwarts, who'd informed him of a very distraught Ron in the Great Hall.

Of course, he'd rushed out, slipping on a shirt backwards, and scrambling towards the Great Hall, heedless of the beautiful day outside and how perfect the wind was for a game of Quidditch, closely followed by the twins, who snickered all the way there. It was only when he reached it did he fully grasp that the situation couldn't have been too bad if the twins were snickering.

Worst case was, there'd been a prank gone wrong. Ron being on the opposite side of it.

Harry squinted as he walked forward, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to discern the misshapen blob on top of Ron's head. For a second there, it did look like a spell gone wrong and Harry felt a twinge of panic as he walked faster. It was red from what he could see, and he came to a stop as he realised that it looked frighteningly like a poorly knit hat.

"Why," Harry said, still squinting, "are you wearing that?"

Ron didn't answer, instead wailing as he buried his head in his hands. Harry shared a look with a still snickering Fred and George who'd taken a seat on either side of Ron while Harry took the seat opposite.

"Beautiful hat eh, Ronniekins?" Fred said, in a vaguely condescending tone. "Though, if I might say, a poor choice for impressing darling Lav-Lav."

Ron didn't answer and let out yet another sound of anguish which sounded more like a distraught sob than a yell.

"Are you…. okay Ron?" Harry asked a second later, out of necessity more than concern.

"No I'm not okay!" Ron wailed, "I'm not bloody okay! Do I look okay? No! I'm wearing a bloody woolen hat in the middle of May!"

"We've noticed," Harry said, as he took small sips from his mug. "Why though, are you wearing a woolen hat?"

"Oh, let us," Fred said, a sly grin on his face as he bent forward and ripped Ron's hat off.

George howled in laughter as Harry choked and spluttered out his pumpkin juice, coughing violently as Ron lunged forward at Fred, who dangled the hat at arm's reach.

"You've got pink hair," Harry laughed at the same time Ron yelled at Fred to give back his hat or go and do something he dared not mention in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, Ronnikins," Fred laughed.

"you look so awfully good —" George quipped.

"— have we mentioned?"

"Suits your brows," which were also pink.

"— and your eyes —"

"— not to mention the lips." George puckered his lips slightly, making a popping sound that only managed to anger Ron even more as he looked fit to murder.

"Mind your own bloody business," he yelled at anyone who looked twice at him, or more specifically, at his head.

"It's pink!" Harry giggled again, covering his mouth as Ron shot him a glare, before dissolving in hysterics again.

"It's lavender, I'll have you know," he grumbled.

Harry laughed harder, before finding it in himself to sober down. Fred and George, though, paid no heed as they continued laughing hysterically, Fred even going to lengths to ruffle Ron's lavender hair, met by a glare and a well-placed curse word.

"What were you trying to do?" Harry said, glancing at Fred as he bit back a smile. "Match with Lavender?"

"Sure, yeah Ron," Fred added, "it'd be even more fun to stick your tongue down her throat with that head full of hair of yours. Imagine her hands tangled in your lavender hair, her lips —"

Ron punched Fred in his side, cutting him off as he doubled over laughing, while Harry drew his legs in as Ron's flung over to kick his.

"Ginny did this, not me," he defended. "And I'm going to have it out with her, I tell you. I'll dye her hair purple, or green, or-or black —"

"Wait, Ginny did this?" Harry gaped. "Wow, I mean, bad wow, very disappointed wow," he said quickly as Ron shot him a look.

"You underestimate her," Ron grumbled, "she's the devil's spawn, that one, even worse than these two gits here." He pointed at a smirking Gred and Forge.

Harry smiled to himself, his cheeks reddening rapidly as he spotted George looking at him with a suggestive grin. Fred joined in, wiggling his eyebrows, and Harry ducked down in embarrassment.

"Won-won!" he winced as heard a shriek cut through the silence, "ohh, my precious Wonnie-boo!" He cringed as he heard Lavender making kissing noises as she ran over to where they were sitting.

"Murder me, Harry," Ron muttered.

"Yeah, no," Harry replied, "you're doing a pretty good job yourself," he shook his head as he picked up a piece of toast, quickly leaving as Lavender threw herself over Ron.

…

He was screwed.

His assurance of his screwed-ness became even stronger as he heard Filch hurrying down the corridor and calling out for Mrs. Norris. The dastardly cat was going to die a horrible death, Harry was sure of it, and he cringed as he heard another pair of footsteps right outside the broom cupboard.

The small space was cramped, just high enough for Harry to rise up to his full height, and it was dark. Pitch dark, and if this was the metaphorical colour black — as Luna so wisely commented time and again — he didn't like it very much.

Harry held his breath as hurried footsteps stopped in front of the cupboard and turned around to hide his face as the door opened, eyes blinded by the light outside. He heard the door close again.

And then the blackness resumed.

That was until he felt a hand push him backwards roughly and he shrieked, his hands going up in mock defence.

"Who the hell are you?" the person demanded, and Harry discerned it to be distinctly feminine, and familiar. Very familiar, he thought.

He stayed silent though, wary of giving his identity away to a girl in a broom cupboard. Perhaps, he thought, she'd get the memo and leave, though he couldn't for his life guess why she had been hiding there in the first place.

The girl stayed silent for a second, probably waiting for a response before she said fiercely. "I swear, if you're Draco Malfoy or another one of his cronies, I'll hex you where it'll hurt. Badly."

"I'm not," Harry replied hurriedly, though he suspected even Malfoy would answer no to that. But the girl seemed satisfied as she humphed and turned around. There was a soft mellow in the mystery girl's voice and he knew he'd heard it before, he just couldn't place where.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, before cursing under his breath. Normal conversation generally required a 'who are you?' and mutual knowledge of their identities, but clearly, that wasn't the case here, and anyway, Harry had a slight feeling that the girl wouldn't disclose her identity even if he asked.

He waited. And then sighed as the girl remained silent.

"You're talking too loud," she said finally. "Obviously, you're hiding in here from something, or someone," she snorted there and Harry smiled, "so if you don't talk softly, then you're going to get us caught."

"Filch's cat," Harry said.

"What?"

"I'm hiding from Filch's cat."

"Oh," the girl gave a humorless chuckle, "bloody thing's going to have a miserable death. I'm sure of it."

"So I take it you're hiding from her, too?"

"Filch actually," the girl said, "and I suppose that includes the cat too."

"What did you do?"

"Set off fifteen dung bombs in his office," and Harry could swear she had a tinge of pride in her voice, and for a moment, marveled at the nerve of this girl who'd threatened to hex his parts off the first minute they'd met, now claiming to have thrashed Filch's den. There were very few in the school who had the guts to do that, and Harry felt himself flushing as he wondered whether the girl in front of him was Ginny.

Before he could say anything more though, she stepped forward and pried open the door, peeking out to look for what Harry knew now was Mrs. Norris and her owner.

He caught a glimpse of her red hair as the door opened, and his suspicions about her identity grew and almost the very next second, the girl shut the door close, and he could make out her leaning on it.

"Bloody hell," she cursed, and Harry for the second time was flooded with how familiar that sounded, and how he had heard Ginny curse like that before as he felt her push him against the back wall of the cupboard and shuffle in behind him, so that now they were just barely touching, yet not, her body shielding his. Harry felt himself smiling at how the girl, who he had now deemed about a foot shorter than him, was trying to shield him from whatever came knocking on the door. The feeling felt almost foreign for him, for nobody before the Weasleys and Hermione had ever so readily provided a shield so unanimous and here was a girl, who could very well turn out to not be Ginny, shielding him from a petty predator.

However trivial that sounded, Harry felt a warmth blossoming in his chest.

"Just remember, if we get caught, you're deaf and I don't speak English."

"Huh?"

"I think Filch's coming our way," she explained.

"What?"

"Do you even know what a whisper is?" the girl hissed, and Harry's instincts went into overdrive as he clamped his hand on what he could hope was her mouth, pushing her backwards as he shielded her petite body with his, so that he was now between her and the door.

He waited for the footsteps to pass, completely aware of how close the two of them were, and he waited with baited breath as he heard Filch's grumbles get softer. The moment the sounds became distant, Harry yelped and snatched his hand away. She'd bit him!

"Lumos Maxima," the girl whispered and her wand lit up. Harry blinked as he saw her features come into view and her bright brown eyes glare fiercely up at him before they softened.

"Harry?"

"Ginny?" Harry said, more like a fact than a question, because he'd already known who it was all the way. He just couldn't believe he hadn't recognized her the second she'd entered the cupboard. It was hard not to.

Ginny laughed, and Harry turned red, satisfaction brimming in his chest as he took in her illuminated face. Her chuckles died down as she looked up at him.

"Are you just going to stand there and gawk?" Ginny asked, a smile playing on her lips, and Harry had an unexplainable urge to just bend down and kiss her. They were just a few inches apart, probably the closest they had been since forever, and it would take him to bend just a few inches to capture her lips with his.

"Yes," Harry found himself answering truthfully.

"Well stop, you look stupid."

And Harry laughed, and Ginny joined him, and Harry found himself just looking at her and thinking how beautiful she was. And not just beautiful, she was… radiant.

His hand was still pressed beside her head and she slipped out underneath it, the light in her wand dimming as she made her way to open the door.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked as the door swung open. Harry squinted, his eyes adjusting from the dark to the light as he, for a brief second, noticed how her red hair seemed to light up against the sun, making it seem as if it was on fire.

So he followed her out, and they smiled as they met each other's eyes.

Ginny noticed him before he did.

"Shit," Ginny cursed. "We're screwed."

Filch glared at them as Mrs. Norris purred, and Harry couldn't help but agree.

…

"Oh there was a time when they used to hang students by their thumbs in the dungeons," Filch said darkly. "Those were the days."

"I suppose you were hanged like that a lot," Ginny said sweetly, and Harry nudged her, sending her a warning look.

"What did you say?"

"They probably used your toes. Seeing your thumbs weren't large enough."

"Two months scrubbing the toilets with a toothbrush," Filch screamed shrilly, and Harry pushed Ginny backwards as the man advanced on her, Mrs. Norris following him.

He stopped as he saw Harry's menacing glare. "You, boy," he said, glaring at Harry, "you're going to spend a month in the dungeons. Scrubbing the floors till they shine."

"That's not fair," Ginny bellowed, and Harry pulled her away before Filch could open his mouth. He suspected if they stayed there for a second longer, there'd be murder committed. Or at least a heinous crime.

"Two months in the toilets," she muttered darkly as they walked down the corridors, "that lying, cheating piece of scum," she growled. "And his cat—oh, I hope that cat rots in hell."

Harry laughed, and then stopped as Ginny shot him a look, both of them lapsing into silence.

"Seeing your thumbs weren't large enough," Harry chuckled, seconds later. "You don't take things seriously sometimes, you know?"

"Never take life seriously," Ginny said, and Harry looked at her, glimpsing a side of her he hadn't seen before. "No one ever comes out alive anyway."

And though those words were too crude to be true, Harry agreed with them wholeheartedly.

…

"Wait," he said as they neared the Gryffindor common room, before laughing, "you dyed Ron's hair pink."

"Lavender, actually," Ginny replied, "thought it'd match his girlfriend."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as Ginny grinned an impish grin. "You're scary, you know." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Amazing, but scary."

Ginny laughed as she leaned against Harry's shoulder. "That's one of the best compliments I've ever received."

"One of the best?" Harry asked. "What's the best?"

"Oh. I don't know," Ginny shrugged, "probably on the lines of crazy ass she-demon who hides under children's beds."

"Really?" Harry laughed, "who said that?"

"Ron. I think Charlie agreed too."

Harry laughed and flushed as his hand brushed against hers. Instinct took over as he interlocked his fingers with hers and Ginny looked up in surprise, before relaxing into his hold, smiling happily. She was beautiful, Harry couldn't help but notice again as she swung their hands to and fro like two children.

But, he supposed, it probably wouldn't hurt being a child once in a while.

He'd never been one before — he'd at least never felt like one, even with Ron and Hermione. Like the entire world, they expected things from him, however few they might be. Ginny never expected; she'd always been the one to give without expecting anything in return. Never once, looking at him in pity or with a look that showed she understood everything he was going through.

She didn't, and she knew that and she made sure everyone around her knew it too. She tried to understand though, but if she wasn't able to, she didn't try further. Never pressed for more. Ginny, Harry had seen, was as open as he was withdrawn. What he saw was the truth — at least to him — and she was fiercely proud of that,almost daring anyone to oppose, but nobody ever did. He liked that.

Harry looked at her once again, smiling as he saw her glance at him through the corner of her eye.

"Oi, Harry!" He heard Ron's voice break through his reverie and felt a surge of disappointment as Ginny spotted her brother and let go of his hand. Ron was wearing that hideous woolen hat again, and Harry and Ginny exchanged glances, looking away to hide their grins.

"Heard you got into detention with Filch," Ron wheezed, "and you too." He pointed at Ginny.

Both of them nodded and Ron looked at them suspiciously before asking, "Were you two together all afternoon?"

"Yeah, well —" Harry looked at Ginny.

"We kind of fell in trouble together."

Harry smiled.

"Can't imagine why," Ron replied snarkily. "And you," he said, looking at Ginny, "don't think I haven't let you off the hook for this." He pointed at his hat, slightly grimacing.

"Didn't know I was on a hook," Ginny said cheekily. "I think you've lost your bait."

"Just taking pity on the number of toilets you have to scrub."

"I'll ask you for help if necessary."

Ron shook his head, exasperated. "He didn't do anything, right? Filch?" he asked, moments later.

"Relax, Ron," Ginny smiled, "I can take him any day."

They watched her walk away, a spring in her step, Harry with a smile on his face before Ron turned to him.

"I'm not going to see you with green hair tomorrow, am I?"

"I'm not afraid of your sister, Ron. You're afraid of your sister," Harry said and he grinned.

I think I'm in love with her.

...

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Mute

Logan walks down the hall, hands clasped together in front of him, eyes darting around. He’s evaluating the scenery in front of him; silently, he judges the colour choices. Gold trim where it’s unnecessary and engravings that seem almost out of place in the halls.

However, it wasn’t his place to mention it, as he was in an unfamiliar place; an unfamiliar castle, to be specific. His parents were dining with this kingdom's rulers, leaving Logan to his own devices. 

The other rulers had said something in passing about one of their own sons, following it up with a bunch of hateful words. Not wanting to deal with that, he had left. 

He was trying to find said prince's chambers, but it was a tad hard without a map or a guide. 

Of course, people rushed by him in the hallways, but they paid him no mind, and he didn't have the patience to stop them and ask, which he knew would lead to either confused glances or him being dragged back to the dining room, so, he played it by sight, relying on his eyes to tell him the room may be. 

After walking for a bit longer, he hears loud, fast footsteps rushing up behind him. He turns around, before a sword is suddenly pressed to his throat. 

Logan raises his hands in defense, eyes narrow as he examines the person threatening him. 

The person was wearing a loose purple shirt, with a sheath attached to a loose belt that hung around his waist. His eyes were two different colours, a dark, royal purple, and a bright green. They showed slight fear, although his face was twisted into a scowl. His dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Who are you?" the man hisses, pressing the blade harder against Logan’s throat. Logan quickly answers the man's question, never peeling his eyes away from the other man’s face.

After a weird look, and Logan having to repeat himself, he seemed to understand.

"Oh," the man says, rather awkwardly, as he lets his sword fall to his side, although he keeps his eyes trained on Logan. It was clear he was still skeptical of the man. "I apologize, Prince Logan," he says, although Logan could clearly hear he didn't entirely mean it. Logan couldn’t blame him; he was just doing his job, after all. "What were you doing wandering around, anyway?" 

Logan explains he was trying to find his way to the other prince's chambers. Specifically the one the parents had been speaking about at dinner.  

"Why?"

Logan hesitates, before explaining he wanted to speak with him. 

The man narrows his eyes, before sighing, waving his hand as he turns around. "Follow me," he orders, curtly.

Logan does just that.

He doesn’t bother striking up a conversation with the man, his eyes instead taking in the sights of the hallways yet again. Unlike when he was walking alone, people actually turned to stare at the two of them as they passed, now regarding Logan with curious eyes. He simply raises his chin in response, not bothering to even wonder what others may think of him. 

The stranger, supposedly a knight or merely a guard, appeared to be a man of his word, as they quickly arrive at a large set of doors, framed with silver that had intricate details carved into them. Despite the fact silver within a castle, specifically around a prince’s door, often resembled dislike or distrust, Logan believed it was quite beautiful. He had to resist the urge to run his hands over it. 

The guard opens the doors for him, revealing a beautiful sight. Dark green furniture was scattered about, and a giant window near the back of the room had been pushed open, allowing sunlight to stream in. Ripped curtains dangled near the sides, which matches the scratched up nature of the rest of the room. 

Walls were covered in scratch marks, some furniture was ripped or torn open, the stuffing within them having spilled out and been kicked everywhere, and there was clearly no attempt made to clean it up. 

The sunlight specifically illuminates a rather pale figure with brown hair that just barely reached past his shoulders. The figure looks over when his doors are opened, and brightens at the sight he sees. Him turning also allows Logan to see that familiar white streak in his hair that the other prince was born with. 

"Oh! Logan!" he greets, scrambling off his bed rather ungracefully in favor of pulling Logan into his room and into a tight hug. "Hi! I didn't know you were here!" 

Logan smiles, before making a few actions with his hands. 

Two of his fingers turned sideways, with the rest tucked away, followed by him making a fist and sticking his pinky up. 

He pauses, before continuing with another fist, except this time the pointer and middle finger are crossed and pointed upwards. Then his fingers are all curled in with his finger tips barely touching his palm. Then his thumb tucked under his ring finger and is resting atop his pinkie. Then his ring and pointer finger pointed straight up, with the rest of his fingers closed. And lastly, a fist with his thumb coming to press in front of the closed fingers. 

'Hi Remus,' he signs, smiling wider.

[wagner-fell]

Spiders Are Ugly And Other Lies Capitalism Has Told Us (part one)

“Dad,” Astrid called out, shutting the coral coloured front door behind her. “Are you home?”

She dumped her cream tote bag spray painted with the words ‘Washing Machine Heart’ in big, rainbow letters onto one of the stools facing the granite countertop. The rest of the Merry Hoes followed suit. It was weird seeing a person as chaotic as Astrid in such a calm environment.

They were all spending the summer in LA with Astrid and her Dad. It had taken a while for Kevin to convince his family it was a good idea. Especially because he and Blessica had finally put years of pinning behind them. Making out on Kit’s bed at Mina’s third birthday party certainly wasn’t the way they had envisioned it but as the longing was over with, they were happy.

The Chu’s didn’t love the idea of their son living in a different country for three months with his girlfriend but we’re on board once Kevin assured them there was no possible way Blessica could get pregnant.

Kit wasn’t officially sleeping at the Yang’s but at the Institute with his boyfriend. Julian wasn’t so thrilled about the situation but Emma was. She was positively ecstatic about having a training partner as skilled as Kit was, courtesy of Jem and Tessa. Though staying a thirty minute drive away (on the wrong side of the road, Mari noted) wouldn’t keep Kit away for long. Even now he was with them instead of having his own reunion make out session.

Speaking of making out…

Mari rested their chin on the top of Astrid’s head and wrapped their arms around her middle. “Why don’t you show us your room while we wait for your dad to get home.”

It was kinda perfect, Mari often remarked, that she realized her feelings for their best friend weren’t so platonic as she previously led herself to believe at the same time they and Kit realized they were better off as just platonic.

Astrid hit her hand playfully. “That’s not fair!” she whined! ”How dare you take advantage of my constant hornyness when my God-fearing Presbyterian father could be in the next room? Shame! Shame on you, shame on your family, shame on your cow.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘dishonor’”, said Kit, who didn’t even look up from his phone when he addressed her, “but go off I guess.”

Astrid looked like she was questioning all her life choices up to this point. “A white boy knows Mulan better than me.” She shook her head in disgust. Mari could feel the loose hairs of her girlfriend’s ponytail ticking her exposed collar bone. “Mulan.”

Mari laughed before softly brushing their lips against Astrid mop of bleached strands of pastel yellow, pink and blue mixed magnificently with her natural inky black.

“Is hornyness even a word?” Kevin wondered aloud as he observed the knickknacks placed at even intervals utop the kitchen cabinets. Blessica was with him. She was gazing at one of a crab steering a ship when she spotted a slim piece of paper taped below it.

“Ast,” she called. The both looked in her direction, despite Blessica needing the attention of one. “Your dad says he won’t be home till seven. Emergency at work.”

“Which leaves us more than enough time to pack and head over to meet Ty, Dru and Thaìs at the arcade,” said Kit. He finally turned his phone off and shoved it into the back pocket of his ripped jeans. “Marstrid can do the ol’ devil’s tango then catch up to us.”

‘Marstrid’ wrinkled their noses. “I thought we agreed on Astari, Christopher.”

“Astari sounds gayer,” confirmed Kevin, his eyes never leaving the miniature decorations.

“Not to be rude but why does Astari sound gayer?” asked a visibly confused Blessica.

“Because,” answered Mari, unraveling herself from Astrid to slide onto one of the bar stools and reaching into the Jolly Rancher jar, blindly searching for a green, “Astari has ‘star’ in it. Star equals astrology. An obsession with astrology is the price you pay for the gay agenda. Besides, Marstrid sounds like an old southern lady.” Then she furrowed her eyebrows and swiveled to face Astrid. “Southern is Texas, right?” Astrid nooded, a smile so big the Cheshire Cat would be jealous.

Without looking, she stuck her hand in the jar and pulled out a green apple flavoured hard candy on her first try. She held it out to Mari, who snatched it out of her hand with an angry huff.

“Hey, Ast, where do you guys keep the crisps?” asked Kevin when he finished inspecting all the knickknacks.

“Uh, under the barbecue sauce, I think.”

Kit’s eyes lit up. “So I’m sitting there”- Astrid understood what was happening in just enough time to quote- “barbecue sauce on my titties” in unison.

Mari put her head into their open palms, still sucking on the pity candy. “Why is this my type?”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Blessica as Kit attempted to parallel park outside the location Ty had texted him to meet at. Key word, attempt. When Tessa had taught him to drive, he’d been such a disaster at parallel parking she had instructed him to ‘take the underground when tight spaces might be a possibility.’ Which he prided himself in doing. But this was America and the underground was called the subway, so, technically, no rules were being broken.

“Yes, Blessie, I’m certain.”

“Okay. Just checking cause a few turns back the GPS said-”

“Blessie!” He nearly crashed into the car in front of him.

“Right. Shutting up.”

When Kit managed to park with minimal damage and the three were about to exit, the voice of Nicki Minaj boomed from his pocket. Ty was calling him. He accepted the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello Tiberius.” There was giggling from the other end of the line. A groan soon followed it.

“It’s been a year,” came the annoyed voice of Dru. “Get over your British kink already.” Kevin’s laughter echoed from the backseat.

“Hey Ty!

“Hi Kevin.”

”Hey Dru!”

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch. Why do you feel the need to hurt me so?” Blessica laughed.

“Hey…Thaìs?”

“Here,” replied Thaìs cheerfully.

“Are you here yet,” asked Ty.

“Uh, yeah! We were just getting out of the rental car when you called. You didn’t tell me it was going to be crowded. I had to parallel park!”

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Dru. ”There are only four cars in the parking lot.”

“But,” Ty countered, “there are lots of Billy’s Fun Zones’ around here. You guys must have got mixed up and taken a wrong turn. I could have sworn I sent you the correct location on GPS.” Maybe Ty said more on the subject but Kit could hear anything or see anything except the superior smirk Blessica was giving him.

He covered the speaker. “Not. A. Word.” And no word came out of her mouth the entire ride to the correct Billy’s Fun Zone but the ‘I told you so’ look on her face spoke loud enough.

Kit slid back into the booth next to Ty, handing him his pretzel. Ty kissed him on the check in gratitude.

Dru and Ty were right. About this one being empty. He told him he had heard about it from Alyssa. Her pack frequented it often. They were left alone because, well, there was no one else there to bother them.

“Where are Astrid and Mari?” he asked.

“Fucking. I think. Or maybe just making out. I’ll know which one when they finish.” When Ty gave him a puzzled look he continued, “Astrid describes it all to me in full detail. I honestly don’t know whether she doesn’t have a filter or she just needs someone to scream to about how amazing Mari is.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“True, true.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Ty picked up the conversation again. “When Thaìs first met Astrid, she had a huge crush on her. They got along great. I always thought they would end up together. Or hook up at the very least.”

“Huh, that’s funny,” observed Kit.

“What is?”

“When me and Mari split, I was planning on trying to set them up with Thaìs. But then I caught her ans Astrid making out in a storage closet at school. Which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid cause they were in there so I wouldn’t be sad Mari moved on when I opened the door in the first place avoiding her to call you.”

“Hmmmm.”

The gears in Ty’s head were visibly turning. Kit loved watching this process. An idea was forming in his boyfriend’s genius mind, he could sense it.

“What is their stance on monogamy?” he asked finally.

“Um, fuck, hold on. Mari sent me this whole speech about it.” Kit scrolled through his phone at a rapid rate before he saw what he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:52 AM: monogamy is just another lie capitalism has fed us

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:55 AM: like, for example, the notion that house spiders are ugly and to be feared

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: it’s just to sell bug spray

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: same with monogamy

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: pointless!!!

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:58 AM: in conclusion, if I want to join a polyam cult, who tf is the government to stop me?

Kev-Kev, sent 2:01 AM: mari please go to sleep

Bless-ing_to_the_world, sent 2:04 AM: ^^^^^^^^^^^

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: preach!

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: go off queen

By the time Kit was finished with his dramatic reading, Ty’s plan was fully formed.

“That settles it! We are going to play matchmakers!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alyssa, Ty’s friend mentioned is @thechangeling OC, not mine.

@the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm sorry if I missed anyone LMK if you want to be added or removed from The tag List!!

[tsarisfanfiction]

Colour symbol ask:

Fluff: grey: maturity

Gordon & Alan

Secret Tunnel

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Alan, Gordon

Well, my muses have come to life again, which is both great for my mental state and annoying timing with regards to the uni work I'm supposed to be doing, but I'll make it work :D

After making a Military Bros masterpost of everything I've written for those two for Military Bros Day, I started thinking about all the different brother duos and how much I've written for each of them. Now, I might be forgetting something, but the one combination I don't recall writing anything for at all is Gordon&Alan, so I poked at my muses and we came up with this!

It's only a loose tie-in to the prompt, I think, but some sensible Tinies content counts as being mature, right?

Colour Symbol Prompts

“So.” Alan glanced up at his brother, raising an eyebrow at the drawl. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Gordon continued, tone light in a way that would have been disarming if it wasn’t Gordon, and they weren’t in the remains of a collapsed building.

“What’s the bad news?” he asked, rolling his shoulder. It was stiff, vocally complaining at the movement, and Alan was well aware that without the pauldrons his overprotective brothers had thrown on his uniform before letting him join IR it would be a lot worse. While none of the debris had hit either of them directly, some smaller chunks of masonry had glanced off his left shoulder.

Gordon’s sharp amber eyes tracked the motion even as his brother spoke. “Well, the bad news is that our comms are down.” Alan had suspected as such, but the fact still dumped a heavy weight on his chest. No comms meant no John, no Scott or Virgil, no help from outside. He didn’t like being cut off from his brothers at the best of times, and this was hardly the best of times.

Still, he at least had one brother this time, and despite his penchant for not taking things seriously at home, when out on a mission, Gordon was as reliable as they came. They might not have Thunderbird Five’s data at their disposal, or Scott’s leadership, or Virgil’s muscles, but they did have two working brains between them.

Panicking, as Alan had learnt the hard way on other rescues where things went wrong, did him no favours at all. He swallowed back the instinctual panic and met Gordon’s eyes in the artificial half light of the glowstick from Gordon’s baldric.

“So what’s the good news?” he asked.

“The good news,” Gordon said with a flourish and grin reserved for when things weren’t going their way and Alan’s immediate brother decided the world wasn’t allowed to do that, “is that I think I’ve found us a way out.”

“You think?” Alan couldn’t help but question, even though he was already scrabbling his way to his feet and looking around in the hopes of seeing whatever Gordon had found.

“Over here.” He followed the glowstick as Gordon headed over towards where the rubble looked the thickest, blocking them in. “There’s air flowing in.”

Neither of their uniforms offered much by way of exposed skin, but Alan leaned down where Gordon gestured and took off his helmet just long enough to feel a faint breeze on his cheek.

“Where’s that coming from?” he asked, tugging his helmet back on. Gordon pointed at the floor, or what had once been the floor.

“It’s coming from down there,” he said.

“The floor?” Alan knelt down where Gordon gestured. “Why would it be coming from the- oh.”

The house they’d been in, and were now trapped inside, had been an old one. Alan didn’t remember the exact age, but it was a couple of centuries old at least. Old houses, especially larger ones, had secret passageways.

“So how do we get it open?” he wondered out loud, already rummaging around the area. Gordon crouched down next to him with a shrug as his hands joined Alan’s in trying to find a way to open the passageway that had to be there if they were getting airflow.

“Figured finding ways to open secret passages was more your thing,” his brother admitted. “Don’t those games of yours have secret passageways in all the time?”

The question was an honest one, and Alan blinked. “Well, yeah,” he said, “but those are games. This is real. It won’t be the same.” Despite his words, his fingers were still pulling and pushing at the stones that made up the floor, because at least it was a lead.

They could, of course, wait for their bigger brothers to barge their way in, with Virgil encased in his exosuit and Scott so close behind he’d be standing on his heels while John guided them non-stop over the comms, but there was still a lot of work to be done and they were deep inside the building.

Said building took that moment to groan again, threatening another collapse if they didn’t get out pronto. Alan loved his brothers, but he wasn’t about to get crushed because he’d waited helplessly for rescue. The danger zone covered a large area, and while he and Gordon had found no casualties in their sector, Virgil and Scott would have to prioritise the civilians elsewhere no matter how much they might be panicking about losing contact with the pair of them.

If he and Gordon could find their own way out, so much the better.

“It’s close enough, right?” Gordon shrugged, still sounding inappropriately light-hearted for the situation. Alan didn’t take it personally – Gordon’s coping strategies had time and time proven themselves to be effective.

“I’ll let you know,” he grunted, finding ridges in the stone floor. “Bring that light closer. I think I’ve got something.”

The sickly green glow spread across more of his vision as Gordon held it close to his hands, illuminating the remains of the floor below them. There were multiple ridges carved into the stone, all uniform and completely mundane.

Except for the section that wasn’t.

Alan almost missed it, huffing in defeat as he sat on his haunches and rubbed at his shoulder again. At a glance, it looked no different to the rest of the floor, but it had caught his glove in a way the others hadn’t. It was also in the same place as the mysterious airflow.

Gloved fingers scrabbled at the discrepancy, hunting for a purchase that would hopefully reveal their way out. Gordon had moved to crouch right next to him, holding the glowstick aloft but otherwise keeping his hands to himself and leaving the investigation to Alan. His presence there was comforting, helping Alan to keep it together when part of him wanted to scream into his dead comms in the hope that John would pick it up anyway.

There was a click, barely audible over the noise of creaking masonry in their immediate vicinity. Alan felt it rather than heard it, his fingers suddenly pressing down as the resistance vanished. Age old mechanisms whirred back into life, until with a clunk part of the floor moved down and to the side, revealing a small, dark, passageway leading down into the belly of the house.

“Nice one,” Gordon acknowledged, leaning forwards and peering into the inky depths. A second glowstick was snapped and tossed in, illuminating what was definitely a rough-hewn rock corridor. “I’ll go first.”

He was halfway in by the time the words registered, and Alan peered at the opening with some reluctance. “And you’re sure this will get us out?” he checked, because he didn’t want to wait to be rescued like a civilian, but he also had no intentions of being buried alive.

“That air’s coming from somewhere,” Gordon reminded him, edging forwards a few more paces until he reached the glowstick laying where it had landed on the floor of the corridor. “And the roof of this thing seems pretty sturdy.” He rapped it a couple of times with his knuckles. “If the rest of the house collapses, this’ll be the last thing to go.”

A glance around showed that his brother was probably right. Alan swallowed before following him inside, sticking right on Gordon’s heels as the older blond led the way, glowstick held up high for light.

As far as passages went, it was small. Apt for a secret passage, but annoying when the ceiling lowered and the pair of them had to stoop almost double to get through some sections. It twisted and turned, in some areas narrow enough to force them to go through sideways, and at one point the way forwards seemed to vanish altogether before Alan realised a shaft of rock was concealing the next section.

It definitely lived up to its likely original purpose of a secret escape. Pursuing someone through there would be difficult; luckily, the only aim Alan and Gordon had was getting out of the collapsed building.

The first sign of the outside world was when their comms crackled in unison. It was impossible to make anything out through the static, but the garbled voice of John was definitely missing the calm tones their ginger brother usually deployed on rescues. Scott’s response was short and sharp, clipped in a way that screamed panic, and the low rumble of Virgil felt on edge, too.

Returning comms promised that they had to nearly be out, and Alan stumbled forwards, almost catching himself with his painful shoulder before he arrested his momentum with his healthy arm instead.

Neither he nor Gordon spoke, even though he was certain the same thoughts had to be running through his brother’s head as well. They were close, but they weren’t out yet, and had no reassurance that the exit for the secret tunnel hadn’t been collapsed or buried by more falling debris.

Still, it remained the best chance they had. Alan didn’t fancy trailing back through the passageway and sitting back in the rubble of the building, and he knew Gordon felt the same, so pushing onwards was their only choice. It continued to twist and turn, dog-legging and backtracking with no apparent rhyme nor reason. Alan tried to keep track of it in his head, logging it like any secret passage in Cavern Quest, but it put all the virtual ones to shame.

Then Gordon stopped, and Alan walked straight into him.

“Ow!” he exclaimed instinctively, before stepping back a pace. “Why have we stopped?”

“It doesn’t go any further,” Gordon said, holding the glowstick high. It was running out of juice, leaving the sickly green glow far fainter than it had been earlier. It was barely enough light to make out his brother’s face, let alone whatever the rocks surrounding them were doing. “This must be the end.”

“So get us out,” Alan shrugged, rubbing his shoulder and trying to hide the wince of pain that came with the action. Their comms were still broadcasting garbled static interspersed with panicked voices, but the signal was still too poor to even attempt to get hold of John. “There’ll be a mechanism somewhere. Try looking for something slightly off in the ridges on the stone?”

“Trying,” Gordon grunted. The faint green-lit silhouette of his shoulders strained as he pushed and pulled at the rocks. “Not finding anything, Alan.”

“Let me try.” He pushed forwards, trying to squeeze past Gordon to get a better look at the wall of rock blocking their way. Gordon fell back without complaint, although it took a lot of pushing and pulling, and a concerning scrape against his helmet before they managed it.

Alan was struck by a flash of gratitude that none of their older brothers were with them. Scott and John would both be too tall, and Virgil was too bulky. Getting through the passageway with one of them would have been a nightmare. At least he hadn’t yet stopped growing and Gordon was small – not that he planned on mentioning that to Gordon just yet. There was a time and a place for the teasing, and this was neither.

With Gordon now behind him, looming over his shoulder with the ever-fading glowstick held out helpfully in his periphery, Alan reached out and felt around for something similar to the switch he’d found to get them into the tunnel from the other end. Carefully uniform ridges carved across the rock and he followed them with his fingers until, finally, something gave.

Bright light spilled in as the end of the tunnel opened, blinding him with midday sun.

That, however, paled in comparison to the way both their comm audios suddenly sharpened.

“Any sign of them?” Scott’s voice demanded.

“Keep working on getting the mother out of that room,” John non-answered, still sounding far too on edge. “Virgil, there’s a small life sign the other side of the wall.”

“F.A.B.” The forced calm of Virgil’s voice told Alan he was no less agitated than the other two.

“Hey guys.” Gordon chipped in, echoing in Alan’s helmet from the comm channel in stereo with the sound of his voice in real time. “Where do you need us, Thunderbird Five?”

“Gordon!” All three voices overlapped in frantic cacophony. “Where are you?” Scott demanded. “Where’s Alan? Are you okay?”

“I’m here, too,” Alan promised.

“We’re fine,” Gordon added. “Who’s left to save?”

“Virgil and Scott are on the last life signs now,” John told them. “Your signals have reappeared a fair way out from the danger zone; get yourselves back to Thunderbird Two.”

Alan looked around and realised he was right – the two Thunderbirds gleamed in the sunlight, but it was immediately clear that the passageway they’d taken had led almost directly away from the crafts. Even in a straight line, the walk was going to take a good quarter of an hour.

Next to him, Gordon sighed and started walking. “F.A.B.,” he agreed. Alan stumbled a little as he lurched forwards to keep up. “We’ll see you there.”

Sure enough, by the time they arrived, both on-site brothers were waiting impatiently. It was clear that it was only the presence of their rescuees that had stopped them from striking out to meet them, but even that wasn’t enough to stop their big brothers charging towards them as soon as they were visible.

Scott reached them first, always the fastest runner, and Alan let out an oof as he was crushed into a frantic hug alongside Gordon. Worried blue eyes looked them both over, narrowing as they found something they didn’t like.

He was pushed aside as Virgil reached them, Thunderbird Two’s pilot refraining from giving them a bear hug only because he’d clearly spotted the scrape on Alan’s helmet as he’d approached.

“Are you hurt?” A medscanner was deployed almost before Virgil was finished talking. Scott didn’t wait for permission from anyone before carefully detaching Alan’s helmet and peering at his head. Alan didn’t bother to stop him.

“I’m fine!” he made sure to protest, though, although his hand betrayed him as it subconsciously moved across to rub at his shoulder again. None of his brothers missed the action, and before he knew it he was being whisked inside the green Thunderbird so Virgil could take a closer look.

Scott hovered worriedly by his side, glancing over periodically at Gordon. Alan followed suit, catching Gordon’s eye, and his brother rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. It was fond, though; Alan wasn’t at all surprised by Scott and Virgil’s behaviour, and he highly doubted Gordon was, either.

It was just a hazard of having older brothers.

[leviiattacks]

March 1885

his body slumps against yours the ghost of a whimper can be heard.

“levi ackerman. break my legs if you have it in you, but i’ll only crawl back.” and that's all he needs. your low whisper is all that is required for him to dedicate his heart to you.

devotion.

what it does to the heart is truly despicable.

is it not?

author note :: dates will vary for chapters so pay attention to the title, i hope you enjoy i have been planning this for a while now :-) pairing :: knight!levi x princess!reader genre :: everything really, angst... hm words :: 1k warnings :: corsets mentioned just wanted to add this here in case of body image issues etc

limited honour contents page (check to read in the correct chapter order !!!)

Your undying hatred for the colour green may just become the death of you.

The walls of your bedroom have forever been accented in it, the drapes which frame your windows are the same irritably murky shade.

The Palace gardens aren't home to much life meaning all you really get to see when you longingly gaze out of your windows is the same muddy olive. You long to be let out, allowed to see if outside of these walls there's a life filled with colour.

The only time you're ever blessed with the reward of colour is at noon. Sun settling down into the ridges of the sky you're able to relish in the tangerine infused cerise. It's mind numbing to watch and you eventually discover that you're never quite able to get used to it.

"Is it really that important for me to wear makeup?" You ask, legs dangling off the plush chair you're sat on. Your mother gives you a pitiful look upon hearing your question. Much too young to be concerned with marriage, yet much too old to not care for appearances. This is only the start of a life you don't wish to live.

She doesn't respond. Her fingers instead occupy themselves with the task of fastening her corset.

Before she pulls at the ribbon the ghost of a blooming bruise catches your eyes but you don't inquire. The last time you asked she made you swear on everything in the world to not say a word. So you didn't.

The cage around her torso is still unfamiliar and you wince at the way it squeezes against her uneasily. It looks like an uncomfortable second layer of ribs - instead of providing protection it only highlights pain.

"Don't worry. I'm used to it beaut. It's like makeup, you'll get used to makeup eventually." She tries to sound convincing but you don't buy it. You're sure the corset would be easier on her waist had she not fallen off Father's horse a few weeks back. Why can't she just not wear it this once? She is injured after all.

Drawing your brows back you can't believe anyone could ever be able to grow used to whatever a corset is. Up until recently you had assumed corsets weren't all that and were pretty easy to work with but seeing one face to face is completely different.

Mother and you are silently aware of the fact it presses arduously onto her purple bruising.

"It feels wrong." You finally say out loud.

“It feels wrong that you have to wear a cors-” She cuts you off before you can finish.

“Silence.” Voice unyielding and slightly irked you second guess wanting to voice your opinion out again.

But you’ve forever been stubborn and instead of retiring you match her pace cutting her off in the same fashion as she did you.

“Intoler-”

"And the makeup. It feels heavy and I don't like it. I think I look funny. My lips are far too red. This feels ridiculous. Can’t I make my own choices?"

Your mother says your name firm and fixed in simmering anger.

“I may be your mother, despite that I am still your Queen.” A hand is slammed down onto your vanity, flinching you aren’t able to move away in time — she’s thrown the book you were just reading away to the floor, allowing for the pages to bend uncomfortably.

Reaching out to grab for it again you’re held back by a firm grip on your arm. You don’t dare move another inch afraid what of what your mother is capable of doing. 

Then it hits you. Shuddering you identify that the hand holding you back is smaller than your mother’s, twisting around your Knight is within view.

Eyes widening, horror fills you at his interjection he could be gravely punished for meddling in Royal affairs.

To your surprise he’s spared without a second thought.

“Levi, I forgot you were in the room. You may excuse yourself.” He can’t ignore a clear, direct order from the Queen.

The young knight looks between the two of you unsure for a second if he should depart but he understands he has no power in this situation. Even if he wants to aid you he’ll be unable to do so.

In less than a minute you hear the opening and closing of your door.

Levi has left.

"Remind yourself of your country. Our people are dying, starving from the famine." Her words are carefully chosen, she wants to leave a permanent mark on you.

"The sooner you or one of your sisters finds a marriage proposal from a neighbouring Kingdom the better off Obravia will be."

"But, makeup? What does make- Wait marriage? Right now? I've only just started my Advanced English classes and- And, Mama I'm fourteen??" Utterly flabbergasted is what you are. You know you're the youngest and it's one of your older sisters on the chopping block but it's difficult to fathom your mother is remotely okay with this prospect for any of her daughters.

Gentle expression long gone, bottom lip caught between her teeth her brows furrow. You can't tell if your possible defiance has left her breathless or if it's the work of the vice around her waist. Whatever it is you remain unwilling to meet her uncompromising stare.

"As you grow old you learn there are matters you will have no say in. Even as my youngest child you hold great responsibility within this Kingdom."

Her downturned frown twitches at your next movement.

Swiping a hand over your mouth your Mother's hard work is destroyed within seconds. The red lining of your lips completely smudged. You resemble one of the Royal Jesters.

Stupidly, you’re foolish enough to ask for what your heart yearns.

"And if I don't want to be responsible? If I want to spend my days reading books and studying? Unmarried?"

It doesn’t end well.

But when does it ever?

That night you end up leaving your chambers with even more powder and paint coating your face. It’s practically been pounded onto your cheeks without consent.

When you return from the ball you find your bookshelf empty, not a single novel in sight. Even the book she threw away has vanished.

It serves as your punishment.

Your reality check that Princesses do not receive everything they desire.

[jaskierswolf]

HOWDY SOULMATE OF MINE. Can I please have some Jaskilion? I want lingerie and I want make up and I want blindfolds and I will cry if I don't get it. No pressure.

Let's just ignore the fact this is four months later... Oops. Please don't cry! Oh and thanks to @kuripon for beta-ing! This is based in my modern Jaskilion AU but all parts read well on their own as well.

This is Jaskilion smut. Rated E. Pretty much the prompt with added blowjobs.

________

Silence was rare in Jaskier and Dandelion’s flat. They were both musically inclined which led to a cacophony of sound in the house. If they weren’t practicing for their fledgling band, then one or the other of them would be humming under their breath or scribbling down some rhyme on whatever paper they could find. So, silence was something that couldn’t often be found, and was not really appreciated by either musician. However, the silence in the flat that day was building an unspoken tension between them and Jaskier was loath to break it. It wasn’t often that he unpacked his drawing set, but words had escaped him for over a week and he was itching to create something, anything. The portrait had been Dandelion’s idea, and Jaskier loved any excuse to draw his friend.

Dandelion was, for lack of a better word, absolutely stunning. His almost elf-like beauty had lured Jaskier in like a moth to a flame… or more accurately a barista to the supply closet. It also made him a perfect subject for Jaskier’s drawing practice.

Especially when he sat so prettily on the chair, his hands tied behind his back and a silk tie wrapped around his head, keeping him blinded. Dandelion was wearing his favourite emerald green silk lingerie, the vibrant colour looking fucking radiant against his pale skin and long golden curls. To top the look off, his lips were painted a rich blood red and he looked absolutely sinful. Jaskier was having a hard time focusing on his drawing, pun intended.

He wanted nothing more than to rip that stupidly pretty silk off of Dandelion’s body but his friend had made him promise that he would finish his sketch first. It was going torturously slowly. He’d just about blocked out the rough shape but he was losing patience, which just wasn’t fair. Even tied to a chair and blindfolded, Dandelion still managed to command the room when he wanted. It was infuriating, and just a little bit sexy.

Jaskier sighed as he set aside his sketchpad, the sound clearly drawing Dandelion’s attention as the blond cocked his head.

“Jaskier?”

“I’m here,” he muttered, sighing again as he crossed the room, making sure his steps were audible even on the rug. He didn’t want to startle his friend. “I’m going to touch you.”

“How’s the drawing?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes as he brushed his fingers along Dandelion’s cheek. “Let me worry about that, you just stay sitting there for me, dear heart.”

“Well, I don’t appear to have much choice,” Dandelion scoffed haughtily, tugging half-heartedly at the silk ties behind his back. “I am your prisoner.”

Jaskier trailed his fingers down his friend’s neck, tracing the edges of the bra straps, enjoying the feel of the silk against his skin. He was delighted to see Dandelion’s shiver at his touch. He was even more delighted to see Dandelion’s cock straining against the silk panties. Despite his talk, Dandelion was not as unaffected as he liked to appear.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Jaskier chided gently, letting his fingers hook under the silk, brushing against his friend’s nipples. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and Dandelion tilted his head back.

Jaskier bit back any other witty remarks as he removed his hands and as silently as possible, moved away from Dandelion. His friend let out a pitiful whine and just like that the power shifted between them and Jaskier smirked. The rug muffled the sound of his footsteps as he moved behind Dandelion, and the only sound in the room was the thundering of his own heart. It felt so loud in his chest he was sure that Dandelion would be able to hear it. Dandelion blindly looked around the room, cocking his head as he tried to pick up any sound that would give away Jaskier’s position.

“You better not have left me here,” Dandelion mumbled, sounding offended by the idea of it.

Jaskier barely managed to keep from laughing. They’d agreed that he would stay in the room the whole time, and he knew Dandelion trusted him to keep that promise, but Jaskier gently touched his friend’s shoulder. Dandelion yelped and jumped in his seat, letting out a string of profanities and finally Jaskier allowed himself to make a noise.

“Okay?” he asked, grinning despite himself.

“You bastard,” Dandelion grumbled but still leaned into Jaskier’s touch as Jaskier ran his fingers through his friend’s hair.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Jaskier promised and circled Dandelion, never taking his hands off Dandelion’s skin, trailing his fingers down Dandelion’s chest as he knelt in front of him.

He barely remembered to breathe as he looked up at his friend, blindfolded and so helpless above him. The trust they had in each other was unlike anything Jaskier had experienced before. It was a heady feeling, and there was no doubt how deep his friendship with Dandelion was. Anyone that said romance was more important than friendship needed a bollocking, and Jaskier sent up a quick prayer to any gods that might exist, thanking them for both Dandelion, and Geralt’s acceptance of their untraditional friendship.

Jaskier truly had hit the jackpot with the two of them. He smiled as he pressed a kiss to Dandelion’s thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. Above him, Dandelion pulled at the ties and whined again.

“Patience, darling,” Jaskier murmured as he brushed his lips along Dandelion’s thigh before mouthing at the silk panties that barely concealed his friend’s cock. Dandelion scoffed and opened his mouth to shoot back some no doubt biting remark, but Jaskier cut him off. “Perhaps we should have gagged you as well.”

Dandelion just pouted, making Jaskier chuckle as he hooked his fingers under the top of the panties, pulling them down enough to expose Dandelion’s hard cock, already leaking against the soft pretty fabric. The sight made Jaskier’s mouth dry and he licked his lips before pressing a kiss to Dandelion’s stomach, delighting as the muscles rippled under his lips.

“Oh fuck,” Dandelion groaned, “bloody tease.”

“Hmm, you love it,” Jaskier murmured, reaching up to brush his fingers along Dandelion’s bra.

Dandelion had always been very responsive, but never quite like this. It seemed that every touch had the musician on edge, whimpering, gasping, moaning, and Jaskier was fucking addicted. He wasn’t usually one to tease this much, he didn’t have the patience for it, but he was just having too much fun. Still, he had promised to make it up to his friend, and he would hate to break his word, so finally he pressed a kiss to Dandelion’s cock, licking at the slit before taking just the tip into his mouth, suckling lightly, just a tease of what was to come. Jaskier felt Dandelion’s cock twitch in his mouth and his friend let out an obscene moan which only spurred Jaskier on more.

He groaned as he pulled off, licking a stripe down the length as his fingers dug into the soft skin of Dandelion’s thighs. He nosed at the base of Dandelion’s cock before kissing along the underside until he reached the tip once more, bobbing his head as he took it back into his mouth, enjoying the weight on his tongue. Dandelion’s whimpers and moans were tantalizing, making his own cock achingly hard in his trousers and he shifted so he could grind down on his feet, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Wanna see you,” Dandelion panted, still straining against the silk ties. They would come loose if he really wanted, but it was a pretty sight watching him struggle.

Jaskier hummed around his friend’s cock, slowly working to relax his jaw as he took Dandelion further into his mouth. Reluctantly he released one of his friend’s thighs, stroking his hand up until it was pressing against Dandelion’s balls through the silk fabric. Dandelion gasped and bucked forward as best as he could given his restraints, mumbling an apology as Jaskier almost choked on his cock. Instead, Jaskier moaned as he doubled down on his efforts, rocking his own hips forward as he licked and sucked at his friend’s cock with all the grace of a drunk at their local nightclub, but his own arousal was making it hard to think about skill. Judging by the sounds Dandelion was making, his friend didn’t seem to care.

“Oh, oh fuck!” Dandelion hissed, gasping for breath. He was close so Jaskier moaned as he made one last effort, humming around his friend’s cock as it nudged the back of his throat, pulling back just enough as Dandelion came, Jaskier’s name falling off his lips in a prayer. Jaskier suckled at Dandelion’s cock, chasing every last drop of cum, until he started to soften in his mouth.

Finally he pulled off, wiping his mouth before pressing one last kiss to Dandelion’s thigh. “Fuck,” he sighed, his voice hoarser than he would have liked but he decided it was completely and utterly worth it.

Dandelion let out a peal of laughter and finally managed to wiggle free of the ties behind his back. His hands were in Jaskier’s hair before Jaskier realised his friend was free. He blinked as he looked up. Blue eyes peered down at him, dark and hungry, and his friend’s cheeks were flushed almost as red as his lipstick.

“Fuck,” Jaskier repeated and pressed his forehead to Dandelion’s stomach.

Long fingers just carried on stroking through his hair as Dandelion laughed again. “My turn.”

[goldandbluesmiles]

In Shades

Summary: Damian paints his family.

Ao3:

Part of batfam flufftober2020

Damian had an art assignment. Paint a portrait of one person in your life and use only one colour and explain why you chose that one colour.

It was an interesting assignment and Damian could not choose just one person to paint. So, he painted everyone in his immediate family. He figured he could hand in the best one.

He asked Alfred to sit down first.

For Alfred, he chose the colour grey. Dull and able to blend in, a symbol of dignity and sophistication as much as it was a symbol of loss.

Alfred had taken care of them through their losses and their fears, through their triumphs and their victories. He had stood by them as they had fought each other and had stood by them as they had held each other. Always there always reliable.

Yes, grey it was for Alfred.

"I am honoured, Master Damian," said Alfred once he showed it to him. It was the only thing he said but it still made Damian feel warm.

The second person he sat down with was his father.

For his father, he chose the colour black. It seemed a bit cliche but it fit the man. Black stood for strength and mystery, for formality and elegance, but at the same time stood for aggression and authority, for death and darkness.

This one might not end up with the rest of his assignment for it would be hard to explain to a civilian how all these characteristics could fit the airhead billionaire Brucie Wayne. But Damian could not bring himself to draw his father in false colours. He would just have to hide this one away.

Once he was done with the portrait, he looked at the harsh lines and smiled. Yes, black definitely worked.

His father must have agreed with his observations because one look at the piece and he had laughed.

"Well, you certainly got me, Kiddo. But maybe not take this to school. Though, I would like to hang it in my study instead. Would that be alright with you?"

"Yes, Father," Damian had agreed.

Father had them given him a long and tight hug, softly whispering how proud he was.

It almost made Damian cry. Almost.

Dick sat down for next, a wide smile on his face.

Damian chose to paint his brother in bright greens. Green was the colour of growth, harmony and renewal. His brother had moved non from tragedy after tragedy and always found a way to make his world right again, not only for himself but for others too. The freshness of the colour captured the man's smile in full and made him seem wiser than his years, which in Damian's opinion was exactly what his brother was.

Damian knew this one would be his favourite.

When he showed Dick, he was gushed at his talent but had been confused about the colour choice. Unlike most of their other family, Dick had never had an interest in the visual arts, opting to express himself physically as Cassandra did.

Once he explained, Dick had gotten tears in his eyes. Damian had almost become alarmed but his brother had swooped him up in a hug and held him close, much as his father had.

"Thank you, Damian,"

"You're welcome, Richard," said Damian, though he did not know what the thank you was for.

Cassandra did not sit but chose to stand instead. Damian was quite alright with that.

He painted his sister in shades of purple. Purple was the colour of royals, elegance of a certain kind, and ambition. Violet was the colour of magic and dreams.

Cassandra smiled all the way through painting, holding her pose together. This painting took the longest as Damian knew that it would e important to paint her whole body instead of just painting her face.

Once he was done, Cassandra hugged him before she even saw the painting and then hugged him again after she was it.

"Good," she whispered, "You got me,"

"I'm glad you think so," he whispered back

After Cassandra came Jason. And the only reason he had agreed was that he was stuck on bed rest.

Damian drew him in shades of red, head bent over a book. Red was the colour of anger, danger and sacrifice. It was also the colour of love and passion, the colour of a fire that burned bright and a heart that beat for others. Jason was all that and more. He rose from the ashes like a phoenix and had devoted his life to his family and city. Sacrifice after sacrifice, all in the name of love for people he thought didn't even love him. He was wrong about that of course.

"The angry brother in red, huh?" said Jason once he saw it, voice showing just a fraction of the bitterness he was feeling.

Damina instantly refuted, "No, the passionate brother, and the loving one,"

Jason looked at him in surprise.

Damian continued, "You are too sacrificing for your own good, you are passionate about what you do and you love so much that overflows out in bursts,"

For a few moments, Jason watched him with his mouth open, and then ever so slowly, a smile spread across his face.

"You know," he murmured, "I think red could be your colour too,"

"Really?"

"Really,"

Tim was surprised at being asked, and really that made Damian feel just a little guilty. He was almost an adult now and quite ashamed about how he had acted all those years ago.

For Timothy, Damian chose blues. Blue represented the open sky and ocean, depth and stability. It stood for loyalty, faith, truth and confidence.

Over the years, Damian had watched his brother grow into his abilities and become sure of himself. He was a leader, a detective and a man loyal to his cause and family. Damian was proud to have him in his life, to call him family. Even if he never admitted it out loud.

He explained the meaning of the picture in a few words, the whole interaction being awkward in a nice way, both of them feeling a bit shy about it.

"Thanks, Dames," said Tim

Damian just shrugged in response.

It was enough.

Duke was the last sibling he asked to sit down.

He chose to present Duke in pink. Pink was intuitive, pink was tender, pink was kind. It was a positive colour that inspired warmth and appreciation. All of the things he felt for the second oldest in the family. Duke had a soft way about him that drew people out of their shell. He was a leader but not an authoritative one like Father or even Timothy. Instead, his leadership consisted of inspiring and lifting others.

"Pink? Isn't that a girl's colour,"

"While you are right that pink represents feminity in today's society, it is a more recent development, I chose to focus on other meanings of the colour,"

"Yeah? And those are?" Duke asked disbelievingly, but not unkindly

Once Damian was done explaining, Duke grinned and held out a fist for him to bump. Damian complied.

"Thanks, man," said Duke, bounding out of the room as if someone had filled him with unlimited energy.

Damian watched him go with a shake of his head.

Damian contemplated whether or not he should do anyone else, and in the end, asked Stephanie to sit for him too.

He painted Stephanie orange. The colour represented friendliness and enthusiasm, competitiveness and risk. It stood for raw instinct and free spirit, lead to the person feeling warm and at home. The colour of the autumn.

Stephanie was a friendly spirit and was somehow always present. She pushed forward when knocked down and fought to make her home. Her success came from her enthusiasm and competitiveness and her willingness to risk it all.

Stephanie gave him a grin and a big kiss on the cheek when he explained the colour.

"Ew, Brown! Stop!"

"Uhuh," she cried, "Yuu love meee! Now I knooow!"

"Oh god, you are such a child,"

The last person that sat for him was Barbara Gordon.

Damian chose to paint her in browns. Brown was the colour of reliability and support, of protection and security. It stood for everything genuine, honest and sincere. It was what came to mind when he thought of Barbara. The way she was always there, a voice in everyone's ear. The way she always spoke the truth, light and clear. She was a friend, she was dependable, someone that could be trusted and relied on unconditionally.

Oddly enough, like Alfred and Father, Barbara did not need an explanation for the colour. She merely smiled and nodded.

"You have a great eye," she told him, "I really love this. Thank you, Damian,"

"No, thank you, Barbara,"

xxx

After a long night of patrol, Damian was ready to fall into bed. However, before he could do that, he realized there was an envelope sitting on his pillow. He took it out and smiled.

There was a picture of him petting his animals, most likely taken by Timothy, and it was tinted yellow. Beneath it, were words written out in yellow glitter pen.

Sunshine. Happiness. Fun. Hope. Mind. Perception. Optimism. Creativity. Freshness. positivity.

Underneath was a paragraph written in his father's neat cursive writing, though he could tell the input had probably come from a few different sources.

'Yellow represents the heat of the sun and the loveliness of a smile, it evoked hope for the future and is linked with the optimistic. Yellow showed creativity, freshness and positivity. Damian, you are almost an adult now and have grown into someone who had learned to channel your creative side, look towards the future and smile, even if it is internally. You have a beautiful mind and your artistic perception of the world takes our breath away. Always stay you, Damian,. You are bright and wonderful,'

Wiping the happy tears that were making their way down his cheeks, Damian quickly took out his phone. He pulled up the group chat and wrote a short message, knowing it would get the sentiment across.

'Thank you. I will do my best,'