#i still click out of habit though. old habits die hard for me man

[wp100]

i watched a video of a world of warcraft clicker (a player who clicks on their abilities, ZERO keybinds) killing Tier 2 ("??" difficulty) Zekvir.

Absolutely insane.

[tired-biscuit]

werewolf!Kiba finding out you have knotted dildos 👀

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: monsterfucking, scent kink, toys. he’s mean in this one, sorry.

oh my god, him being your ex-boyfriend who you can’t help but hook up with again — or should you say hook up with for ‘one last time’ because, you know, old habits die hard or whatever.

so you’re making out on your bed, every kiss urgent and angry, lips mashing against teeth. your bodies grind against each other, and his broad back is hunched from how he’s nosing his way down the side of your neck; inhaling your scent and feeling your pulse drum on the the tips of his sharp canines that are slowly growing larger, transforming…

and since he can smell what you want, since he’s already got you nice and naked below him, your scent practically screaming fuck me, fuck me, fuck me at him, before you can notice, or much less stop him, he’s pulling away from your neck with a hot lick at your skin and reaching over the edge of the bed to open the drawer that he remembers you usually keep the bottle of lube in.

you obviously need it if you plan on taking his knot again just for ol’ time’s sake — he phrases it that way, not you — but what he finds in there instead is far more peculiar.

it’s dark in the room, however kiba is a predatory type of monster so his eyes still work like a charm even whilst being burdened by shadows. his outstanding eyesight allows him to see the shape, as well as the sheer size of the object that’s sitting right beside the bottle of lube he’d meant to grab and that’s caught his attention now. even more importantly, he’s able to notice the way it expands and bulges right at the base.

almost like a-

“i thought you said that you weren’t gonna miss me the last time we spoke,” he says, every word involuntarily growly and deep from the way he’s fighting back his true nature. but also because your last fight had been one of the worst ones yet. just thinking about it makes him agitated.

your body tenses as realization of what he’d just discovered hits, washing over you like an icy cold shower. you’re still panting, your chest heaving heavily as you try to catch your breath, but now it’s like every inhale hurts a little.

“i didn’t use it,” you mumble, swallowing thickly.

“is that so?”

“yeah, so don’t even bother-”

as if on cue, you watch in horror as he reaches into the drawer and picks up the toy. he weighs it in his hand with a derisive-sounding snort, tracing the intricate veins that run along the scarily massive length before he brings it up to his nose.

ignoring the dumb, wide-eyed stare of disbelief that you give him the second you hear him sniff, kiba proceeds to take a deep inhale.

overall, the toy smells clean. like it’s been washed with the intimate soap of which he can’t remember the brand of, but knows for a fact that you use sometimes. however, there’s also something else lingering on the toy… something faded and weak, from the way it’s been mostly scrubbed off. the slightest, tiniest remnants of your scent cling to the silicone.

the very same scent you’re exuding right now.

arousal.

your ex-boyfriend smirks after he catches you in your lie, pride swelling in his chest. in that very same moment, the headlights of a passing car that’s driving down the street beam through your bedroom window, making his teeth gleam for a second.

his grin is arrogant, wolfish. perfectly fitting for a man — monster — like him. enough to send an excited shiver down your spine, even if that exact arrogance had been one of the reasons why you had decided to break up with him in the first place.

“tsk, tsk, sweetheart.” he clicks his tongue against his teeth while he drops the toy to tap the side of his nose. “lying ain’t nice, y’know? you could’ve just told me that normal cock can’t hit the spot for ya anymore... instead you’re over here trying to fuck regular-ass humans, playing with your silly toys after they leave you unsatisfied, even though i could be giving you the real thing every single night.”

“what makes you think i’d even want ‘the real thing’?” you snip, drawing your brows together and glaring up at him. “what if… what if i’m perfectly satisfied with what i have now? what if it’s better?”

you know you’re in no position to be asking such questions; at least not whilst squirming naked underneath him and with the inside of your mouth still tasting like his tongue, but trying to stand up for yourself feels better than letting him drag you down like this. even if it causes for heat of hypocrisy to slowly creep up your cheeks and neck.

“well, i dunno,” he murmurs, leering down your naked body with bright yellow eyes that seem to possess such a twisted delight in mocking you, mocking you, mocking you.

you’ve let him in, haven’t you?

before you can respond, he picks up the toy again, dragging it down the center of your belly, making you flinch when he reaches the point below your belly button. you try to reach for it but his reflexes are inhumanly quick, so he has no trouble with restraining you with a single hand.

“how ‘bout…” he pauses, grinning once again at the way you can’t help but whimper in frustration when the tip of the dildo makes contact with your sticky, throbbing entrance. the audibly wet sound the action produces makes you want to reach up and smash his teeth in — restrained or not.

especially when he says, “how ‘bout i take turns stuffing your cunt with this lil’ friend of yours, and then when we’re finished, you can tell me all about how much better it is at it than i am, yeah?”

[eccentricallygothic]

hii i do know if youre taking requests or anything but i was wondering if you could write a dark!bucky x reader fic where the kidnapping is already established and all and she finds herself giving in to bucky and it sorta shocks bucky as well, mostly soft dark bucky and comfort/fluff but dark? does this make sense

I don't really do requests only because I've danced that dance many times and failed at it every single time. Though I do like to do an interesting scenario here and there since I am a pleaser hehe 🩷

Also, I am so, so, so sorry that this is so late. I enjoy this as a hobby and my university slams me hard so I only write when I have the time and energy. I really hope you see this 🩷

And hope you like it still <3

Warning(s): Dark!Bucky, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, fluff, comfort. 

Bucky was past Hydra but the life was all the same. 

He worked for a private company that paid top dollar for his expertise now.

You had been in his sight for a long time before he made a move on you.

You had caught his eye almost right after he had broken free.

Since you used to volunteer at the town library and he would come to find some semblance of his time there among the old books, getting lost for hours on end in the corner dedicated to his time.

That with the smell of your perfume whenever you would walk by was an almost euphoric experience for him.

Every day, every time.

And then Bucky knew, he had to have you.

It had been a very cliche bumping into each other.

Or at least on his part. 

Maybe you had done it on purpose to try and make conversation with the handsome man who came by everyday. 

Bucky had gone into a trance for a few moments when he had made eye contact with you for the first time. 

The world had shut down.

And you were the only sound, the only light, the only life.

He had stopped coming after that day. 

Unbeknownst to you, the man had decided he could not afford to mess this up.

You were too sweet, too kind, too nice, too pretty, too perfect and completely out of his league. 

He devised a perfect plan.

And plucked you from society like a rose from a garden.

His rose.

Could you blame him?

You seemed to like him plenty so what other reaction could you possibly have than that of delight and gratitude after waking up in the humble house his mysterious company had built for him into the heart of a forest of his choice? 

Anyways.

It had been a long time since all that bitter business. 

You were past the tears, begging, running, denying and fighting.

The man had a literal metal arm, what were you compared to pure muscle and raw strength?

You bit your lip as you forced yourself to push the silly thoughts of escape away, dabbing the disinfectant one last time on Bucky's injured shoulder that you had patched up.

Was it right? Did you do something wrong?

You had no idea.

But every time you tried to suggest he see a doctor for his wounds every other time he was back from a job, all he ever responded to the proposition with was a sharp 'no doctors'. 

"Y- You…" Sighing to yourself in defeat, you moved to the smaller scratches and cuts now.

The man only looked up at you from his position on the kitchen chair as you stood between his legs. 

"You… should be careful out there, you know…" A grunt left you when you caught sight of a soft smile on his lips. 

"I mean, I don't know what the fuck this place is and how to navigate it so I don't wanna die of starvation just because you weren't careful" though your words amused him, he grabbed your chin nevertheless, clicking his tongue. 

"Language…" You rolled your eyes though only after you looked down because the habit had landed you in trouble with him one too many times. 

Because good girls don't use vulgar language. 

He was so old fashioned it was weird.

"Sorry… sir" you forced out through your teeth, very well aware of what would become of you if you didn't follow the rules and apologize straight away. 

"Good girl" the condescending pat on the top of your head was heavy due to his strength as you went about the rest of his injuries.

The both of you lost track of time.

Bucky noticed it before you did. 

The usual stiffness of your shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the tension in your hands was barely noticeable.

Genuine concern had overshadowed the usual disdain when he had stumbled in today. 

Well, he had been gone for days before that. 

You were also extra careful with making sure every little graze was addressed today unlike before where he had to practically threaten or manipulate you into doing it. 

After you had put everything away and washed your hands, you walked slowly to him before stopping in front of him.

"You're not allowed to go MIA again" you spoke with your chin held high, as though you had any say in this house. 

The slight raise of Bucky's eyebrow almost made you falter but the small smile that soon tugged at his lips eased you back down.

Maybe this was the way.

Letting out a defiant exhale through your nose you crossed your arms over your chest, "I've heard hamburgers are best served hot…"

He had told you that.

You did not have to look over your shoulder to know that his smile deepened.

Maybe you had cooked them and waited for him by the door everyday these past few days.

But he didn't have to know that.

Bucky groaned to himself as he pushed his body up and slowly followed you.

Maybe this was the start of something good. 

Or…

It didn't matter though. Bucky sighed as he circled his arms around your waist from behind while you served the food.

Perching his chin on your shoulder, he let his eyes flutter close as he inhaled your scent.

You smelled like home.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Whatever you will choose to do with this, Bucky decided, won't change anything. 

Because the fact of the matter was, you were his and you didn't have a choice.

[rachelchinouriri]

01-11-24

Good Morning!

I usually journal in my book but today's my birthday and I've decided I'll do my first public journal before I disappear for a little bit. I just want people to remember that I have still committed to the task even though I will be away from my phone for my birthday haha! I'm grateful I woke up today because it's my birthday today. I can honestly say turning 25 has been my favourite part of my life. This has been the best year of my life. I feel like I am unrecognisable from the person I was at 24. I have stopped drinking completely which honestly has improved my mental and physical health, but it has forced me to gain real courage (not liquid courage). I started and stopped smoking at 24 (your girl was stressed out) and I had 1 cigarette this year (lol in April while drunk). I have continuously gone to the gym 4-5 times a week without fail, even with the most insane schedule ... the only days I missed were when I was at the airport at 5am simply because the gym was closed. I have journaled every day in the morning since January (Including airport days). It has truly been the best year of my life because I feel like I can honestly and truthfully say that when I turned 25 I turned up for myself. I have shown myself that I CAN trust myself which I feel like I never could do before. It's also been many years of me trying to fufill these habits but it just didn't click until I was 25. I am proud of myself for once ... I can actually say I am proud of myself for one of the first times in my life. I am grateful for my ability to want try and change my negative mindset into a positive one. I was so full of misery and always saying that I wanted to die, or saying I'll never find a good man or always panicking about my career and I guess speaking positively, even if you don't believe it, has actually worked in my favour. I am beyond grateful and proud of myself but it's so hard to type that out (still) because there will always be a negative self doubt voice at the back of my head... but I am grateful he is now at the back of my head instead of being at the front and centre. I don't know what 26 looks like to me but I am actually excited now to get older. My best and most fun years are ahead of me... I have always had this fear of 'getting old' but there is so much beauty in things that age. The planet ages and it gets more beautiful with time and so do people. Maybe it's because I was the youngest (and all my siblings are way older than me... I mean my oldest is in her 40s) ...but I feel like beauty and age are so wonderful. I love older people and the wisdom you get from them and their ability to just live and keep fighting through a world that I can only describe as difficult at best. I just know a lot of my fears have been from the fear of getting older and dreading age... but there are so many people who unfortunately didn't get to see my age. I think about my niece all the time and the world we could've given her and it just reminds me that life is by chance but death is certain. Death is certain and can come at any time so the time I do get to have, I want to fill it with love and memories and peace. How can we fear getting older but also fear death at the same time? If I want to stay young then death should be a friend I welcome... when I started thinking like that, I obviously very quickly realised I do not want to die and actually I do want to get older, so here I am... getting old haha. I'm grateful I have hit this mindset because when I sat in the pits of darkness, I never saw this day coming but I will never regret my deepest depression. I have been there, sat in it, went through it and it makes a day like today feel amazing. Truly amazing. I will never let anything pull me back there... never...not a man, a human, a society, my race, my gender, my past...nothing. Anyways, I am now heading off to my 7am session with my friend then having breakfast. I feel grateful and amazing for today and I am so lucky to exist today in this world today. I am so lucky and will never take this life for granted again

r

[writtengalaxies]

*Sprints towards you, creates a second me-shaped imprint in the door.*

I’m not too late for valentines requests, am I? Could I see Author attempting to break genre and write his S/O in something sweet and romantic and sappy? Bonus points if it still turns into horror anyways despite his best efforts (old habits die hard, y’know?)

Damn it, Quill. You know I love horror slipping into a romance, and writing a weird omniscient writer/narrator with a willing, if exasperated, reader! Here, oh twin of mine, have your mans. :P

The author's sweetheart rounded the corner from their bedroom, looking for the man who should have been their shared bed.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you stepped out into the hall. The Author was a bit of an oddball, but one you enjoyed your relationship with regardless. He had promised you something romantic for this Valentine's day, and this must have been his own little way of doing so. You had been together for a while now, and you couldn't help but be reminded of how you first met.

The halls are quiet, leaving just the sound of their footsteps echoing. No sign of the man they are looking for, with no noise other than that which they make themself--

"Darling," you sigh, rolling your eyes with a smile as you watch the hallway stretch and darken, twisting out of view, and the natural noises of the house fade into muffled eeriness.

Er. What...?

"The hallway."

...Oh! Oh, shit, sorry, hang on...uh. Let me just...here we go. His lover found their way easily to the kitchen, where a lovely breakfast was laid out.

You blinked, finding yourself in the doorway and smiling softly. All your favorite breakfast foods were set out, still hot and steaming, as you watched your boyfriend sit on the other side of the table.

The man questions if they slept well, offering a plate of--

"...Honey, I know that's not you."

...Uh. H-how...?

"The mouth's not moving. And you're still narrating."

...I. Well. You see...I was trying to build up to something...

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe with another affectionate sigh. The apparition disappeared between blinks. If you hadn't been used to this sort of thing by now, it would have scared the hell out of you. "I know you're trying to be romantic, but I'd rather spend the morning with you."

Silence was your answer, though you heard his office door click open, and his light footsteps behind you. You expected him to do his normal motion of pulling you back against him, kissing your neck and shoulders with the same ferocity only a man desperate for affection could provide. But they stopped. You straightened, turning in place, only to freeze.

There was your author, on bended knee, nervously holding an open box with a ring.

"My muse, my inspiration...will you--"

He didn't get to finish his words before you tackled him with your own intense kiss.

[fruitcoops]

Skip to the Good Part

@oknutzyweek prompt #5: Harvard II NOLA! Some pure fluff for you tonight <3 Cubs belong to @lumosinlove!

“Yes, yes, its very exciting, I promise the inside is still revolting, come on.”

Leo laughed as Finn heaved him down the sidewalk with one hand, the other laced tightly with Logan’s while they stumbled after him. The frat house apparently looked similar enough to how they had left it that it didn’t require more than a glance to appreciate—Leo wouldn’t have minded seeing the place his boyfriends fell in love, to be honest, but he supposed they had plenty of time to come back. After the Cup, Finn and Logan were practically gods to the new generation of OKN boys.

 “It’s not going anywhere,” Logan grumbled, jamming his free hand deeper in his pocket. “We don’t have to fucking sprint.”

“Shut up, we’re almost there.”

Harvard was beautiful in the snow, all high Gothic peaks and sweeping avenues for students to trudge through the slush. Finn skidded several times on black ice in his haste, but managed to keep his feet under himself enough to remain upright and drag the two of them through snowdrifts like a one-man dog sled for all to see. His cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold; Leo hoped he would get a chance to warm both with some well-earned kisses.

“Alright,” Finn panted when they turned into the main square. His eyes darted from corner to corner, and then they came to an abrupt stop. “Okay, perfect. Great! Kiss me.”

Leo blinked. Unexpected. “Which one—”

“Both,” Finn prompted with an impatient tug of their hands. Logan glanced over and Leo could read his amusement like a favorite book. Finn whined again, looking back where they had come from. “Let’s go, group kiss time. Lo, be middle.”

“That’s only fun in bed,” Logan informed him while he let Finn maneuver him into the correct place. “I look short when you do this.”

“Fine, I’ll be middle. Knutty, stand there and look pretty. Excellent, just like that.”

“I didn’t move.”

“No, I know.”

Leo’s blush warmed his frozen face and he ducked his chin into his scarf to hide it. Blaming red cheeks on the cold was never a reasonable excuse back home, but old habits die hard, he figured. Finn’s roguish grin only faltered when he kissed them each on the cheek before ushering Logan closer and pulling his phone out.

His bright eyes landed on Leo, the same color as the cobblestones beneath them. He looked happier than Leo had ever seen when Harvard was involved. “I’m gonna kiss you, ready?”

Leo leaned closer and nudged their noses together. “Always.”

He closed his eyes and melted under Finn’s mouth like fresh snow in the sun; one long arm draped over his neck and he heard the telltale sound of Logan kissing the sharp angle of Finn’s jaw before the camera clicked. They lingered there, though, Finn pulling away to cup Logan’s face in one hand and kiss him softly around a smile while Leo held them both close around the waist. After a whole summer in New Orleans, their body heat was entirely necessary for a proper adjustment to northeastern cold.

Finn hummed into the chaste kiss, then stepped back with a last bite to Logan’s lower lip. His freckles stood stark against his pale skin and rosy cheeks. Leo wanted to kiss each and every one. “Did you get the picture?”

“The what?” Finn’s gaze dragged down to his lips before his brows shot up and Logan rolled his eyes. “Oh! Oh, yes, I think so.”

It only took a single glance for Leo to understand their rush to reach the square. The setting sun hung just below his own shoulders, highlighting his hair in orange and peach while gold lined Logan like lead for stained glass. His green eyes looked otherworldly in that light. Finn’s face was partially shadowed, but what they could see was illuminated in a watercolor of warm tones. The hand he had placed on the back of Leo’s neck to deepen the kiss blended seamlessly with the soft pinks of the sunset. Finn had captured the moment of a catching breath, a practiced touch, a teasing tilt of lips.

“You can see the buildings,” Logan murmured, almost to himself. The street signs and rooftops looked like they had come from a postcard for Harvard Square—he reach out to touch, then stopped himself and looked to Finn. “I want this framed.”

Finn’s pleased blush deepened. “Yeah?”

“Seconded.” Leo drew Logan closer and kissed the top of his head, and silently marveled at how well he fit into his side. “Right under the one on the porch.”

Beneath his heavy coat, Finn’s chest hitched. Leo knew it was his favorite of all the pictures in the house—the three of them on his parents’ big porch, tan and glowing with happiness. Leo had been kissing Logan in that one, who looked halfway to a swoon. His own face in the Harvard picture wasn’t much different.

“Okay.” A grin split Finn’s face and he bounced on his toes. “Okay, we can do that. Are you sure?”

Logan grabbed the front of his coat with both hands and dragged him down for a bruising kiss that made Finn’s knees visibly buckle. “There’s my answer,” he said when they parted, leaving one last peck to the corner of Finn’s open mouth. Logan surveyed his face, then cuffed him lightly on the side of the head; Leo stifled a snort. “Don’t undersell your skills around me or I’ll keep kissing you.”

Finn stared at him, then licked his lips and shook his head. “That is not the threat you think it is.”

[aminiatureworld]

Harmony

Characters: Mozart, MC (she/her pronouns)

Premise: In which the reader has musical talent which she hides from Mozart.

Word Count: 5,112

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: This was written for a gift exchange organized by @ikemenlibrary (and is consequentially is one of the first gift exchanges I have ever participated in). My giftee was @bluejay-writes - who I hope enjoys this very much and is not too put off by the fact I am incapable of writing anything that doesn’t hit a word count in the thousands. Thank you for letting me participate, I hope you enjoy!

Mozart

There was something undeniably fun about cleaning up the mansion, the intrepid explorer thought. Like peeling back layers of the past. For though the mansion no longer seemed foreboding, it still hid a few secrets here and there. And she was determined to find them, at least as many as possible until she become a human dust ball.

I wonder if I’ll find anything interesting today, she thought as she climbed up the staircase to the third floor. Though Saint-Germain had assured the young lady that there was little of interest up there, mostly storage crates, she still thought that it would be fun to explore. After all, what does an immortal vampire collect? Do they collect only a few precious objects, or are they horrendous hoarders? It was an interesting thought to entertain, and one she was musing over as she opened the first door on the left, only to be met with a surprising sight indeed.

She could recognize a violin case anywhere. There was something very, specific about the shape of a violin. Whether a case that fit the form of a violin, or a glorified rectangle, there was no way this musician wouldn’t recognize it. Former musician, she corrected herself. After all, she hadn’t picked up a violin since she was living her old life, and that was months ago at this point. Yet old habits die exceedingly hard, and thus she found herself gingerly opening the violin case, hoping, despite herself, that she might see something at least somewhat preserved.

The violin was certainly worse for wear. The bridge was teetering dangerous close to collapse, the strings slackened and dirty with unwiped rosin residue. The varnish was cracked and peeling, and there was no small amount of sweat damage on the neck. Nevertheless the sound post was still in its proper place, and there appeared to be no seams. For a moment the woman’s heart soared. A violin! A beautiful violin! Oh how wonderful it might be to play again, to once more feel the weight of a bow in her hand. She could even ask Mozart for some of his sheet music for surely…

Oh. That’s right. Mozart. The would-be violinist couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her. Mozart. Her partner, her lover, her closest friend. What would Mozart’s reaction be to her picking up the violin? For surely she could not compare to a man who was performing for imperial courts by the age of six? Suddenly it felt like a piece of lead was forming in her stomach, and she set the violin down. Closing the case with a soft click she began the work of dusting out the room.

Throughout the rest of the day she couldn’t stop thinking about that violin. It was one of the things that the time traveler had missed most about her life in the present. She supposed at first that she could ask Saint-Germain about getting a violin, but felt at the end of the day that such a purchase would end up being too expensive, and that she didn’t have much sheet music to go along with it anyways. Still, she never stopped loving the violin, and now that one was so close to her the urge to pick it up and practice was overwhelming. And yet Mozart… Though she knew logically that her lover wouldn’t care, might even be excited about the prospect of a musical partner, the seeds of doubt that sprouted in her chest refused to wilt. How could she, an amateur, ever compare to Mozart? What if he told her she was awful? What if he hid the violin from her? What if she was bothering his precious time practicing and composing. All these thoughts shuffled around her head until she was barely sweeping the floor. No, she didn’t want to think about what might happen if Mozart were to find out about her past as a violinist. Better to let it lie.

At least, that’s what she told herself. Yet the prospect of an unclaimed instrument in the house was too strong. Thus the young lady found herself in front of Leonardo’s door, anxiously holding the old case tightly to her chest, hoping that no one would catch her and blab to her partner.

“Who is it?” Leonardo’s voice was muffled through the door, nevertheless retaining its easing cadence.

“Just me,” she replied, opening the door a crack.

“Ah, yes. What can I do for you signorina?” Leonardo glanced up from the sketch he was working on. Immediately his eyes fell to the violin case, and curiosity flashed across his face. “I haven’t seen this in decades.”

“Ah, is it yours? I’m sorry if it is I didn’t mean to bother it! It’s only, well, I found it yesterday while cleaning and I was wondering if you could fix it up a bit. The bridge especially is, well, on its last legs.”

“I’m not surprised,” Leonardo let out a chuckle, “in truth that violin belongs to an old friend of Saint-Germain’s. He had taken a shine to it, and since the friend wanted a new violin he left it here. However Saint-Germain is surprisingly impatient – disastrous for anyone attempting to learn a capricious instrument like the violin – and thus it ended up in the attic. I can take a look at it if you’d like, though if you don’t mind I’d like to ask why. Is Mozart looking for a spare?”

“Ah. No. It’s, it’s for me.”

“You play? How wonderful! I’m sure Mozart will be rather excited to hear that his lovely lady is also blessed with great musical talent.”

“Ah thank you, but no! Please don’t tell Wolfgang about this.”

“You wish to surprise him?”

“No, in fact, well, I kinda hope that he doesn’t find out at all.” She smiled awkwardly as Leonardo fixed her with a confused stare.

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t tell him.”

“That’d be like asking me to show some sketches to Vincent, or Theo, or you. How can I go up to one of the most talented musical geniuses in history and say ‘hey! I play the violin too!’ He’ll just think I’m pathetic.”

“I sincerely doubt Mozart would act in any such way. Not to one he loves so much.”

“Well,” the young lady flushed slightly, “I don’t know. Even if he didn’t say it out loud, I feel like I would just be able to tell. He’d look at me with such hidden distaste, and I don’t know if I could stand such a thing.”

“Well, if you are truly that worried,” Leonardo fixed her with a skeptical look. “I will try not to tell Mozart anything, but I will let you know when I’ve finished my work.”

“Thank you Leonardo, I appreciate it very much.”

“I’m willing to be of help at any time.”

The young woman closed the door softly on her way out, thoughts filled with what Leonardo had said. Yes, the old vampire was probably right. After all, there was no one that she confided in so much as Mozart. Hadn’t they both laid their souls bare by now? Didn’t she trust him enough? She did, of course she did! And yet.

 “Meine Liebling. Was hast du dieses Tag gemacht?” Mozart’s voice was as clear and musical as a windchime, and despite it all the young woman felt herself relax.

It was nighttime now, the work of the day set aside for the bliss of spending a night cuddled in the arms of one’s love. The couple had gotten in the habit of laying out their days to one another, a kind of living journal just between the two of them. Tonight appeared to be no different.

“Let’s see Wolfie,” she giggled as Mozart blushed slightly, “nothing really of note today. Finished cleaning up things with Sebastian and went out into town. I can’t believe how much bread this household goes through in a day! And you? How was your day?”

“Ach,” Mozart scowled. “I was told by Saint-Germain that his friends were holding a sort of party in a week and he wants me to play for them. I don’t know why I accepted.” Letting out a sigh Mozart buried his face in the top of her head. “I don’t want to play for these men and women, no appreciation for music.”

“You can always tell Saint-Germain you changed your mind.”

“No, I agreed to do it, so I have to.”

“You really care about your promises don’t you.”

“Well, it’d just be a pain to change it at this point!” Mozart insisted, something which brought a laugh out of her despite herself. Ah how he liked to hide his own kindness from himself.

“Anyways,” Mozart continued, “that means I’ll have to be out late in the evenings for a while. Don’t wait up for me, or else you won’t be able to get anything done the next day.”

“I make no promises not to wait and you know it,” she replied, giving Mozart a peck on the cheek. “Still, thank you for looking out for me, I hope you end up enjoying the performances.”

“It won’t matter whether or not I enjoy it, besides I should think that would be rather impossible.”

“Why, because you’ll miss me?”

“Of course not! I mean, well, maybe, whatever!”

Her laughter carried through the room,  joyous in the calm cool air of the evening. In these moments how could life be anything but pure bliss? She allowed herself to be carried away by the conversation, nestled safe in the arms of the one she loved, all worries dissipating away as she drifted off to sleep.

It was only the next day that the young lady realized how much of an asset Mozart’s impromptu practice sessions might be for her. Though she would certainly miss spending so much time in the evening with her partner, it also presented an easy solution to how on Earth she was supposed to practice with her lover always in the mansion. The day that Leonardo finally pronounced the violin playable was one spent in high anticipation. Kissing her partner goodbye, she hoped that she didn’t seem too excited for Mozart to be on his way. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be around him, no in fact loneliness seemed to set in the moment that his carriage turned down the lane and out of sight. But the allure of the violin was too much to deny at this point, and she scurried away excitedly to her room, anticipation building.

Playing an instruments after months of absolutely no practice was never something that the violinist assumed easy. Still it was frustrating how awkward the instrument seemed to rest on her shoulder, how her fingers fumbled around the bow. Tuning took about ten minutes, and the first attempts at playing a scale made it only about an octave and a half before she stopped and restarted. Nevertheless there are some things that your muscle memory refuses to forget, and soon enough she was going up and down three octave scales again, even if the top half was rather squeaky. Happy enough after about twenty minutes the young lady then went through the arduous task of trying to recall any sort of piece beyond their first two lines.

Mozart’s face flashed through her mind about five minutes into her first attempt at Beethoven’s Romance 1. How she wished that she could simply ask him for some sheet music. But no, she’d already convinced herself that secrecy was the best option, and there was certainly no going back now. After all, how would she ever explain that she was sneaking around with a violin because she was terrified that he would think she was an absolute hack? Not to mention that he might still think she was a hack after that, especially considering the level she was currently working at. The young lady could barely remember the notes to Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star right now, much less anything actually impressive. Then again, had she ever been able to play anything impressive? Certainly not on the level of Mozart.

Though she managed to play for about an hour and a half it was a fight the whole way through, and by the time she was finished she wasn’t sure that she had ever been particularly good at the violin, though the logical part of her brain reminded her that with a bit of practice she’d surely improve quickly. It was late evening by the time she finished, having started right after dinner, and she quickly hid the violin under her bed before going to check and see if Sebastian needed anything, all the while thinking about what Mozart was doing in that moment, and what he might think if he were to hear what had just happened.

The rest of the evening was passed in a cloud of moodiness. Even the usually blasé Theo seemed to pick up on the fact, asking what was giving the young woman such a hangdog look. Though she quipped back her usual “I’m not a dog” she couldn’t deny the fact that she probably seemed awfully dejected at the moment. Nor could she ignore the fact that Mozart would certainly pick up on this the moment he got home. If he was a bit brusque he was still probably the best person at reading her mood – even if he didn’t always know what to do about it. She had to find a way to rein in her feelings, or risk all her plans falling apart. However it was becoming quickly apparent that this was easier said than done, and in the end all she could do was go to bed early, pretending that she didn’t notice Mozart’s soft gait across the room, as well as the way he kissed her gently on the forehead, whispering a soft “I love you” before drifting off to sleep.

The next day Mozart was up early at his piano, scales echoing through the hallways as the musician practiced his repertoire to perfection. The same thing could not be said of his lover, who was spending the day in the library, trying to act as if she was working on reorganizing the bookshelves rather than looking for a quiet place to wonder where everything had gone wrong in her life.

“Ah, signorina,” Leonardo’s voice spread throughout the library. The polymath was trailed by an apparently rather disgruntled Isaac, who murmured out a greeting before shooting a look at his taller companion. “I hope that the violin is going well.”

“You play the violin?” Isaac asked.

“Only very badly!” The young woman replied. “Leonardo, I wanted to keep it a secret.”

“Ah, ‘scusa,” Leonardo replied, not looking very sorry at all. “Since I already let Isaac in on the secret now, you might as well tell us about it.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed. “In truth it’s harder than I thought it would be. My fingers feel so awkward and wonky, and certainly the lack of sheet music doesn’t help. In fact I was hoping that we’d have some sheet music here in the library, but it must all be in Mozart’s room, since I don’t see much here.”

“Not unless you count some very old chorus books,” Leonardo agreed. “Why don’t you just ask Mozart about it?”

“I told you, I don’t want him to find out. Especially now when I’m at my worst. I’m sure he’ll be rather, well, rather unimpressed.”

“I still don’t think that Mozart would say anything against you,” Leonardo said skeptically.

“I agree,” Isaac chimed in. “You two always seem completely devoted to one another, in fact it’s rather annoying. What I mean,” the physicist continued as she shot him a look, “is that I don’t think that Mozart would be anything but further enamored with you if you told him that you played an instrument.”

“See, Isaac agrees with me, and he’s not the kind to honey his words.”

“Still…” she trailed off. They were probably right. I mean, of course they were, weren’t they two of the greatest historical minds? Still, still. She just couldn’t do it. At the end of the day, she was just too scared.

Uttering an excuse about how she needed to do the dishes the young woman left the library, a half-hearted “I’ll think about it” as her last words on the subject. The pit in her stomach seemed only to be opening farther, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was drowning in her emotions.

That evening was a rather distracted one, as she floated half-heartedly through her workload. Dinner was spent listening to the conversation flow in and out of her ears, never truly reaching her in any meaningful capacity. The only thing that managed to reach her was Mozart discreetly squeezing her hand under the table, a gesture she returned gratefully for Mozart’s actions brought her nothing but happiness. That evening she practiced for an hour, letting the familiar notes of one of the etudes she had memorized wash over her, the familiar pattern of her jumping fingers a comfort. At least she could still play this relatively well. Perhaps it was the only thing that she could.

It was the fourth day since she’d started practicing the violin, the sixth since Mozart had started going over to the house of Saint-Germain’s friend to rehearse, and the day before the soiree was actually to be held. The composer had gone out in the middle of the day for something, and despite everything the young woman found herself pulling the worn violin case out from under her bed. It was easier to play in the daytime, the sun seemed to clear away the worries, the uncertainty. Though the young woman knew that the violin was no lighter than it been yesterday, she nevertheless passed through her scales quicker, marveling at what one could do when the fatigues of everyday life had not yet set in, and when the worries of the world were still off one’s shoulders. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as she has thought.

This optimistic view was shattered the moment the door swung open, revealing a very surprised Mozart. Immediately the joy the violinist felt shattered into horror, the beautiful day having apparently betrayed her.

The young woman honestly couldn’t quite remember how the whole conversation went. She didn’t know how she replied to Mozart’s inquiry, and she didn’t remember how she escaped the room. She couldn’t even remember if she managed to put the violin back in the case. What she did remember however was the incredulous look on her lover’s face, the words “what are you doing” passing coldly through his perfect lips, the sinking feeling in her stomach that she was right to think that he would be disappointed in her.

As soon as the sun went down and Mozart was safely out of the house the young woman went back to the third floor. Though it was certainly less dusty before the air of mystery still pervaded the room, although the urge to explore it had long since left her. After all, was she not suffering the consequences of ill-advised curiosity right now? No, best to let it lie. Just as it was best to return the violin to its rightful spot in storage, since she evidently had no need for it now. It deserved better anyways, deserved to be played by someone with at least a modicum of talent. Unlike her, who could not even play a few scales correctly. What a bunch of nonsense.

Still she couldn’t help the bitter feeling that spread through her chest as she took one last look at the case and closed the door. Despite the frustration, despite the poor intonation and the lack of memory and the screeching E string, she still rather loved playing the violin. The way that the notes emanated from her fingers, the pure full sound of the chords. Ah, how she loved it so much. But she couldn’t keep doing this, not now that Mozart knew that she was a mere imitation of a violinist.

That Mozart seemed to completely avoid her the next day – having apparently gone out in the morning and having spent the afternoon preparing for the soiree – certainly didn’t help her much flagged mood. Yes, she knew logically that it was probably just bad timing, but that still didn’t stop thought from flying around her head, fears that somehow she had shamed him so much that he refused to be near her. Yes, perhaps that was thinking very lowly of his character, but she couldn’t help herself. It was all too much, and try as she might the young lady couldn’t totally chase these fears out of her, having to settle for distraction.

When Mozart left for the soiree, having not even said goodbye, all the energy the young woman might’ve had suddenly left her. There was no likelihood of talking to Mozart tonight, at least not if she wanted not to be incoherent with fatigue. Though she tried to get through the rest of the day Sebastian, being ever-vigilant, gave her an early dinner and sent her on her way. Climbing the stairs the young woman realized how tired she was, and how good some sleep might be, at least to drown out all her thoughts for a while.

There was something rather odd on her bed. Though all logic pointed towards it being a violin case, she could not quite bring herself to believe it. The case itself was gorgeous, the wood having been carved to perfection, varnished so as to not disturb its beautiful dark sheen. When she finally got up the courage to touch the case, not entirely convinced that she wasn’t simply dreaming, it was smooth to the touch. The locks were quick to open, and the catch did not stick. The inside was padded in a silverly silk, well-stuffed and sure to keep any cold out. Yet it was the violin that caught her, for it was a beautiful one.

Slowly she lifted it up, tightening the bow with apprehension. The first few notes she attempt came out clear and pure, the rest similar in their brightest, in the fullness of their tone. Yes, this was a beautiful violin.

Underneath the case was a few loose pages of sheet music, the writing on it was impossible to mistake. Mozart’s hand, despite being rather loopy in letters, was perfectly made for writing sheet music, clear and separate and perfectly legible – not something one could say of all composers. Yet how could this be? Did someone become aware of the fact she had put the violin away? Had they stolen Mozart’s works? And yet the paper seemed to be rather new, the pieces unfamiliar to her. There was only one explanation, even if it was one she could not bring herself to accept. There must be some mistake. Perhaps Mozart ordered a new violin and one of the members of the mansion thought to bring it to her room, instead of walk into his study and perhaps accidentally bump into something. Yes, that must’ve been the answer, and that being so she could not keep playing it. Tremulously she put the violin back in the case, setting it on the seat at the foot of her bed, and falling quickly into a confused and dreamless sleep.

She woke to her lover leaning over her, softly tracing stray locks of her hair across her face.

“Wolfie?”

“It’s me. I’m sorry to have woken you up. Being Saint-Germain’s friends the performance went well into the night.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Why should I be? Such a waste of time, I could have been composing all those days. But at least it is over now. Everyone seemed to like the performance.”

“I’m glad to hear.”

For a moment the two stared awkwardly at each other, the agitation plain on each of their faces. And though that was not necessarily surprising to Mozart, it was to the young woman, who knew that her partner seemed on the verge of asking something, yet was engaging in the small talk he usually put down as a waste of time.

“Did you, ah, did you see the new violin.”

“Oh? Oh yes, I did. It looks very beautiful I’m sure, well, I’m sure it will do you well.”

“Me well?” Confusion painted the composer’s usually serene face.

“Well, yes. After all, isn’t it for you?”

“Of course not! Why should I get a violin when I have one that suits me perfectly well as it is? Honestly, what kind of madman do you take me for?”

“I, well…”

“It’s for you! I thought you were slow at some points but honestly! I don’t know why I bother.” The scarlet that colored Mozart’s face was undeniable, even in the dim light of the moon.

“Why would you get me a violin?”

“Well, if you want to play on that old one then you can! But I wouldn’t recommend it. Too much sweat damage on the neck, that one wasn’t meant to be played again I bet. Besides, I, I don’t know! It seemed like a good idea! I mean when Leonardo told me he was fixing up a violin for you… I know the man’s a genius but would you trust that one over a luthier? I wouldn’t.”

“Leonardo told you? But I told him that it was a secret!”

“I confronted him about it. It was obvious that you were distracted over something, and I was worried that, well. I know we, I, have had difficulty expressing myself in the past. And after everything that we’ve been through, well I’d rather not have any sort of repeat performance. And I thought even if you were angry at me or upset, I’d rather know than not.”

“But Wolf, I could never be angry at you. At least, if I were I wouldn’t tell everyone in the mansion but not you. And why didn’t you just ask me?”

The look on the composer’s face was so funny she couldn’t help but giggle – it seemed as if the thought had never crossed his mind. He may have improved, but he truly was the same Mozart in some ways that he had been when she had first entered the mansion. Prickly, prone to being roundabout, but caring nevertheless. Pressing a kiss lightly against his cheek she smiled at him.

“Well, I appreciate that you tried. Although I am rather peeved that you went to someone else, and that Leonardo told you. I’ll have to talk to him tomorrow. Still, I appreciate it.”

“Well, thank you. Although I also have a complaint.”

“And what is that?”

“Well, it’s simply that some idiot with moths in her brain thought it more prudent to sneak around and try to covertly practice than tell me that she played an instrument. I thought that, well, after all the time we’ve known each other it stung a bit. I mean, are we not fellow musicians, all else aside?”

It was a short statement, but one that made her heart stutter anyways. Looking down for a moment she began to play with the covers between her fingers, trying to think of how to put into words all the emotions that had gone through her this past week.

“The thing is, well, um,” why were the words so difficult to get out? “It’s just that I’m an amateur, a student. I never played in a professional orchestra, only youth orchestras and other school and community programs. I know I’m not the best violinist under the sun, honestly, it’s a miracle I got into some of the programs I did. I know that, and compared to you I mean, how can I even compete? Not that I’m trying to be better than you of course! It’s only that not only could I not keep up with you, I’d fall flat on my face within the first few minutes. I just, I didn’t want you to be, embarrassed by me.”

For a moment the room was silent, and her heart flagged. Perhaps it was better to have said nothing. Then however the light touch of her partner’s fingers graced her jaw, lifting her head up to meet her eyes with his.

“I could never think so low of a fellow musician. Never think so low of you. Yes, perhaps your technique was not perfect, and your intonation poor, and your vibrato unsettled and your memory for pieces appears utterly gone a-”

“Mozart.”

“Sorry, the teacher in me. Anyways, what I mean is that I know that you have talent, and even if you didn’t, though such a thing is impossible, I could feel your passion. Before I opened the door, when I was standing there, well, I mean, it wasn’t half bad. And I do think that if you buckled down you could improve a great deal.”

Though not perhaps the most romantic statement ever made, the young woman couldn’t help but feel her heart lighten, more than it had at any point in the past few days. Throwing her arms around the composer, who immediately turned beat red and began sputtering incoherently, she buried her face in his neck.

“Thank you Wolfgang. Truly, thank you.”

“I was just giving my professional opinion,” he murmured, looking away.

“Whatever you say,” she giggled. Mozart may have retained his prickliness, but that could not deter the meaning of his words, or the joy she took from them.

The next day the young woman opened the violin case as soon as she was done with the morning preparations. Humming the tuning pitches softly to herself she relished the openness of her actions, the fact that she didn’t have to slink away to practice anymore. After some scales she looked at the first etude in the pile that Mozart had given to her. Grimacing slightly at the key – Ab major – she nevertheless took great joy out of the first chord that she struck from the violin.

As she played she heard the soft lilting tone of Mozart’s piano. The notes reached her ears and mingled with her own music, creating a perfect sound. Ah Mozart, she thought to herself, you really cannot stop yourself from your own kindness.

And though he’d be loath to deny it, the smile that graced Mozart’s face as he played along with the one he loved was that of perfect bliss.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Can I ask for an request where Levi is a soldier who is pointed to protect a royal person. Then he fell in love with her active attitude, smart brain and support to the scout

AN: This took me so long. I deleted it like three times on accident so this is as good as its going to get 😂. do let me know though if I misspelled anything I didn't skim over it sooooo YOLO.

Summary: Levi is asked to attend the summer gala with !princess reader.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Warnings: mentions of Levi's scarring, some cussing? I think? that's about it

__________

Levi's hand trembled as he ran the fine toothed comb through his damp hair. He scowled back at his own reflection, eyes avoiding the pink scars that marred his skin. It had been nearly a year since he had been discharged from the military due to his injuries. At first he had struggled to find a routine, having been in the military for more than half of his life, it was a huge loss.

His hand jerked unexpectedly and the comb pulled through a knot in his hair painfully. He clicked his tongue and dropped the comb, gripping the edges of the sink to steady himself.

How pathetic.

There was a time when he could complete these tasks with no problem. But now his body seemed to be failing him, if he stood for too long his joints protested, he struggled to hold a pen due to his lack of fingers. He also wore an eyepatch to cover his milky right eye and some of the scars that covered the right side of his face.

Normally Hange would help him get ready, they were the only person he could stomach seeing him this way. But Hange was busy, they had meetings all morning. So Levi was left on his own, and he managed as well as he could. Although it took him double the amount of time it usually took, he still did it.

He grabbed his cane on his way out of his humble apartment, the carriage was waiting for him outside. In the carriage was the last person he wished to see, Zeke Jaeger. His glasses glinted in the sunlight as the coachman held the door for Levi who sat as far away from the war chief as possible.

Zeke blew out a puff of smoke, which swirled around in the small space. Levi's lip curled into a sneer, and Zeke smirked pleased to rouse a reaction from the retired Captain.

"Big day today eh Levi?" He spoke around his cigarette and Levi rolled his eyes.

"I suppose." He agreed, eyes never leaving the man.

That was about the only words exchanged between the two, the ride was thankfully short. The carriage arrived to the castle just after noon, the coachmen opened the door for Levi and Zeke. The sunlight was bright and made Levi squint, it didn't help that the castle seemed to glow as the sun bounced off of it.

"This way old friend." Zeke instructed and Levi followed begrudgingly, Zeke led Levi through the halls and into a large ball room. The castle staff was scurrying about, carrying massive bouquets of flowers and other decorations in preparation for the summer gala. Levi had attended this very event many times over his career, but he had not intended on joining in this year. Zeke paused a few feet away from Erwin, who was standing before a young woman Levi had met a handful of times. You had aged in the past two years that he hadn't seen you, although you weren't any taller, he could see the age on your face. Much as he assumed you could see in his, you also carried yourself more confidently, shoulders back, chin up.

Erwin paused and turned to greet the two men, who both saluted him and you.

"Captain, how nice to see you." You hummed, a pleased glint in your eyes as you curtsied, much to his surprise.

"You as well Zeke." You seemed less excited to see the war chief.

"Princess, you look lovely." Zeke closed the distance between the two of you, taking your hand a bit too eagerly and bringing it to his lips. You smiled a bit tersely, but allowed it.

"Ah, and you look...as hairy as the last time we met." Your jab threw Levi off, but Erwin seemed to have expected the exchange. Zeke laughed heartily and pulled back.

"Such a sharp tongue on you princess." He chuckled and you shrugged, a smug grin on those lips of yours.

"You make it easy."

"Princess, you are aware that Levi is to accompany you to this year's gala yes?" Erwin steered the conversation in a more relevant direction and you nodded.

"Mhm, and I'm very excited to be escorted by Eldia's most eligible bachelor." Levi wasn't sure if you meant it sincerely, or if it was his turn to face the wrath of your sharp words.

"I'm sure you are." Erwin chuckled, his hand falling on the back of your tricep. You gathered your skirts and took a few steps closer to Levi.

"The last time we met, you weren't keen on dancing, I do hope that's changed." You smirked at him and Levi barely fought the flush off of his cheeks as you pushed past him.

"We can go in the drawing room and discuss logistics, the gala is a mere week away after all-" Levi tuned out whatever it was Erwin was babbling about, too focused on watching you saunter out of the room.

__

Levi spent the next week trailing behind Erwin, attending meetings and luncheons with other high ranking military members. It was boring, but nothing that he hadn't done before. The day of the gala, Hange arrived with the remaining of the 104th cadet corps. Levi felt great relief at seeing the familiar faces, Hange had eagerly came to hug him, and he pretended to hate it. Mikasa even came and gave him the briefest of embraces, Connie had been the most excited, throwing his arms around his former captain and squeezing him tightly. Armin had grinned sheepishly, and offered a small wave. Jean just nodded respectively in Levi's direction. Gabby and Falco had tagged along as well, wearing their best uniforms, decorated with their medals.

"I can't believe we get to come to the summer gala!" Connie gushed, his hazel eyes wide as he soaked in the castle in all of its glory.

"We won a war." Jean huffed, eyes sharp, hand fidgeting with his medal on his lapel.

"We lost more than we won." Mikasa murmured, her own shaky hands reaching for a scarf that was no longer wrapped around her neck. The cheery mood quickly dissipated at Mikasa's statement, Hange cleared their throat and clapped their hands in an attempt to drag everyone from their thoughts.

"Let's go meet Erwin then." They said, and Levi nodded.

"Let's." The group walked through the halls, Hange in the lead and Levi at their side, it felt like old times. The kids, well they weren't really kids anymore, were beginning to return to their annoying selves.

"-will we be able to eat the food?" Gabby asked, and Levi nearly flinched, the statement reminded him all too much of Sasha. Connie seemed less phased, he sighed and brought his arms behind his neck as they walked.

"I sure hope so."

"We're here on business." Mikasa reminded them and Jean hummed in agreement.

"We're here as representatives." Armin added, and Hange chuckled.

"Use this as an opportunity children." Hange cooed, pausing in front of the doors to the drawing room.

"Have some fun, get drunk, you've earned it." Hange then pushed the doors open, revealing the cozy drawing room, Erwin sat with his legs crossed in one of the arm chairs, a book in his lap. He closed the book and stood, his sleeve hanging limply where his arm once was.

"Cadets, erm or should I say captains." Erwin chuckled awkwardly as the kids all jumped to salute him, fists clenched over their hearts.

"Commander." They all greeted in unison.

"Sit, we have much to discuss."

__

The discussion was rather tame, a short bit of it had been relevant. Where the kids were to stand, what they were to say and how they were expected to act. The rest of the afternoon had been spent catching up and enjoying each other's company. Just a few hours before the guests were to arrive, Erwin sent the group off to find their spots.

Levi found himself waiting outside of your room, his watch gripped tightly in his fist, watching the minutes tick by. You emerged about fifteen minutes after him arriving, your dress was a deep emerald green, elegantly hugging your frame in all of the right places. You smoothed the silk gown skirts and smiled at him, the red lipstick on your lips making your teeth seem extra white.

"You look ravishing Captain." You complimented, accepting his arm before walking slowly down the hall, careful to keep his pace.

"...as do you." He choked out, a blush tickling his ears.

"Did you get all done up for me?" You pressed, hand tightening around his bicep.

"No." He answered, although he was partially lying, the truth was all he could think about as he dressed, was you. How would you be dressed? Was he to match you? Or was he expected to wear his usual military dress? He had opted for the latter, and it seemed to work well, the inky black dress coat and the gold medals that decorated his lapels seemed to compliment the emerald in your dress.

"Well, I sure hope that you will at least dance with me." You pouted, shooting him a hopeful look.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, truthfully it was all that he could mange, he was nervous enough about joining you this evening. But you asking him to dance? He had never danced in his life, and with his legs in the state they were in now?

The two of you stopped, overlooking the ball room which was already filled with guests, milling about with flutes of champagne. You snuck a glance at Levi, who was looking down at the crowd with a bored glaze over his eyes.

"Ready?" You asked, squeezing his bicep once and he nodded, chin held high as the two of you slowly made your way down the staircase. Levi's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces, which he found in their designated spots. He knew that the king had asked him to accompany his daughter largely as a political move, not for protection as he had in the past. But old habits die hard, he double checked exits and kept an eye out for shady people, it was easier than looking at you after all. Not because you were ugly, rather the opposite, you were stunning and that intimidated him.

After at least forty five minutes of socializing, the dancing began and you tugged impatiently on his arm, which you had yet to let go of.

"Please Levi, just this once." You whispered so only he could hear, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at your closeness.

"Princess." He said sternly, although his voice did shake a tad, and you grinned, knowing that you had nearly convinced him.

"Captain." You countered, taking a step towards the dance floor.

"Just one." he said after a moment's hesitation before falling back in step with you.

"Just one." You affirmed with a wicked grin as you led him into the mass of bodies.

Levi felt his pulse race, his anxiety was roaring he had absolutely no clue how to dance, especially with his legs in the state that they were. You seemed to sense this, carefully taking his hand and resting it on your hip as you stepped ever so closely to him. Your chest was pressed against his, and he was sure that you could feel the pounding of his heart as it threatened to escape his ribcage.

"You just follow my lead." You whispered as he brought his other hand to rest naturally in the palm of yours. He nodded, eyes wandering down to glance at his feet, which were partially concealed by your skirts.

"It goes something like this, step-" You took a step towards him and he took one back.

"Then to the left," You instructed softly and he obliged, the two of you moving slightly out of sync.

"Then forwards again." You nodded as he stepped forwards and you stepped back, skirt swaying.

"Then to the right," You chuckled as his brows remained fixed in a tight knot as he tried to focus.

"Then we do it again." You seemed satisfied, and he nodded it was simple enough, although he could already feel the strain of the activity in his joints.

"Easy." He huffed, taking the lead and you giggled and fell into step with him.

"Tell me Levi, when you went across the ocean and fought those men, who were you fighting for?" The question caught him off guard and he nearly forgot the next step.

"That's an odd question." Levi shot you a mean look and you shrugged.

"I want to know what pushed Humanities strongest to be so strong." You answered, unfazed by his sour look.

"I fight for the people." He replied curtly and you sighed.

"That's a boring answer, I want to know what really drives you." You pressed and Levi frowned.

"Its the truth."

"Then tell me a lie." You raised a brow, challenging him and he screwed his nose up in distaste.

"Why would you want me to lie to you?" He asked out of genuine curiosity, no one had ever given him such a request.

"To spice some things up I guess." You hummed nonchalantly and squeezed your hand that held his.

"Then I would tell you I fought that war for you." He regretted the words, but you seemed to be pleased by them.

"Aw so you did think of me while we were apart." You cooed and Levi nearly broke away from you, but he only gripped your hand harder.

"You were the last thing on my mind." he huffed and you let out a throaty laugh. A lie, he thought of you often.

"You really are funny." You let your head fall affectionately into the crook of his neck and he swallowed thickly, as your scent washed over him.

"I didn't mean to be."

"I know, that's what makes it funny." Your breath tickled his neck as you spoke, you seemed to be in no hurry to pull away.

"Hmph." He hummed stupidly, unable to form words with you so close.

The song ended and you lifted your head, one of those wide grins sprawled across your lips.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" You whispered cheekily and he scoffed as the two of you exited the dance floor. You both found a seat at one of the tables set on the outskirts of the room, taking a break to drink and enjoy each others company.

Levi rubbed his knee under the table, the dance had truly taken a toll on him and he barely suppressed a groan. You noticed, shooting him a concerned look.

"Does it bother you often?" You asked, dragging your chair closer to his. He rolled his eye and pulled his hand slowly away from his leg.

"No."

"You're lying, just tell me the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to lie to you." He snapped back and you scoffed.

"Not about this." You reasoned and he sighed deeply.

"Yes, it hurts like a bitch." He turned to face you, his knee knocking yours and you frowned.

"You should've told me, I wouldn't have made you dance."

"I-" He paused, catching himself before the words left his mouth. But after one look at your open and concerned face he couldn't not say what he had been wanting to say.

"I wanted to." He admitted and your eyes widened a fraction.

"You...really wanted to?" Your words were raw and clearly Levi had caught you, the witty young princess off guard.

"I did."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"Hm." A smug look crossed your face and Levi scowled at you, not liking the way you seemed to be plotting something unbeknownst to him.

"What?" He snapped and you let out a short burst of laughter.

"I knew that you weren't lying when you said that you thought about me." You teased and he growled lowly under his breath.

"Maybe that was your last dance with me."

"Easy now, let's not be hasty, we have the whole night after all darling." You patted his shoulder, standing slowly and walking around the back of his chair to squeeze his shoulders before slipping off into the crowd.

He hoped that you meant it, that you would come back even if he could not dance with you again. He hoped that you had thought of him too, that his fighting had all been worth it. To spend the rest of his life by your side, even if he was just your guard or even a political ploy. He would do it for you, and he would do so happily.

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: L - Language 

Summary: Jason doesn’t hesitate to drag his brothers down with him when Bruce starts reprimanding him about the type of language he uses on a daily basis. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Well this is just a load of bullshit! Why do they have to intervene? We’re perfectly capable of handling this.” Jason huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He can’t believe what he's hearing.

On the opposite side of the table Bruce levels him with a hard look. “Watch your language Jason.”

Jason blinks before sitting up straight. “What, it’s not like the kid is currently around to overhear."

“Jason!”

Glaring at the man, Jason scowls. This seems to be a regular topic of conversation between them recently because according to Bruce Jason swears too much, especially when he’s around Damian. The man, for whatever reason, wants Jason to be a good role model for the kid and apparently that includes him not swearing.

So now anytime he swears, Bruce points it out with a matching scolding tone and expression.

It’s a ridiculous notion because Jason being who he is was brought up with swearing, living on the streets for so many years exposed him to all kinds of things, one of which being the language people use. Swearing is just part of his vocabulary, half of the time he isn’t even aware he is doing it. As long as he’s not swearing at someone, then surely there should be some leniency.

“Oh come on!” He exclaims with a wave of his hands. “He’s been raised as an assassin, he was already tainted before we even met. Me saying a few words isn’t doing any harm.”

Before Bruce could respond a new voice joins the conversation. “To be fair you do swear a lot. Maybe you should try and tone it down.”

Jason turns to his right to glare at his older brother who’s lounging comfortably next to him. “Oh fuck off, Dick, no one asked for your opinion.”

Dick stares back unimpressed, he raises both eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

Jason recalls what he said and grits his teeth.

He points menacingly at Dick. “That doesn’t prove anything. Quite frankly I grew up in Crime Alley, of course I’m gonna swear, you hear it every minute in that place and typically as a kid you’re gonna pick up the habit. You know what they say old habits die hard.”

“Just like you did?” A different voice retorts with a snort.

Jason switches his gaze to Tim, who is opposite him next to Bruce currently playing with his phone, and blinks at him in surprise. “Uh, excuse me? I don’t know whether to be insulted or proud by that.”

It’s usually only him who makes death jokes so it’s come as a surprise to find Tim making one, a well-timed one too. Jason shakes his head, he’ll deal with those emotions at another time.

“Anyway, if we’re talking about who swears too much then why aren’t you giving Tim a lecture? He swears like a bloody sailor. If anyone needs reprimanding on his language it’s him!”

Tim abruptly stops fiddling with his phone and looks up, he rolls his eyes and glowers at him. “Jesus Christ that’s so immature Jason. How old are you, 10? I’m no way near as bad as you.”

His response gets a gleeful chuckle out of Jason. He knows exactly how the next few minutes are about to play out and he can’t wait. While the focus of the conversation had been on him, he’s glad for the opportunity to move it onto someone else and Tim happens to be perfect for the new spotlight.

Without any hesitation Jason digs into his pocket and grabs his phone. Once he has the device in hand he starts searching for the video he has saved for this very purpose. Call him petty, but he knew it would be good blackmail material one day.

“Oh really?” He drawls out, finally finding the video he had been looking for, “then what do I have here…” Jason clicks play and puts it on speaker so everyone in the room would be able to hear the audio.

After a second the sound of Tim’s voice could be heard. The teenager was clearly angry about something and certainly wasn’t holding back from letting his anger be known through his choice of words.

“You bloody bastard, why won’t you work you piece of shit. By god this is pissing me off now, I’ve been at this all fucking day and you’re still not fucking working. I am going to kill…”

The recording lasts for about a minute and is filled with Tim swearing his head off, cursing at everything and everyone and making empty threats. Once it’s finished Jason turns his phone off, puts it back in his pocket and leans back in his chair feeling smug about the situation.

“I rest my case.”

His words are met with a stunned silence in the room. Tim is blushing hard with his head buried in his hands. Next to him Bruce looks concerned, probably for Tim’s mental health and wellbeing. Dick’s staring at Tim with shock spread across his features.

After a few beats Tim lifts his head from his hands but keeps his eyes down staring at the table so he could avoid everyone’s eyes. “Okay in my defence the technology was really piss–annoying me. It wouldn’t work and I couldn’t work out why so I got frustrated and that happened.”

His response makes Jason snort and causes Dick to shake his head in disbelief. He knew Tim could be feisty but until that moment he never realised how bad his temper could get. Jason’s honestly impressed. However that doesn’t mean he’s letting Tim get away with it, especially when he’s getting blamed for something Tim does just as much of as him.

If he's going down then he’s dragging Tim down with him. It’s just unfortunate that he doesn’t have anything on Dick.

Jason’s broken out of his thoughts on ways he could get blackmail material on Dick when Tim speaks up again. He’s finally looking up at everyone though his still flushed face shows his prior embarrassment.

“Let’s be honest, is swearing really all that bad? As long as we’re not swearing at people then I think it’s fine. We’re not harming anyone. Who cares if we swear a little too much. And anyway, doesn’t everyone swear at some point?”

“Clark doesn’t.” Dick pipes up next to him.

Jason snorts. “That’s because big blue is a boy scout, of course he isn’t going to swear. He doesn’t count. Plus we’re from Gotham after all, it’s not like this is the most impeccable place in the world.”

Dick becomes thoughtful, humming his response. “Yeah that’s true I guess.”

“Boys.”

The three brother’s all turn and look at Bruce who had called for their attention. Jason had forgotten the man was even there, he had surprisingly been quiet until now. Maybe it’s because Clark was brought into the conversation, it must have peaked his interest. Jason files that information away for later.

“It doesn’t matter how much any of you swear, you shouldn’t do it at all. Damian is still young, he doesn’t need to grow up listening to that sort of language despite his initial upbringing.” Bruce firmly says, looking at each of them in turn. “You all know better and have good manners, going forward I expect you to use them.”

As Bruce rattles on about proper manners and the importance of them, Jason finds himself resisting the urge to smile. With every second that passes, it threatens to break out on his face. What makes matters worse is that he knows he shouldn’t smile, this isn’t a smiling matter considering how serious Bruce is being but the man is making it difficult to concentrate and to take the topic seriously.

Jason glances to the right to find Dick staring at Bruce with a hand covering the lower part of his face and Jason can tell that his brother is in the exact same boat as he is.

Apparently all it takes for him to break is Dick to glance at him and for them to make eye contact.

After that Jason couldn’t help himself but to burst out laughing, next to him Dick also breaks out into a fit of giggles. They laugh for a good while until they’re able to start calming down, by that point Jason’s cheeks are hurting and he even had tears forming in his eyes. As he takes a deep breath to compose himself he makes the mistake of looking over at Dick again, Dick looks back at him too and just like that they fall into another uncontrollable laughing fit.

While laughing Jason gets a glimpse of a confused looking Tim and a disappointed Bruce, but it’s Bruce’s scowling expression that triggers off another wave of giggles.

It takes even longer for the two of them to calm down. As he sits there Jason repeatedly takes deep breaths in order to collect himself. Once he’s calmed down a little, now able to breathe somewhat normally, he could feel how his sides are aching, how his cheeks hurt from the wide smiling and the tears coming from his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard that it hurt, and over something so trivial nonetheless.

When it feels like he’s finally composed himself he risks a glance at Dick to find his brother also in the state of calming down though there’s still a wide grin on face. He then looks at Bruce who is still staring at the two of them with his disappointed look. That’s almost enough to set himself off again. Almost.

“If you’re both quite done, we have important business to discuss, may I remind you that being the reason we’re meeting to begin with.”

“Hey, you’re the one who started on the whole language topic that derailed us in the beginning.” Jason defends himself and his brother’s. All Bruce does is huff at that, knowing Jason is right and can’t defend himself against it otherwise. Jason smirks victoriously.

Opposite him, Tim sighs loudly and makes a show to sitting up straight and sorting out some of the paperwork between them all on table. “Enough already, can we just go over the details and the police reports again and get to the end of this. I have better things to do than hear everyone bicker about language and manners.”

Dick gives the youngest a side look. “What you got planned? Is that who you were messaging just now? Is it your boyfriend?”

“What? No. Just friends. I ain’t telling you.” Tim snaps glaring at Dick.

Jason whistles. “Timmy’s getting some tonight then eh? Make sure to stay safe and use protection.”

“Jason!”

“Well he’s not wrong Tim, but where are you going? We need to know so if something happens we know where to look first.” Dick’s looking more concerned by the minute and Jason could see the flip switch from carefree older brother to over-bearing mother hen.

Tim blinks at them before turning his gaze to Bruce. In a whining voice he pleads the man, “Bruce, get them to stop!”

To begin with all Bruce does is run a hand over his face like he’s regretting every life choice he’s made and how he would rather be anywhere else but here. After a moment he sends exasperated looks at his eldest sons.

“Not much more to go, then we should be all caught up and ready to proceed with the case further tomorrow. Is it too much to ask for your full attention for the remaining hour?”

Jason sighs and sits up straighter, knowing play time is over and it’s time to be serious. One more hour won’t hurt, then afterwards there’s nothing stopping him from having a little fun is there. He nods at Bruce and picks up the piece of paper closet to him to examine the page. Dick does the same and finally Bruce proceeds with their meeting.

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys Taking Care of a Sick MC

In honor of me no longer having covid, I decided to write down how I mentally coped with having the plague  some headcanons about our boys and a sick MC. Because I’m all about the hurt/comfort life.

-----

Lucifer: “You should be resting.”

The human scowled. Of course Lucifer was standing guard at the bottom of the staircase.

“I’m just going to get some water,” their voice sounded like sandpaper against wood as they spoke. They felt like the living dead, and judging by the cool stare Lucifer was giving them, they looked it, too.

“No, you’re just going back to bed.” He caught them by the elbow as soon as they were within reach. “I’ll bring a pitcher of water to your room for you.”

“Lucif--” their complaint was cut off by a sudden coughing fit. The force of it made them double over, and they clutched at their chest with one hand while the other went to cover their mouth. Demons couldn’t catch human illnesses, but old habits die hard.

It wasn’t until their lungs stopped trying to eject themselves from their body that they realized that Lucifer had sat them down on the bottom step. He was rubbing slow, soothing circles on their back, a rare look of concern in his dark eyes. “Easy now, my dear,” he murmured as they caught their breath. “You’re shaking, are you chilled?”

“...Just a little,” they wheezed. They must not have sounded very convincing, because Lucifer quickly removed one glove and gently pressed the back of his hand against their forehead.

“Your fever has come back.” In one quick, fluid movement, he had taken the cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it around them like a blanket. “Go back to bed, now. I’ll bring you water and something to bring your fever down,” he spoke softly, like raising his voice would trigger another coughing fit.

It was too bad they were too sick to appreciate Lucifer’s soft side.

Mammon: “…A’ight, that should be everything.”

Admittedly, he might have gone a bit overboard. But, could you blame him? He’d never nursed a sick human back to health before!

…Okay, so Lucifer may or may not have let Mammon use his credit card to get stuff for them. And he may or may not have taken a few liberties. It was for the human though!

“Mammon, holy shit,” they mumbled, poking their head out from the blanket burrito they had cocooned themselves in. “Is there anything left at the convenience store or did you buy them out?”

“Shut it.” he set the last six-pack of Gatorade (well, the Devildom equivalent of it, anyway) at the foot of their bed. “Ya’ weren’t specific, so I just got one of each!”

Their room looked like a doomsday prepper’s bunker. Cans of soup, a myriad of flavors of instant noodles, a portable heater, the works. Maybe they should have been more specific.

“Do ya’ need anything else?” Mammon sounded vaguely annoyed, but underneath the gruff tone he spoke with, his concern was obvious. They had given him a scare when they first came down with the flu two days ago, temperature so high that they ended up collapsing on their way to RAD. He had been fussing over them since. They weren’t even sure if he had slept.

“...Just one more thing.”

“Yeah?” he perked up like a dog waiting for an order from its master. “Whaddaya need?”

Instead of speaking, they wiggled their arms free of the blankets and held them out. For a moment, Mammon just stared at them in confusion. When what they were asking for finally clicked, his face grew so hot they could use it as a space heater.

“What are you, a little kid?” he grumbled, but there wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he climbed into the bed with them. They settled themselves against his chest, sighing contentedly. Sleep had taken over in a few heartbeats.

“...Get better soon, you hear?” they didn’t, obviously, and Mammon took the opportunity to gently pat their head, like they so often did for him. “If you’re gonna be all cute and stuff, I want ya to be conscious of it.”

Leviathan: “You know, I really thought you would take longer to go through all of these.”

The human looked like a whole new person compared to the last time Levi had seen them. They were sitting upright, although they looked ready to slide back down into their previous coma-like state any minute, and the number of blankets wrapped around them had been reduced to just one instead of three. They managed to shoot him a weak grin as they handed over the manga he had let them borrow.

As much as Levi loved staying locked away in his inner sanctum, it was only an enjoyable experience if one’s source of entertainment was also locked away with them. And he couldn’t, in hood conscience, let the human die of boredom instead of dying of illness, so he had ventured out of his lair armed with his collector’s edition box set of I’m A Scholarship Student At An Obscenely Rich School and Now I Have To Work Off A Debt Because I Broke A Vase That Belonged To A Host Club!

That had only been a few days ago, but this morning he had gotten a text from them saying that they were finished.

“It’s not like I have anything else to do, Levi.”

“Pretty sure you could have been sleeping, but okay.”

They stuck their tongue out. “I couldn’t put it down.”

“Right?” Levi nodded enthusiastically, clutching the box to his chest like it was worth his weight in gold. Actually, knowing him, he probably paid his weight in gold for it. “I definitely bawled my eyes out at the end. You have to watch the anime next, the music really brings the scene together. And, like, I’m not usually into pastel themes, but the color scheme actually really fits the mood, and - “

Somewhere in the middle of Levi’s overly-excited info dumping, the human’s eyes had slipped closed. By the time Levi realized he was geeking out, their breathing had evened out and they had slumped against the headboard.

…Oh. They looked really cute like that.

“Sheesh, c’mon, normie,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I bored you to sleep.”

He set down the box on their nightstand and, very carefully, so he didn’t wake them up, inched them down to lay were laying against the mountain of pillows they had. Once they were settled into a position that wouldn’t give them a crick in their neck, he pulled the blanket up to their chin.

“There,” he nodded to himself. “You rest up, because you and I are going to have an anime marathon, and I won’t forgive you if you fall asleep in the middle of it.”

They mumbled, but otherwise stayed unconscious. Levi had definitely seen this in an anime before. His heart was pounding somewhere around his throat, but he wasn’t getting this opportunity again any time soon. Gently, like he was approaching a wild animal, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“Seriously, get better soon.” he murmured. “I don’t like seeing you sick.”

Satan: His leg was falling asleep.

He had been sitting in the same position for at least an hour, and if it were anyone else he simply would have shoved them off and went about his day. But, how could he push the human away when they were curled up like a kitten in his lap?

They had been complaining about being bored, since they had been too feverish to attend RAD for the past few days. So Satan, always the man with a plan, had arrived in their room ready to binge watch his favorite crime drama. Even though he had seen this show at least eight times, he still found himself getting absolutely sucked into the plot. So much so that he didn’t notice the human starting to nod off until they landed against his side.

“Honestly, you could have just told me you were tired.” he muttered, gently rearranging them so their head was resting in his lap. They made a small noise in their sleep, but otherwise remained unconscious.

It was so rare that the human was still. They seemed to have an endless source of energy, able to be embroiled in all of the shenanigans that tended to happen around the family without absolutely disintegrating. To have them finally at rest, even sick, was quite the treat. Satan couldn’t quit help himself as he reached down to pet their head.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here until they woke up, at least he had a good show to watch.

Asmodeus: “Asmo, I can bathe by myself.”

“Yeah, no, don’t even try it.” Asmo shook his head as he ushered the human into his bedroom. “You passed out in the shower the other day, darling. This is the only time I’m grateful for Mammon’s snooping, because you might still be there if he hadn’t heard you fall.”

They subconsciously touched the sore spot on their shoulder where they had collided with the wall. The pain blended in with the rest of their body aches, but the bruise certainly didn’t.

“Besides,” Asmo sat them down on the chaise lounge. “A nice, hot bath with some quality oils will rejuvenate you like nothing else. Now, go on, strip.”

When they gave him a clearly unamused look, he just laughed. “Not while you’re sick, darling. You know full well being with me requires you to be at peak energy.”

With a sigh, they began peeling themselves out of their days-old pajamas. Admittedly, they did feel like a bath would help them feel a little better. They were pretty sure they read somewhere that the steam from hot water would help clear out all the gunk in their chest. And if anyone knew the intricate rituals of bath time, it was Asmodeus.

While they were stripping, Asmo had made his way over to the Grecian temple that was his bathtub and turned on the tap. After a few moments of running his hand under the stream to test the temperature, he stood and began browsing his impressive collection of bath accoutrements. “Hm, let’s see, let’s see…here it is!”

Asmo turned around, holding up the little bottle like he had just found buried treasure. “Eucalyptus, to help clear out the lungs. It’s good for muscle aches, too!”

With a flourish, he put a few drops into the water. “Alright, ready. Can you get in yourself or do you need my help?”

“I’ve got the flu, not the plague, Asmo.”

“You. Fell. In. The. Shower.” he punctuated each word with a poke to their cheek before holding out his hand to help them. Although they grumbled, they were still feeling kind of weak, so they allowed Asmo to pull them up.

“There, now, easy does it,” he spoke softly as he guided them to sit on the edge of the tub. If this were any other situation, they would be painfully aware of the fact that they were completely naked in front of the Avatar of Lust. But, the fragrant steam rising from the water was beginning to ease the ache in their chest, and Asmo’s soft hands had begun massaging their shoulders. They barely even noticed when they were fully seated.

“You’re not coming in?” they murmured sleepily as Asmo sat himself along the edge of the tub. He just laughed.

“Next time, darling. Now, you just relax and let me take care of you.”

Beelzebub: The phrase “don’t have much of an appetite” just didn’t make sense to Beel. How could someone not want to eat? Maybe he was a bit biased, being the ever-starving Avatar of Gluttony, but still. Humans needed lots of nutrients to get better when they were sick, right? He was pretty sure that was what Satan told him.

Beel scowled, scrolling through the eighteenth listicle about foods to eat when sick. Honestly, he was making himself hungry, but he was starting to get the general idea. Looks like he’s making them some soup.

The kitchen was separated into “human” and “demon” sections, after the one time that they almost used cyanide instead of salt. Human cuisine took less time and involved less magic, so Beel knew his way around the human spice cabinet. Making the soup was the easy part, making sure it got to its intended recipient was another matter.

Climbing the stairs to the human’s room felt like a Herculean task, but he did it - mostly. He may have taken a few bites here and there. But he had purposely put more in the bowl than he knew they would be able to eat, so it was fine, right? He knocked on their door twice, listening to them shuffle around before they finally called out weakly that the door was open.

“I brought food.” he said, shutting the door behind him. “You haven’t been eating much lately.”

They poked their head miserably out of the blanket burrito they had wrapped themselves in. A thin sheen of sweat covered their forehead, but they were shaking, which meant their fever hadn’t broken yet. Did humans always take this long to get better? Another question for Satan.

“I’m not really hungry, Beel.” they mumbled, voice thick and gravelly due to the sore throat they had. “You can eat it.”

Shaking his head, Beel sat himself down on the bed beside them. “I had some already.”

“Have some more.”

“No, I made it for you.” his stomach growled, completely undermining his words. “It’s basically just broth, you can drink it.”

They wiggled around for a bit before they managed to extract themselves from the absolute cocoon they had made. “…What kind of broth?”

“Just chicken, I promise.” he laughed. “I wasn’t about to try to get you to eat a Devildom recipe.”

Finally, they got themselves into a sitting position, but even that seemed to wear them out. They flopped against Beel’s shoulder, and he definitely didn’t like how hot their skin felt against his. Their breathing was ragged as they tried to get the energy to sit up.

“Here,” Beel dipped the spoon into the broth. “I’ll help.”

“I’m not a baby…”

“No, but you are really weak.” he replied gently. “Let me help you.”

He could feel the urge to protest vibrating through their body - their independence was definitely an endearing quality of theirs. But, eventually they must have come to the conclusion that a content of tenacity between the two of them was going to take longer than simply waiting out their illness. With a huff, they opened their mouth and let Beel feed them.

“Oh, wow, this is pretty good.”

“I’m a good cook if I don’t eat the ingredients first.”

Belphegor: “I thought humans slept a lot when they got sick.”

The bags under the human’s eyes were almost as intense as they glare they gave him. When the rest of the brothers had begun arguing over something stupid, Belphegor had taken the opportunity to bundle them up and whisk them away to the peace and quiet of the attic. His intent had been to take a nice long nap with them, but apparently their lungs had a different plan.

“We should,” they groaned, sounding like their throat was made of sandpaper. “Every time I feel like I’m going to fall asleep, I start coughing.”

“That sounds counter-intuitive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Belphie rolled over so that he was lying on his side, facing them. “Well then, you picked a good nap partner.”

They blinked blearily up at him. “Why is that?”

“Come here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out, tugging them towards him until they were settled comfortably against his chest with their head tucked beneath his chin. Although he wasn’t the tallest of the brothers, he had enough height to basically surround the human. “Can you hear my heartbeat?”

“I’m too tired for you cheesy lines, Belphie.”

“No, seriously, just listen.”

He could practically hear them roll their eyes, but they quieted down. Once he was sure they were synced up with the steady ba-bump, ba-bump of his heart, he began to work his magic - literally.

He brought his hand up to cup the back of their skull, fingertips tingling as he focused his magic their. They squirmed for a moment before sighing as the cool rush of Belphie’s special brand of sleep magic washed over them.

“I told you, being tired isn’t the prob - “

“Hush,” he murmured, letting them feel his voice rumble through his chest. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Belphie massaged their scalp like he was washing their hair, working his magic into their skin. Slowly but surely he felt them soften, the tightness in their chest easing. Finally, their slightly labored breathing evened out, and the poor human finally succumbed to sleep.

“About time,” he kissed the top of their head. “You need to rest if you want to get better, so let’s sleep as long as we like, okay?”

[toovirgins]

November, 2001

Summary: George Harrison reunites with an old friend.

There was a chill in the air.

All but uncomfortable, it was still and cool and calm, his skin refusing to prickle up into chills. There was no wind, or rain—bright, but no sun. Just air, all around him, refreshing and energizing and soothing all at once.

His eyes were closed. As his body began to come into itself, familiar sensations tickled up his spine. The first thing he noticed was the press of his feet and backside on the ground—must have been sitting cross-legged—and the feeling of dry, rough linen under the fingertips that rested on his thighs. His skin prickled as it recognized the feel of the linen up his torso as well.

He shifted slightly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. There was a certain mindfulness in practice, hyper-aware of the environment of his body: the cool, smooth ground beneath him, the scratch of the clothing on his skin, the curl of hair against his ear, the tickle of a mustache on his upper lip. When did he grow a mustache?

Internally, he felt… warm, cozy, almost as though in a deep state of meditation. His mind itself was drowsy, though he hadn’t tried to assess the situation much beyond physical sensation. He didn’t feel the need to.

It was nice. Peaceful, really. George couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong mind-body connection during meditation. There was nothing that existed besides the present; he had no past, and there was no future. It was not one of those times where the mindfulness revealed some grand ethereal Wisdom, and thus it somehow contained more truth. It was nothing and everything all at once.

Rather than let him enjoy this newfound spirituality, a familiar voice (in familiar habit) drew him out of the trance.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, mate!”

George languidly struggled to open his eyes, a half-fight as the voice dropped the silly tone and resorted to a short, sharp chuckle at his own antics. When the eyelids had finally pried themselves open and his vision focused, George frowned.

He looked like a picture, straight out of 1961. Standing before him, arms crossed as he bit his lip with childlike excitement at the reconciliation. George blinked, hardly believing the sight in front of him.

“John?”

“In the flesh,” he grinned. Then a pause. “Or, rather, anything but the flesh?”

John was in front of him, a quite young John, staring at him with a bit of a worried expectancy.

George’s stomach suddenly dropped.

His gaze flicked around the room wildly as unrestrained panic rose in his chest. They were in a room, though it wasn’t a room, just a dull white, not so much white as simply colourless, with no décor or wallpaper or flooring or furniture although somehow, he was now sitting in a chair.

He was dead.

John must have watched the color drain from his head, for he made his way over to where George was sitting and laid an uncertain hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, nothing mocking. Nothing to make a joke of. “Takes a minute.”

George suddenly remembered he’d been sick. It was feeding back into him, slowly, as if each thought trigged a new repressed memory. He’d been sick for some time now. Images of nurses and hospital and IV’s and the dread of going to “treatment” began to flood his mind, and he shuddered. He felt a stubborn powerlessness rise within him: yes, it had gotten progressively worse, but it was nothing the old chap couldn’t handle. He’d beat it once already. He’d been stabbed, for Chrissake.

How could this happen?

He thought of Olivia, and Dhani, and choked back a sob.

“I don’t want to be here,” he spluttered in a near-beg, his chest tightening in terror once more. “I can’t be here.”

John’s hand dropped to his side as he almost (almost) rolled his eyes. He held up an imaginary list with one hand, gesturing wildly at it with the other. “Join the queue of nearly every person ever.”

George felt a needle of annoyance shoot through the fear that was slightly ebbing away. He half-wondered if this was the acceptance people talked about in death: the strange inability to control your emotions, your body progressively growing used to the idea and the knowledge of your own helplessness.

“You could stand to be a bit more empathetic, you know. I’ve just died,” he reminded with sarcastic flair.

John smiled brightly at the twinge of normalcy in the expression.

The fear was almost entirely faded now, which struck a new worry in his mind. He couldn’t just surrender to this already—it would solidify it. Make it too true. But the more he thought about it, the more comfortable he became. Against his own will, George was growing in acceptance, knowing that he should be worried but unable to feel the pull of anxiety within him. In an exasperating tug-of-war, he fought between the poles of acknowledgement and fear, a vicious feedback loop that left him confused and exasperated.

Maybe curiosity didn’t mean surrender. Maybe he could test John for some of the millions of queries floating around in his head whilst still protesting the concept of his state.

John was staring at him with wonder, almost as if he was watching George’s mind work.

Here goes nothing.

George looked at him pointedly, raising the most pressing question in his mind. “Is this Heaven?”

John blinked, and George recognized the infamous John-trying-not-to-laugh-because-this-was-a-very-extremely-serious-situation expression rise to his face. “Yes, George. It is. Jokes on you, religion, because Heaven is just me, and you, in this room, and sometimes we play marbles or jack off.”

His face turned more serious at George’s scowl. He went for a Take 2, his voice much softer now. “No, actually,” he corrected, scratching his cheek. “I think it’s some sort of… Purgatory. Bardo.”

George’s chest felt odd. “Purgatory,” he repeated slowly.

“Purgatory.”

“I don’t understand.”

John clicked his tongue. “Again, love. The queue.”

“Purgatory,” George said again, softly, the words dripping with disbelief.

“The in-between,” John elaborated with a grandiose wave of a hand. “You die, you fuck around here for a bit, and if you’re lucky, you pass on.”

George couldn’t contain his curiosity. “To what?”

John’s features twisted into a strange expression. “I, erm… I don’t know.”

George’s face fell. Right. “Do you…” He began carefully, mulling over the taste of the words in his mouth and sussing out which were the least bitter. “Does time pass the same, then? Here?”

John shrugged indifferently. “You don’t notice it, really. There’s no days or nights—time is a construct, anyway. Haven’t thought about it since. There’s also no expectation, so no boredom. And sometimes I see old friends.” He finished with a signal in George’s direction.

George nodded, swallowing dryly. He doesn’t know.

How long it’s been.

John caught his eye, and George flicked his gaze away in an instant before he could catch on. But John was quick as a cat, just like in youth, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “George?”

George shook his head.

“George?” His voice was strained now, his demeanor thrown by the unsettling responses. “How long has it been? In-in actual time.”

Wincing at the question he knew he’d elicited, George averted his eyes and spoke near incomprehensibly. “Twenty years.”

John looked dazed.

After a long beat of silence, he snorted dryly. There was nothing humorous in the sound. “Suppose they’re still tryin’ to figure out what to do with me, then.” He paused. “For Chrissake, I already apologized in ’66.”

Neither man laughed at the joke. It was quiet for a long time.

“So.” John interrupted the stretch of silence, rather loudly, startling him. He clapped his hands together. “How’s Rings?”

George felt strangely hollow at the mention of his best friend. “Good. Married again, not long after you—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence. It was still hard to wrap his mind around, all these years later. Even now, that John was standing in front of him, chipper as the day they’d first met (more so, perhaps). Even now, that they were both… “After you.”

“Is he?” John looked surprised, curious. “What’s she like?”

“Name’s Barbara. Ritchie made a film in ’81 called Cavemanand they met on the set. He really loves her. Oh, she’s fantastic,” George asserted, wishing John could have been there, needing John to have been there.

“Watch it,” John warned, his voice light and teasing.

George scowled.

John pushed his shoulder playfully, and George slumped further into the chair, defeated. As John’s laughter died down, George looked up at him and watched in fascination as the man did a complete 180.

The smile melted from his face, and a chill fell over the room.

“I—m…” John cleared his throat, offering the ground a watery smile. “I miss Paul.”

George was suddenly standing knee-deep in the ocean. Nothing in the room was different besides the knowledge that the water on the floor was Pacific. John was there still, only further away now, feverishly blinking the tears away with that desolate smile on his face. Before George could call out to him, comfort him, he turned back towards the expansive sea only to be confronted with a fifty-foot wave.

The breath was knocked from his chest as the wave crashed down with full force, heart shattering on impact. He let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden rush of pain that washed over his chest and began to stumble backwards, tears burning in his eyes. There was no water, no wave, and he was still standing, dry as a bone, but the sensation was all the same. Panic began to rise in his throat, blinded by an incomprehensible catalogue of torment, longing, anger, desperation, heartache. Every excruciating emotion simultaneously wrecked his being, coupled with the strangely overpowering feeling of raw, unabashed love.

John caught his arm, quickly pulling him into a hug. George hadn’t realized that he was close again, and gripped him tightly for fear of having him drift away with the tides that were no longer there. Tears streamed down his face as John stroked soothingly at his hair, muttering sweet comforts and apologies over his head.

“I’m sorry, fuck, mate, I’m sorry,” he babbled, trying to squeeze away George’s trembling sobs. “It works like that here, sometimes. Christ, I’m sorry. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

George sniffed, feeling like a child as he pressed closer into his friend’s body. “Works like what?”

John tensed a bit, though George couldn’t understand why. He spoke slowly, sure but hesitant in his explanation. “Emotions. They’re… different. It’s sort of like all that Hare Krishna unity bullshit—” George wrinkled his nose. “—and whatnot, the whole ‘collective unconscious’.”

George frowned at the implication, taking a tentative step back. “You mean…”

“Feel each other’s emotions, you can,” John answered without missing a beat. He spoke plainly, as if he’d explained this away hundreds of times before. “But there’s a historical aspect, too, that part I don’t quite understand. It only happens sometimes.” His eyes lit up as his voice quieted, mumbling to himself more so than George. “Maybe they had to have been there at the time? ‘Cause of the thing with Elvis…?”

George looked up at him in shock, ignoring John’s musings. “That was you? All that?”

John offered him a lopsided smile.

George’s heart began to pound in wild misunderstanding. He’d always known, of course, that John and Paul had that “special connection” that whisked them away to an entirely different reality. He’d grown up an outsider, watching in on the world’s most famous duo and feeling just like anyone else, at times. His stomach felt queasy and slightly bitter at the thought that perhaps he hadn’t even known the half of it.

All that for Paul?

He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to comfort John. John’s pain was gone now, replaced by only a dull ache, causing George to shudder at the idea of his mate going through that alone all those years ago.

“Paul’s… good,” he said, slightly unevenly. It felt like a good place to start.

John looked up at him quickly, his eyes both intrigued and desperate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” George smiled. “He came to visit me. Not long…” His breath caught. “Not long before this.”

“I saw Linda,” John said quietly.

An image flashed in George’s mind of John in the very same room, sitting in a cushioned chair. In the vision, his eyes flicked up from the book in his hands, and he did a double-take, uncrossing his ankle from his knee and sitting up abruptly. Somehow, George knew that he was Linda, seeing John through her eyes. He—Linda—offered John a welcome, familial smile, and George noticed the portfolio of expressions on John’s face as the two radiated towards one another with emotions that George could not feel. And then—nothing.

In front of him now, John shifted uncomfortably, and George tried to get his bearings in the present once more. “She didn’t stay long.”

“It was hard,” George agreed, still trying to shake the vision. “She was the love of his life.”

John nodded, avoiding his eyes.

“He never stops talking about you.”

A beat. “I never stop thinking about him.”

Something passed between them. George wished he could go back in time and relive every Beatle moment together with this newfound information. Suddenly, as if they hadn’t before, things made sense: Paris, the LSD trips, India, the breakup. The songwriting feud. Yoko.

He understood now, that it was a complicated love that surpassed the boundaries of typical labels: no dating or marriageor sex, neither platonic nor romantic. There was a lust, but it was different than any other attraction George had experienced; it was motivated, driven by something much larger than himself. None of it was a means to an end—simply living, appreciating one another, taking it day by day until it imploded and rained down on them like a meteor shower, the disastrous aftermath of planned obsolescence. A love like that could never be.

George felt eager to change the subject.

“Have you seen lots of people passing through, then?” His gaze twitched away to offer the barest amount of privacy as John’s hand came up to quickly swipe a stray tear.

“Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You’d never believe—Elvis was here, when I first got here, which was right thrilling. We talked about everything under the sun for who-knows-how-long, but he left too not long after.” He nodded. “Linda. Some lads from school. Real nice chap named Freddie. He and I made a song together, though I can’t remember it now. He was in that up-and-coming rock group, the one on the tail end of the Beatles.”

“Queen,” George corrected, fascinated.

“No, that’s not it. I wanna say… Oh, you know who was a pleasure?” John switched onto this entirely new track, never missing a beat. “I met some psychologist. Taught me all about these fab concepts like behaviorism and operant conditioning and all that. I’d heard about his book, but I hadn’t read it until I met him. Verbal Behavior, is what it was. Real smart guy.”

“Do you see everyone?”

John thought for a moment. “No, certainly not. People die every minute. I’d be dreadfully overwhelmed.”

George smiled. “That is true. Lucky I showed up here, then.”

John returned the grin, almost sadly. “Yes, but you won’t stay long.”

George felt the strangest urge to reach for John’s hand. He suppressed it. “I want to.”

John shook his head. “You’re a good person, George.”

There were a lot of things to say in response. You are too, Johnny. I’m not a good person. We’ve both done some shit. ‘Good person’ is an arbitrary term because we are not our actions, so it wouldn’t matter, even.But nothing felt quite equipped to rival the emptiness of John’s eyes, so he said nothing.

“What do I look like, Geo?” He asked suddenly, staring a hole in George’s head with newfound curiosity.

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

John waved a hand dismissively as if it were the most normal question in the world. “Come on now, what do I look like?”

George just blinked. “Like… John.”

With a roll of eyes, John reached out and twirled a finger around the tip of George’s mustache. “You’re all Pepper-like. What about me?”

It suddenly occurred to George that this was not how John always looked, and hadn’t been for nearly forty years. He shifted a bit, startled at the realization. “Oh! Erm—Hamburg. Like we’d just stepped out of Top Ten.”

John grinned and stepped back. “Fascinating, isn’t it? It’s always different. That one, I can’t figure out. I first realized when Freddie asked why I looked like ’74 instead of when I died. I couldn’t give him an answer, on account of I hadn’t even realized that fact.”

George laughed, though it wasn’t funny. There was a giddiness bubbling up in him, mirroring the excitement with which John talked. He felt so bizarrely thrilled that his fingers began to tingle, and he chuckled at that too. The feeling rivaled that of a limb falling asleep, and he mindlessly shook his hand to quiet the growing sensation.

John’s face immediately fell.

George’s stomach dropped at the sudden change of pace. “What?”

His eyes were shining when he spoke the plea to anything that would listen. “No, please,” he muttered, lip trembling. Shaking fingers reached out to grasp at George’s bicep. “Not—not yet, I’m not ready—”

George’s heart hammered in his chest, hardly able to hear himself speak over the blood rushing in his ears. The tingle had snaked its way up his forearms now, and a similar feeling started in his toes. “John, John, what is it? What’s going on?”

“George, please don’t go. Please. This isn’t—it’s not long enough, I need you, I need more time, Geo…” The words trailed off, and a tear fell from each eye as John pulled him into his arms as if that could keep George there. As if he could save them.

George slowly started to understand, swallowing the alarm at John’s frantic reaction. He was going to pass on, to leave John behind just like everyone else in his life. But this was a different kind of departure. It was not Julia’s absence, Mimi’s coldness, Paul’s Linda. It was not even Uncle George’s death, or Brian’s death, or even Julia’s death. At least, those times, he could find someone, something new to latch on to.

George would have felt pity for the man if not for the immense heartbreak, the indescribable pain of watching John come emotionally undone before him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, blinking as a falling tear graced his own face. He felt oddly in control of the situation, despite seconds away from venturing into the greatest Unknown of all Unknowns. “Shh, John, it’s all right. Listen, we got to do this, didn’t we? We got to talk. And laugh. Just like old times, right?”

John’s voice broke. “I love you, Geo. Don’t go.”

They both knew it was a fruitless request.

George gripped him a bit harder in the embrace, feeling with hopeless acceptance as the tingling feeling reached his shoulders and began to pour down his back. He spoke the only thing that would come to mind.

“I’ll see you,” he whispered, a promise tainted by his own fearful tears slipping onto John’s shoulder.

John’s arms tightened around his waist. “I’ll see you,” he repeated.

[heliads]

Hometown Memories

Sam Wilson left more behind in Delacroix, Louisiana than just his sister and his family home. Sometimes, memories of the past come more frequently than you’d expect.

masterlist

Sam’s only about half an hour from the harbor when he thinks he sees her.

By all accounts, it shouldn’t make sense. Not every rusted, dented car has to be hers, not every flash of a smile could belong to her. Sam hasn’t seen her in years, and even the memories of them are scarce and far between. Yet with every mile closer to his old home, Sam can’t help but remember. 

The car comes and goes beside him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already lost in thought.

There had been a girl one street over and four houses down. She was only there half the year, her family always off on work trips and dragging her along. Sam always looked up when he heard the roar of a car’s engine down that road, just in case it was her. Most times it wasn’t, and he’d go back to whatever he was doing before with slightly less fervor, but sometimes it was, and he couldn’t help getting up just to make sure. Just to see if he was right.

She always ran down to the docks when she first arrived back home. You could tell it was her even from a distance, even when her back was turned. She’d jump down onto the wind-washed wooden slats, and pause for a second, letting the sun drown her whole. She’d stand still, and then by some magic she would be able to tell Sam was there and turn around, smiling. 

Back already? He’d ask, and she’d smile. We can only stay away for so long. They were young then, elementary schoolers then teenagers always returning to the water to escape from everything for just a second. Sam chuckles now to think of it. What he wouldn’t give to go back to those days, when the largest troubles seem like nothing now. But, he concedes, he wouldn’t truly be able to go back. You can’t turn back the clock forever, and the past must always stay in the past. That being said, Sam can’t seem to shake the habit of reminiscing.

Y/N L/N was one of many friends Sam made on the docks. She was also the only one like her, in a class entirely by herself. Sam can still picture the smile that flashed onto her face at anything and everything, like any small sunrise or happening was cause for a celebration. In times of worry, Sam sometimes wonders what she’d think of him. Does she know that he’s the Falcon now? Has she put the two together to realize that the broadly grinning boy from the boats is the same man with metal wings and a duty that never seems to stop growing heavier?

To be honest, if she saw him moping over the past she’d probably laugh. She’d cover the smile with her hand a second later, as if trying to force herself to stay serious, but it wouldn’t work for long. Her eyes would dance with the glint of laughter, and then the corners of her mouth would tug up as if they couldn’t stay sober for much longer. He’s seen this exact look before, been witness to the moods that changed like the tides.

Sam can remember one day in vivid history. He’d flopped down onto the beach, and seconds later, a pair of sand-tapped footsteps appeared next to him. She’d sat down, curious, and he’d explained himself. Some worry, some trouble that seemed to swallow the world whole. It seemed major to him, of course, but Y/N could never stay worried for long. You could never catch her with her guard down, her impulses always dancing away from you. 

That’s what made Y/N herself, after all. Never serious for a second. Her parents used to click their tongues and mutter about how she’d be brought down hard by the real world. For some reason, this thought makes the smile die away from Sam’s face. What would she be now? After the Blip, after everything that they’ve been forced to go through, would she have that same carefree smile? The idea of her burdened down by worry, her brow creased as it never had been before, seems so utterly unreal that Sam realizes he doesn’t know what to do if he sees it true. The Y/N of his memories is so different from the Y/N of today that for a second he doesn’t know if he could recognize her at all.

The Y/N from that day would have laughed at him. Of course you’ll recognize me, she would say, I don’t look that different at all. That’s basically what had happened that afternoon, anyway. She’d found a way to spin his troubles into a better light, to give him hope. Then she’d stood up, offering a hand and betting that she could race her sailboat around the coast and make a better time than his boat. She’d been right, but only because she managed to time it so that Sam got stuck behind a group of kayakers that he couldn’t ditch for the world. 

When he’d complained of this, she’d just laughed and said that they hadn’t set any rules about trapping your best friend behind the slowest paddlers on the planet, so she didn’t intend to start now. Sam had considered this for a second, then burst out laughing. You’ll regret that in our next race, I promise. You’ll be so far behind me you’ll need a second boat. Sam can’t remember if his vow held true or not. They’d had countless races, some won and some lost. The outcome rarely mattered, anyways- it was worth it from the second Sam looked across the prow of his boat and saw Y/N, cheeks whipped by the wind and a look of giddy concentration on her face. He’d partaken in a thousand races just to see her smile.

Sam doesn’t know why he’s thinking about her so much. In truth, they hadn’t had that many memories to share. If Y/N was only there half a year, and they were busy most of their days, they didn’t see each other often at all. Yet somehow those few moments were even the better for it, because they were stolen away despite all the work and hubbub of the usual days. 

The signs for Delacroix, Louisiana, are coming up into view now, and Sam turns off onto his exit. Maybe he keeps thinking back to those sunlit days because he’s guilty over how they ended. Sam had left Louisiana for the Air Force, trading out the tide lapping at the beach for heavy artillery fire and too many friends gone. Sam had thought that he’d have more time before being shipped off, but then he’d gotten the call late one night telling him he’d be expected at the base the next day.

So, early that next morning Sam had driven off to the regular crowd of well-wishers. Just before he had ducked into his car, he’d seen Y/N standing at the edge of the group. He’d moved towards her, but she was always one arm away or his path was intercepted by a kindly, too talkative neighbour. Just when he’d reached her, he was being pulled away again lest he arrive late. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Sam can still see that road before him, see Y/N standing in the edge of his rearview mirror. She’d watched him go for as long as she’d thought he could see her, then turned and walked away. Her steps were sure, her back straight against the chill of the morning air. Sam had stayed in Afghanistan for years, and then spent most of his time in Washington, D.C. after that. The few times he’d visited the Louisiana docks, she was never there or never saw him. That was that, and slowly the memories of the two of them faded from his mind. If he saw her at all, he would have no idea what to say to her.

Sam is saved from conversation by the true reason of his arrival at his hometown. He’s not here to see old friends, or ghosts of his past, he’s here to help his sister Sarah. Sam feels twinges of regret when he sees the new worries creasing her eyes, the new burdens that he should have been there to fix. How do you solve the problems of the years when you were dead? Even the experience of the Avengers can’t help him there. There are two battlefields he must face, Sam realizes, and he’s only replaced one with the other.

Sam’s helping Sarah carry some boxes from the boat to the house. As they walk the faded slats of the docks, though, he can’t help glancing at the turned heads of passing neighbours for any signs of a familiar silhouette. When they cross the roads, he listens for that telltale roar of the engine. Sam does his best to be discreet, but Sarah must be paying attention, because at last she turns to him with a teasing grin.

“You’re looking for her, aren’t you?” Sarah doesn’t have to say a name for Sam to know that she’s talking about Y/N. Who else would he be looking for? Sam nods, eyes still trained on the distance. “I have regrets about how I left. She’s one of them.” Sarah nods, falling silent for a second. “She is here, you know. You were lucky with timing. You’re not the only one who seems to want to spread your wings.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “If that was supposed to be a Falcon pun-” Sarah busies herself with the latch on the door. “I thought it was pretty good. Not that much of a bird-en.” Sam groans. “That was awful. Is this my punishment for not being here as often? I get hit with the bad jokes?” Sarah drops her boxes off in a corner of the room, pointing a finger at him even as she begins to laugh. “That’s not a punishment, that’s a blessing. Keep it in mind.” Sam chuckles in spite of himself. “I’ll do my best.”

As the sun sets on the horizon, Sam finds himself heading back to the family boat. Some part of him is hoping that Sarah will reconsider selling it, that she’ll think of all the family history and be swayed to save it. But Sam knows that the memories aren’t the problem, it’s the bank. You can’t afford to keep the memories of the family boat fresh in your mind if you can’t afford the cost of the boat itself. Sam steps onto the boat, feeling the familiar sway of wood on the water. He stares out at the horizon, at the blue lines of tides and fishing boats returning late at night. Maybe Washington did good things for him, but Sam has a special place in his heart for his hometown.

He stays there a while longer, running his hands over the worn wood paneling and the photos still tacked onto the walls. At last, he relents and leaves, stepping out into the gold drenched sunset of the docks once more. Sam is just turning to step off of the wooden slats when he nearly bumps into someone and turns to check if they’re alright. The apologies die on his tongue when he recognizes the woman. It is Y/N, of course. Sam doesn’t think he could truly step foot back at the bay without seeing her again.

She looks just like the girl from his memories. Her eyes are older now, carry more memories with them. Her parents would be happy, she seems to have learned to scrap by in this contest of a world just like they’d hoped. Yet even with the passage of the years, she still has that glint in her eyes, the one light that could never truly disappear even as she grew up.

She doesn’t have to consider him a moment before a smile curves her lips. “Sam Wilson?” Sam returns her smile, something like relief blossoming in his chest. He hadn’t considered that fear before- maybe it would be worrying if he didn’t recognize her, but something about her not knowing him would be worse. He didn’t think of it before because he was so caught up in the past, but knowing that she knows him is enough to calm a wound he didn’t know was there.

He must have stood there silent for too long, because a slight uncertainty bubbles up behind her eyes. “We used to hang out when we were younger. I’m-” Sam cuts her off. “Y/N L/N. Don’t worry, I couldn’t forget you if I tried. You were always the best with the boats, remember?” Y/N laughs at that, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you’re evidently still the kindest boy to walk these shores. I didn’t know you thought I was the best.”

Sam chuckles. “I didn’t need to say it. Remember when you beat my motorboat in your sailboat?” Y/N smiles too, her eyes glowing as she thinks back to that day. “All because of a trick. I was so proud of myself for trapping you back behind those kayakers. Sometimes I can stand tourists after all.” Sam groans. “It was terrible. I had to explain myself to everybody why I upset so many newbies in boats.”

Y/N’s smiles deepens. “You upset them? It’s not like you mowed them over and left them struggling in your wake.” Sam shudders. “You wouldn’t have known by talking to them.” They stay silent for a moment, reveling in the chance to soak up the old memories, then Y/N speaks once more. “It’s not like you’ve been the worse for the years. You're getting up to some pretty important things, I hear.”

Sam sighs. “It’s certainly an experience. Some days I have to shake my head and wonder how I got into these rooms to speak to these people.” Y/N clicks her tongue. “You know, I’m not entirely surprised. You’ve always had a knack for standing up for people, this is just that at a bigger scale. You and your big heart, always finding a way to look out for more people.”

Sam’s gaze softens. “That’s one way to look at it. Sometimes I worry I do more harm than good.” Y/N places a hand on his arm, the comforting gesture somehow connecting the two of them in a way that words could never manage. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out. You’ve got a good heart, Sam Wilson, and I’d count on a good heart a thousand times before anything else.”

Sam offers her a hand as they both step off the docks and back onto solid ground. “Will I be seeing you around?” He asks, and Y/N tilts her head. “I don’t know. I never plan on staying long, but I could make an exception.” Sam feels oddly pleased at this. “For an old friend?” Y/N looks back at him, the smile hitting him like a sunray. “For the girl who never got a chance to say goodbye.”

When they go their separate ways and Sam walks back to Sarah’s house, he can’t tell whether or not Y/N feels the same way about him. There will always be more chances to see her again, to remember her little phrases and changes in expression. This is part of going back, of making the commitment to his family and his home and his past. If Sam wasn’t here to see Y/N again, he wouldn’t be here at all. Tomorrow brings with it another day, and Sam has a good feeling that he’ll be waiting for a hometown ghost to take his hand once more.

[incorrectmarvelquotesss]

The Night’s End

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky goes for a walk after a nightmare and stops at a bookshop open at 2 am. ❤️‍🔥📚

Warnings: death, violence, choking, gunshots, blood and bruises, angst, strong language, mentions of physical and mental abuse, PTSD talks, a little fluff

A/N: My first fic! I hope you guys enjoy! I won’t be doing many fics, but for reaching 200 followers I thought why not? This is not edited yet. I’ve got a few requests which I am writing. Once they are done, they’ll be posted. If you want to be tagged in these fics, send an ask. Enjoy!

He watched the body fall to the ground with a soft thud, muffled by the carpet underneath the young man. He stood still even though every part of heart was whispering to him in a loud voice to run to the young man and help him. His brain kept him still, not moving even an inch until the young man took his last breath, draining the life out of him.

He stood still for another second, an instinct that was drilled into him to check if the target was really dead or not. After making sure the young man was dead from the gunshot wound, he walked backwards, slipping the pistol into its holster on his tactical suit. He turned around abruptly, stopping short as he saw a young woman, eyes flickering over the scene. Her eyes darted to him, fearful and shocked.

“Please,” she whispered into the air, voice raspy and shaking. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He cocked his head to the side a little, walking nearer to her. He could smell her strong perfume, scented with citrus fruits of sorts. He walked closer, stopping only a foot away from, watching as a predator would to his prey.

She squirmed and shrank under his gaze, holding onto the doorknob with one hand behind her when it jabbed her back. She clutched her purse in the other hand, knuckles turning white. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of her temple. She wiped it hastily with the back of her hand clutching the purse.

“No,” he answered simply before his metal hand darted out to choke the woman. His hand gripped her throat tightly, arm whirring with mechanical parts. It clicked and buzzed as he pushed her head back to the door. This was all second nature to him.

Killing and murder. He was a monster that no one could tame. He knew that and so did Hydra.

Bucky shot up with a gasp, clutching the blanket on the ground. His heart was pounding in his ears with beads of sweat gliding down his forehead. A thin layer of sweat covered his body, glistening in the dim light of the television still playing. He looked up at it, blue eyes still trying to focus on the light, and noticed the soccer match playing. Although he had no interest in it, he watched each movement of the players carefully. He studied each movement before the whistle was blown and it was halftime.

He blew out a breath, a little happy that he could distract himself for a while from his nightmares. More like memories, said a bitter voice at the back of his head. He cringed and felt the gut wrenching feeling making its way to his heart. It happened every night and each night he would feel guilt seep into his bones for his soulmate. His soulmate could probably feel his panic and guilt at the moment, but he was surprised to feel a bit of curiosity that didn’t belong to him.

He felt a tug on his blanket, also tugging him out of his thoughts, and faced the white feline he had adopted a few weeks back. Alpine. Alpine’s big eyes looked up at him, head-butting his flesh hand close to her. He almost smiled as his hand started to scratch Alpine behind her ear and she purred softly. A few seconds later, she left abruptly and jumped onto the couch to go back to sleep.

Bucky let out a huff of breath which he would count as a laugh. He looked to his side where his phone was—not the flip phone he showed to his therapist. This was a sleek, new model of the latest phone in which he used multiple things in, like Tinder. He was trying to get into dating again, mostly hoping that he could find his soulmate.

He was, the least to say, surprised when he found out that he even had a soulmate in this time. He had thought that Dot, the girl he practically swooned over in the 40s, was his only soulmate. He had been so sure. Their tattoos were stars with a simple dot at the top of one of the points. But when he had been in Hydra’s capture, it had changed. Now it was a heart with a simple swirl in it.

He tapped the screen of his phone twice and squinted his eyes at the sudden brightness. The lock screen was a simple picture of Alpine. Well, she was cuddling with Bucky on the couch, but Bucky had cropped himself out of the picture. He looked at the numbers staring back at him.

1:26.

He blinked once and then shut the phone off. He looked out the window and huffed before getting up, shoving the blanket off of his legs. He grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants off of the couch that he had taken off when he brought his blanket out to the living room, sweating from his last nightmare. Memory. He hopped on one foot as he slipped one leg in and then repeated it for the next leg. He grabbed a burgundy hoodie, pulling it over his head as he turned around and picked up his phone—just in case.

Taking one last look at his apartment, he pulled on some socks and shoes and took the keys from the bowl. He opened the door and slid out, keeping his eyes focused on everything around him. Old habits die hard, he thought as he shoved his keys and phone into his pocket, feeling his wallet as he did so. He must have forgotten to take it out yesterday.

He dashed out of the building, waving a little to the secretary at the front desk as politely as he could. She gave him a flirtatious smile, which he ignored because she was married. He didn’t flirt with married women, even if he didn’t flirt anymore these days.

He stepped out of the building, feeling the cool night breeze flow through his hoodie, glad that he didn’t wear a shirt—the cool air felt great against his hot body. The effects of the nightmare were still there; sweat, eyes flickering around, ears on high alert. The moon was shining brightly in the clear sky with splatters of stars like white paint. The stars seemed to twinkle, shimmering like glitter.

Bucky smiled slightly, remembering when Morgan had covered his arm in glitter. He looked down and started to walk down the sidewalk, thinking of his life in the 40s. He had always loved to stargaze and explore more about space. Back in the 40s, everything was on books, but now Bucky could search up everything he wanted, whenever and wherever.

“Hey, you going somewhere?” He looked up to see a man standing on the curb, leaning against a car, talking to a woman. The woman had tensed up and clutched her purse. Bucky slowed down, trying to catch what was gonna happen.

“Just down the block,” she said, voice shaking a little. The man crossed his arms and gestured to his car with his head.

“I’ll drop you off,” his voice was ruff, but there was a slight gentleness and sadness to it. “It ain’t safe out here for a girl like you. My sister wasn’t safe either.”

The woman’s head whipped around to look at the man. Her eyes were searching for a hint of lie, Bucky thought, watching the scene unfold. “I’m sorry,” she said when she thought that the man was sincere.

“It’s alright,” the man said, pushing himself off the car. “Beat the guy when she told me, but the police here didn’t do anything more than a restraining order. I can walk you if you want, unless you're trained in karate or something.” This emitted a laugh out of the woman.

Bucky was almost beside them, keeping his head low. He moved a bit over so that he would walk behind the woman.

“Find your soulmate yet?” He asked, making the woman touch her wrist.

Bucky knew why he had asked that. A soulmate could feel your feelings and pain—not as bad, like a needle—something that Bucky always hated. He felt the guilt whenever he had gotten hurt over a mission or even when he had nightmares, he always thought about his soulmate. On the other hand, he had felt happiness spread throughout his body from his soulmate. There had been a couple of times where he felt a pang of sadness, but it was usually replaced with calm and quietness.

“No,” she replied with a soft voice.

“Me neither,” the man gave a toothy grin as Bucky passed the two. The woman giggled as the man said, “Mine is a circle with an arrow in it. Yours?”

The woman gasped and, Bucky assumed that she pulled up her sleeve, then heard the man chuckle.

Bucky zoned them out, trying to ignore the pang of pain in his chest. He took out his phone, desperately trying to forget about soulmates. He quickly read through all the updates Sam had sent.

Sarah and the kids are doing great. Hope you are, too. <Sent 2d ago

The kids really want you back and guess what? I found her! She’s perfect. Her name’s Aaliyah and I want you to meet her bro. <Sent 1d ago

Bucky sighed, not finding what he was hoping for. But he sent back a text anyway, feeling like he owed Sam a little ‘I’m fine and alive’ text.

That’s amazing! I’ll see you all next Sunday like we planned. You should bring Aaliyah and introduce us. <Delivered 2m ago

He shut off his phone and looked around. He was near the lane of shops and most of them were closed. There was an all-nighter pub and pharmacy, but one particular shop caught his eye. It was a bookshop he had wanted to visit a few times now, but never got the chance. It was still open by the looks of it and Bucky wasn’t doing anything else.

He started towards it, hoping that the lights on meant it was still open. He did wonder why it was open at this odd time, but as he approached the shop it was more clear why. A woman was walking around the shelves, helping sleepy teenagers and adults stay awake and giving them coffee to fuel them.

Her H/C was flowing freely while her E/C were flickering around the shop. Her hands held a stack of books and a tray of coffee. The books were all different topics and authors, Bucky could tell. Her face was soft as she placed a book on a teenager’s table and smiled slightly. The teenager looked up at her and smiled. She said something to him and then smiled before walking around the shelves again. She looked up as if she felt his eyes on her, but she quickly turned when a man came up behind her.

Bucky felt a pang of jealousy in his stomach. It was a feeling that he couldn’t ignore and it only got stronger as the man placed a hand on her arm, rubbing it up and down. She nodded as the man spoke, a smile creeping up on her face. She threw her back laughing, covering her mouth as she shook her head. She looked at the customers, apologizing sheepishly at her outburst. She put the books and empty tray on the counter and put her hands on the man’s shoulder, talking seriously. He nodded once, jaw clenching. She patted his shoulders, a smile back on her face as the man started for the door.

Bucky realized that he had been staring and started to walk towards the door. The man had gotten there first, flinging the door open just as Bucky reached for it. The man smiled tiredly and turned to the side, allowing Bucky to slip by. He nodded as a silent thanks.

“No problem, bud,” he said, nodding slightly, and stepped out the door.

Bucky looked behind him before taking in the bookshop. The big shelves filled the three walls, including behind the counter the woman stood behind, flipping through a book. There were four seats at the three tables that were set in the middle. There were more shelves vertically placed close to two of the walls.

Bucky started to walk but felt a small burn on his wrist. He felt it itch as if he gotten a terrible rash, but it stopped in a heartbeat. He stopped abruptly, knowing exactly what it meant. He pulled his sleeve up, looking down at his flesh wrist where the once black, now gold, soulmate tattoo.

His soulmate was close by.

He looked up and saw the woman staring back at him with wide eyes.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes were scanning his face for any emotion, but Bucky knew she couldn’t. His mask was up, the guard that he would put up when he didn’t want anyone to know how he was feeling. It worked for Steve, Sam, even Natasha. But the woman only shook her head. “Won’t work. I can feel your emotions.”

He nodded once. “I know.” He was feeling joy, but there was more. More emotions flooding him in waves. Anxiousness. Shocked. Guilt.

“Stop thinking for a second,” she whispered, smiling sweetly at him, “and breathe.” He inhaled deeply and held it in for a few seconds before letting it go. He had unconsciously moved closer to the counter and her.

“I’m Bucky,” he blurted out, putting his hand on the counter. She giggled at his flustered face and if Bucky said that wasn’t the most sweetest thing Bucky ever heard, he’d be lying.

“I’m Y/N,” she replied, holding out a hand for him to shake. He glanced at it before putting his hands in hers. “Just a sec.” She had looked over his shoulder and nodded her head. He glanced over his shoulder to see another teenager looking at Y/N with a small desperation in her eyes. Y/N grabbed a book from behind her and then turned around, holding the book up. The teenager ran over and grabbed the book from her hand, hugging her as well. Y/N giggled again and Bucky felt his heart skip a beat.

“What is this?” He asked once the teenager sat down on her seat again. Y/N bit her lip and leaned over the counter, her elbows holding her up.

“A support group of a sort, I guess,” she answered, shrugging slightly. “School’s not exactly relaxing.”

“And staying up late?”

“They’ve got a long weekend.” She giggled again and Bucky could swear his heart actually stopped beating for a second. Bucky gulped and nodded. His mind flashed images of just before; the man, Y/N, her laughter.

“Who was that?” Bucky blurted out before he could bite his tongue. Y/N straightened up, a teasing smile on her face.

“Are you feeling threatened by a teenager?”

He could hear the light teasing behind her words and felt a fondness towards her. It had been a while since someone had joked around with him. He smiled for the first time in a while and shook his head. “I meant the man that left before I came in.”

“Oh!” She laughed, shaking her head and saying, “No, no,” repeatedly. She stopped laughing, giggles still escaping her mouth. “That’s my cousin. He’s closer than a brother, though, TJ.”

Bucky felt his ears and cheeks heat up, turning red, no doubt, with embarrassment. “Okay.” Bucky felt a prickle of guilt behind all the embarrassment, but it didn’t belong to him.

“I’m not lying,” Y/N said, noticing that Bucky could feel her emotion. “I’m just used to joking around and I don’t really know if you’re okay with it or not. It’s just that you got uncomfortable all of a sudden and I thought that… I’m sorry.” She winced at her ramble, but looked at Bucky with soft eyes when he started to chuckle. She bit her lips, holding back her smile at his laughter. It was a sweet sound and she felt as if she could listen to it for eternity.

“It’s fine,” he sighed, eyes twinkling. “It’s been a while since someone joked around the Winter Soldier.” He cringed as he let it slip, shutting his eyes for a second. He opened them, expecting Y/N to be scared or fear him, but he found none of that. Instead he saw and felt her curiosity spark.

“I’ve heard about that,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “You were captured by Hydra and taken control over, but now they have no control over you.” Y/N had left out several parts of his past, but he had a feeling that she knew everything anyway.

Bucky nodded curtly. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.” She smiled softly at him, hand reaching out for his left one.

She didn’t care, Bucky thought with a small surprise. He didn’t feel any fear or anxiousness from her. It was all admiration and curiosity and warmth.

The dark night that plagued him had finally ended.

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/Pre Relationship) (4/4)

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

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

She took a step towards him.

And then another.

All the words that she knew had failed her, and all of the emotion in her body had left her. What could she say? What would even make sense? There was no fixing the situation, not really, you couldn’t take away three years of waiting and wanting. You couldn’t take away three years of replaying every word in your head and wondering if you said the wrong thing.

“But you’re not him,” that was all she could say, and it hit the air like a deadweight. Because Adrien wasn’t Gabriel Agreste, because he never would be. The love Gabriel had was greedy and selfish, it took and took until it tore away all that he knew, until it ruined Paris and everything inside it. But Adrien? “It wouldn’t have mattered that he’s your dad, because you’re Adrien Agreste, not him, because I would have stood by you no matter what. I wouldn’t have cared what they thought or what they said. I wouldn’t have listened to them or let them stop me. If people wanted to close doors in my face because of who I loved, I’d make new ones. If people didn’t trust me, or see me for who I was, I wouldn’t care because I would know the truth.” Another step, another mountain climbed on her way back to him. “If they hated you because of who your father was, I wouldn’t want to be around them anyway, I wouldn’t want what they had to give me. I know that you’re good. You’re so good that everyone can see it—that they would have to admit it eventually.”

She held his gaze, her hands holding onto her shoulders like that could save her from sinking—like she wasn’t so far gone under the tide of Adrien that everything she had tried to hold back for three years wasn’t already killing her. She couldn’t stop drowning; she couldn’t stop wanting him.

“Adrien, I’ve been in love with you since I was fourteen years old,” she whispered, “all of you.”

He exhaled, the low, throaty sound hitting the air.

“When you left, I…” She stopped, because he didn’t need to know, because she didn’t need to see him hurt like she had. “You broke me, and no one else has been able to put me back together since.” That was enough, that had to be enough for then.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, the words almost lost to the crashing of the waves outside.

She shook her head. Maybe she needed the apology, maybe someday she’d want it, but then, at that very moment? She was the only person who could give herself what she needed, the only person who could pull her head above water.

She tugged her hands from her shoulders, and walked closer, far too close to him. It was the lack of distance she would have dreamed of when she was in school, the kind that led to moments she cherished such as placing her head on his shoulder or reaching across his lap to hold his hand. It was the proper distance to look him in the eyes, the proper distance to say what she should have said before.

“Adrien, I would wait three more years for you, fifty if I had too—because I’m so stupidly in love with you, I’ve been so stupidly in love with you.” She inhaled, looking up at him, taking in those beautiful green eyes, “all I want to know is, are you still in love with me too?”

And maybe she would have gotten the answer she wanted. Maybe she would have finally kissed him. Maybe that would have been the start of their happily ever after—

Had Lila Rossi not stumbled into the cabin with Kim’s hand on her ass and her fingers laced in his hair.

“God, you are so fucking lucky I’m horny right now,” Kim muttered.

And just like that, all the romance left the air.

And though she wanted to ask, to drag him out on the deck and demand it, she saw that look in Adrien’s eyes and she knew.

He was terrified.

And really, who wouldn’t be? Who wouldn’t be scared? Who wouldn’t worry about what the future held?

So, she laughed. An empty, loud sound, one enough to break any tension. And, not knowing what else to do, she ran. Because maybe not knowing was better than the truth.

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

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette,” Alya said, frowning at the reflection of Marinette in her mirror.

Honestly, if it wasn’t Alya, Marinette might have gotten by. Anyone else would have believed her fake smile as she looked in the mirror, applying her makeup.

But Alya? Being her best friend, she was in the business of reading Marinette’s emotions. Marinette couldn’t get anything by her, she was surprised that she somehow managed to hide being Ladybug from her for so long.

“It’s your wedding, Alya, am I not allowed to be sad that I’m losing my best friend?”

“To your other best friend?” Alya asked. She could have at least hidden her skepticism.

“It’s your wedding,” Marinette repeated softly. As in, it’s your wedding, not my problem parade. It’s your day, not mine. Don’t worry about me.

“He’s just over in the next room,” Alya said, reading her mind.

“It’s been a month,” Marinette repeated, shutting down the plan before Alya could even begin to form it. “If he wanted to respond, he would have done it by now.”

“I’m just saying.” She was not just saying. She was suggesting in that Alya way that wasn’t really a suggestion, but rather a demand. “I’m sure if you vanished for just one minute, I could get Nino to pull him out in the hallway and you could get your answer.”

“Alya.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Focus on your wedding,” Marinette commanded.

Alya scoffed. “Right. And how am I supposed to enjoy said wedding knowing that my best friend is miserable waiting for a response that, if she doesn’t go and demand it, might not ever come?”

“You could look at your groom and be happy about spending the rest of your life with him?”

“Oh please, I would choose you over Nino anytime.”

She didn’t doubt that.

“Listen,” Marinette began, putting down her make up brush. “I’m going to be fine; I promise. I’m just going to get some air.”

“Sure,” Alya said with a roll of her eyes as Marinette got out of her chair and moved to the balcony door. “I’ll see you when you’re done having your fifth mental break down and finally want to talk, Marinette.”

Damn, she was good. Marinette sighed, turning the deadbolt before looking back at her friend’s knowing expression, the other bridesmaids busying themselves in the background. “Thank you,” she said, because she wasn’t about to deny it, not to Alya. And maybe, once she got it out of her system, she would talk to her. Maybe once it was all over, she would tell Alya everything.

But at that moment, all she needed was air. And so she went, pulling open the balcony door of the hotel room and letting the night air cool her skin. She let go of the handle, letting it click shut behind her as she walked further onto the balcony, the streetlights of Paris gleaming far in the distance.

It was times like this that she missed being a superhero. She wondered what Paris would look like then, sprawled out in front of her years later. Brighter, probably, the city had changed since Ladybug left.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” A voice said, and she was sure that it had said it to her a thousand times before. The words were so familiar in that voice, said in the same inflection at the same volume that she had heard growing up. “It’s ours,” she was sure he’d only said that once or twice before—on the nights when it felt like there was no one else and the city belonged to them alone.

“It’s Paris,” she corrected, just as she had before. Because there was no owning it. It was this living, untamable thing, a treasure for her to protect.

For them to protect, because there he was, standing out on his own balcony, looking at the city like it was far more beautiful than the stars.

Not Adrien, not at that moment. Just as she wasn’t Marinette, not when thinking of Paris. Chat Noir and Ladybug, the heroes of the city, both standing out in their civilian forms, looking over it once more.

There was so much distance between them, and yet it felt like he was right there. At any moment he would leap, clad in his black leather cat suit, and stand right beside her. That was how the story should have ended; if it couldn’t end with a kiss, then it should have ended with Chat Noir and Ladybug, together again.

But Tikki and Plagg were far away in a box in Nepal.

“I came out to get some air,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“Me too.”

“Do you remember when we used to sit on your roof and watch all the cars go by?” He asked, and she could only smile. How could she forget?

Things were so easy when the masks were on.

“We have half an hour,” Marinette informed him. “Then the wedding starts and we start walking. We should go inside.”

“We should,” he agreed. Neither made to move. Neither wanted to move.

She caught him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Never mind the fact that she was staring too. She wished then, like she had so many times before, that she knew the right thing to say.

“What if we didn’t?” He asked, like it wasn’t this crazy, completely irrational thing to do. Like there weren’t so many people in the rooms behind them waiting on them. “What if we didn’t go at all?”

“It’s not even your wedding,” she said, turning to face him entirely. “Or mine.” He grinned anyway, sauntering over to the side of his balcony nearest her, leaning on the railing. “Don’t you think that would be rude?” They had been chosen for a reason.

“What do a best man and maid of honor even do anyway?” Adrien fired back, raising his eyebrows at her. “Past all of the party planning that we’ve already done, there’s just speeches and toasts ahead of us. I don’t think either of them want us reading our speeches, I planned almost every word of mine to embarrass Nino.”

She frowned, wishing she was able to resist it, but meeting him on the side of the balcony beside herself. He was so close that she almost thought she could leap. “And what would we do?”

“Stay here forever, find a way off this roof, run—Your pick, really,” he said, as if it was that simple. As if they could leave. It was her best friend’s wedding. “I know Andre’s stand closed years ago, but maybe if we’re lucky there’s another icecream man in Paris running around at night. I bet there’s one outside of the Eiffel tower, if you wanted to revisit old times.”

“And why would we do that?” She asked. This stupid, awful part of her was considering it.

“Because Nino just told me that he wanted me to be happy and that was one of the most important things to him today, and I bet Alya just told you the same thing,” he said. “But we’re not happy.”

“And?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. Maybe she was. He’d been out there longer than her, she could tell by the pink of his cheeks, maybe some great clarity had befallen him in that time, and he’d realized that she actually wasn’t all that bright. “Come over here,” he said.

“I am not coming over there.”

“Then I’m coming over there.”

“You are not coming over here!” Marinette declared, slightly astounded. “People are changing!” He didn’t seem to care all that much. “We’re not all models, some of us have shame!”

He laughed. Fuck, his laugh. She’d forgotten how good it was. “Meet me in the middle then,” he said, hauling a leg over his guardrails before she could protest. “I want to be closer to you.”

She was going to die because of him, she was sure, even if he was sitting oh so comfortably on his own railing. With her luck, she’d slip then fall to her inevitable doom. She could only hope that the bushes below her were soft.

“There,” he said once she’d settled, kicking out so that his foot lightly tapped her leg to prove his point, “Closer.” This was obviously some elaborate scheme to kill her that he had spent the last three years planning.

Almost as soon as she sat down, she began to second guess it. The voice in the back of her head was screaming for her to get up and go back to the suite. She could see the girls in the hotel getting ready to leave, Rose hauling up Juleka’s dress and Mylene reapplying Alix’s eyeshadow. She knew she should have left, sitting out there dangling herself over the edge of a building with Adrien wasn’t the best idea. She was supposed to be in there, taking care of things, fixing dresses and calming down nerves. But then there was Alya at the door, her face lighting up as she looked out at her, craning her neck just enough to see Adrien. She didn’t look like she missed her, only like she wished she could stay a moment longer.

She had to see it out for Alya, if only so there was finally an end to it all, a yes or no to the Adrien situation. Then she could be better, the kind of friend Alya deserved, one who wasn’t stuck in the past. Then she could dance at the reception with Nino’s cousins, and faun over men with Alya who weren’t blond supermodels.

“I know I should have told you that night,” Adrien said, drawing her back in. “And I did try to. Actually, I should have told you many nights ago, years even, but I don’t even know how to start now.” She closed her eyes, things like this were easier to take when you didn’t have to look. “I don’t regret disappearing, Marinette.”

There it was.

“But I do regret not taking you with me,” he said, and her eyes flew open.

If she hadn’t been holding on for dear life, she might have fallen off the balcony.

“Not just now,” he clarified, because it felt like a split decision. “But before too, so many times before. From the moment I left, I knew that I wanted to turn back, but I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing. Over and over again, this is for Marinette. Marinette will move on. It didn’t matter if it hurt, you would be okay.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t,” Adrien agreed. “I’m going to sound like an awful person, but I was happy about that. I was way too happy,” he admitted. “And this isn’t going to fix anything, this isn’t going to give you those three years back, this isn’t going to solve the problem an empty hotel room caused, and this won’t bring back Tikki and Plagg—But I’m asking you for just one second to give me this chance. I’m asking you to make the dumbest mistake of your life with me; to leave this party and everyone in it, to walk Paris again like it’s our city to own. For just one night, even though your body will practically ache with stupidity, disappear with me. Leave them all to wonder where we went, how even years later we always seem to miss things. Because I love you, even when you’re just walking on the sidewalk beside me and not saving the day, you’re my everyday Ladybug. Because I just want those moments back where it’s just you and I, and no one else knows who we really are.”

“And who are we, Adrien?” She asked. “The two biggest idiots in Paris?”

“A team,” he said, “amongst other things.”

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

Epilogue:

Alya Lahiffe was dancing with her newly obtained husband when she saw it, a flash of red and black over the hotel garden wall. Her hands tightened around his neck as she took it in, a woman in a red bridesmaid dress and a man dressed in all black sprawled out in a heap on the ground, laughing after having practically tumbled over the brick wall surrounding the venue. They both looked from side to side, their noses nearly colliding with each other as they turned, both lighting up in laughter as they assumed the coast to be utterly clear and them to have snuck back into the party without anyone realizing.

“You okay, hun?” Nino asked as he looked down at her, taking in her expression.

“Yeah,” she grinned, watching as Marinette left only a peck on Adrien’s nose, resulting in the young man’s outrage. “I think I am.” She turned them, letting Nino see as Adrien reached for Marinette once more, dragging her down to kiss him.

“The absolute worst best man,” Nino chuckled, looking away as he pressed his forehead against Alya’s.

“And the most seasick, lovelorn maid of honor,” Alya said. “It’s a wonder they got anything done.”

“I give them a year before we get to pay them back, and we’re not skipping the ceremony. We’re giving bad speeches and throwing the bachelor party on a boat, doing the cupid shuffle—the whole nine yards.”

“And letting Marinette’s dad overload them with cake?”

“If he forgets any, we’ll just have to pull the samples out of our freezer.”

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Cast Aside

That’s okay! I usually hate requests that just ask for a character, but this time I thought of something, so it’s okay!

I really hope you enjoy this scenario because it took fucking ages to write, but either way, feel free to come scream at me with your thoughts! Have a great day~

Click Me 

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

  You smiled as the gentle breeze washed over you, the sound of rustling leaves filling you with such peace, you could almost forget your current troubles. It was such a shame that your life of freedom was to be cut short so soon, instead, you would be taken by the Kitsune your village worshipped. After that, it was impossible to say. You might not even survive the encounter.

  The only comfort that you were allowed was the fact that you were alone. Though unable to escape due to the wooden pillory that currently restricted your movements, you found that being surrounded by nature and not having the cruel villagers to bother you made it so much easier to accept your fate.

  Until the sound of fallen leaves crunching reached your ears. The moment you heard that sound, unmistakable panic began to fill your body, swallowing you up completely until you were struggling with all your might against the restraints that you knew would never break from your efforts.

 .

  “So, this is what humans will resort to…”

 .

  You went still the moment he entered your vision, standing tall yet relaxed, disgust apparent on his features. A kitsune with hair both as white as snow and as red as the flames you loved to stare at, at night.

  “What is your name? Little human…” He questioned, his head tilting to the side while your eyes ran over his figure, taking in the strange sight of his tails. Half white, half red. Yet the one in the middle, that you could only barely see from behind his head, was split in the middle perfectly.

  Such a strange sight to see before your life ends.

 .

  “…(Name)…”

 .

  You knew it wasn’t right, to give your name to the creature in front of you. Supposedly gods of great mischief, giving your name was practically inviting trouble to your doorstep, and yet somehow, you found yourself unbothered by the idea of the Kitsune knowing who you are, who you were before this humiliation.

  “…Your village offered up human women to my old man. Before he died. Never like this, so tell me” He paused, moving forwards to run a hand over the sturdy wood that held you hostage to the situation, the pillory burning away in an instant; leaving you completely unharmed.

  “Why are you not treated the same? Have your people grown weary?” He pressed, watching you with only the faintest hints of curiosity while you stood to your full height, rubbing at your tender wrists. Standing like that since first light had been unbelievably uncomfortable, your wrists felt like they were burning and thrashing about like you had just before certainly hadn’t helped any.

  “Are you really so interested in my story? I’m just a human” You pointed out quietly, glancing at him in time to see the slight nod of his head, a surprisingly graceful action from a kitsune that seemed so casual.

  “They don’t see me as one of them. My family, killed during the night for claims that were untrue and after that, I was captured, called a witch and punished by being declared ‘sacrifice’ for the kitsune god” You explained, your voice soft as you spared the village a quick glance; even if you couldn’t see the place you had called home all your life, you knew it was there. That they had most likely forgotten about your existence already.

  “Ridiculous. If you were really a witch, you would not have been found out, let alone caught” He scoffed, his ears flicking about from atop his head with each noise that sounded out in the seemingly peaceful clearing.

  “I have refused each offering since the passing of their so-called god. I am not my father, I will not take a human for my needs” He muttered out flatly, turning his back to you swiftly while his tails swayed about behind him. A thick, fluffy wall between the two of you.

  “But if they have casted you aside…you are welcome to come with me of your own volition.” He added, glancing back towards you while you blinked in surprise, not quite able to grasp a hold of the sudden opportunity that had been offered to you.

 .

~  ~  ~

 .

  “Is something the matter?”

 .

  You looked back at Shouto slowly, a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips while you shook your head; memories of your first encounter with the kitsune flashing through your mind. As it always did whenever you thought of the past, before you met him, before you were introduced to a life full of love and warmth.

  “No, no…it’s just…such a beautiful day” You whispered, turning your head back to look at the surrounding scenery, a silent appreciation filling you while strong arms wrapped around your midsection, pulling you back into the well-muscled chest that belonged to your one and only.

  “…Just like that day, right?” He questioned, his lips brushing up against your ear while he nuzzled you tenderly, showering you with the love and affection he would often need to assure you that you deserved. Shouto found it impossible to comprehend, just how much you struggled to love yourself. To let yourself enjoy such a quiet, happy life.

  However, he also understood that the best way for him to respond, would be to support you when you needed it most, to be there for you.

  “Mm, exactly like that day…hard to believe it’s already been five years” You let out a breath, your eyes fluttering shut while you leaned back into Shouto, silently appreciating the way he held you close.

  “Well, time does pass quickly” He reasoned, lifting you into his arms before walking off inside; causing your eyes to snap open while you squirmed within his hold, confusion setting in.

  “Shouto, what are yo—” He cut you off with a heated kiss, stealing your breath away as he always did before laying you down on the modest bed that you shared with him on the nights he didn’t spend wandering around the area.

  Your head spun as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, only to have his lips against your once again, deep and meaningful kisses distracting you while his hands explored the body that he had explored countless times before now; he most definitely was not afraid to say that he never tired of you.

  You were perfect, at least, you were in his eyes. So perfectly imperfect, human. The love of his life.

  “Just…enjoy this, let me love you”

  Before long, Shouto was between your legs, naked and pressed up against you while your arms pulled him closer still, wrapped around his neck as his lips trailed along your neck, littering your sensitive skin with kisses and playful nips.

  His hips moved at a slow yet steady pace, one that you could not rush and instead chose to enjoy, soft moans making his ears twitch each time he moved just right. It wasn’t often you could enjoy such a nice moment. Usually, he would coax you into a state of bliss before filling you with his knot until you could take no more; but occasionally, when the moment called for it, Shouto would take things slow. So that you might lose yourself in a world of warmth and pleasure, to enjoy a slow build-up of desire.

  Shouto Todoroki was not a kitsune that was very good with his emotions and stating them clearly but for you, he tried. For you, he put in that extra effort and left his comfort zone, if only to see your smile. To hear your happy voice.

 .

  “Shouto…”

 .

  He groaned out quietly at the sound of your needy whisper, his name sounding nothing short of heaven from your plump lips. He could die happy, right then and there, but instead, he merely immersed himself in your body, thrusting his hips until you were moving against him, trying to fit his knot inside of you before he was ready to fill you with his seed. A habit you had developed early on in the relationship; though he didn’t mind too much.

  It felt amazing and admittedly, made him finish faster, having you squeeze down on him like that so soon.

  “(Name), not yet…” He moaned into your ear, moving his hips just a little harder, in hopes of satisfying your need for more; he had plans for you.

  “Not yet, soon” Shouto promised quietly, his tails beginning to wrap around your body once a whine of disappointment began to build up in the base of your throat. You weren’t an omega, just a human. However, hearing such a noise set off his instincts and his instincts would always demand that he comfort you until you were happy once more.

  “Shh, soon…I promise” He whispered, closing his eyes as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, his thrusts beginning to pick up in pace as his knot throbbed, slowly swelling up while he neared his end. From the way you were moaning, whining out in protest, he could tell you were just as close and just as desperate for release as he was.

  “Inside…please? Fill me up…” You bit your lip as you spoke, face heating up in embarrassment when Shouto paused for a moment, his pace immediately picking up seconds later. It was so very rare of you to ask for that, Shouto always knotted you when he made love to you.

  Yet you rarely ever asked him for that specifically. Usually during his ruts to satisfy his instincts; there was something different about hearing it without prompt. It set something off inside of him and soon enough, he found himself burying his knot inside of you over and over again.

  Right up until the point he could no longer pull out of you, his knot throbbing as he released his seed inside of you, spurring on your orgasm; leaving you a panting mess beneath him, your body glistening from sweat in such a way, he found himself moving his hips whilst still inside of you.

  “A-Ah, S-Shouto…Shouto wait!” You moaned out as his hips continued to move, the feeling of his knot tugging at your entrance with each thrust driving you insane while he trailed kisses up along your neck, stopping only to claim your lips in one final kiss, his tongue greedily prodding at your lips; demanding you appease him by opening your mouth to him.

  He wanted every inch of you, you were his and he needed you to know that. You were Shouto’s perfect imperfection, his weakness and his strength.

  His everything.

[blushing-starker]

don't expect that line I previously mentioned because I'm chaotic and forgot about @starkerfestivals amazing omegaverse week since it goes hand in hand with finals and my brain only fit one of these events in my mental planner

Today's theme is heat/rut and it's slightly nff, has some sexual teasing but nothing too explicit. I'd rate this teen, is all I'm saying. I apologize for any writing mistakes, I'm finishing this at 11pm before collapsing in my bed.

Tagging @vaguekiwi cuz I mentioned this to her today

Needy little alpha

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

Tony wakes up to a purring alpha throwing himself on top of his defenseless body with the force of a freight train driven by a drunk man on drugs. Peter's been told a thousand times before how yes, he may be as heavy as a goddamn feather, but it still aches when that super strength plops down and refuses to let the victim's lungs function adequately. But his boyfriend is a sadist who loves cuddles and making Tony suffer.

"No."

"You love my cuddles," it's true, they bring him pain and purple bruises everywhere but there's nothing quite as soothing as a content alpha kneading like a kitten at his chest, " and you know it. "

"Uh, that's false. Never said I love cuddles. I tolerate your octopus habits, there's a difference." Peter leans back with a pout and teary eyes, wobbles that God forsaken bottom lip like he always does whenever Tony denies the kid something and presents a challenge.

Nimble fingers slide up into, unfortunately, silver hair and nonononono that's unfair. He snarls, tries to infuse the air with as many displeased pheromones as possible so Peter can take a hint when nails scratch right above his nape and Tony's done. Unravels at this hobgoblin's feet and he's half way sure his soul goes out in a huff as little circles are pressed into the exact spot that causes him so much neck pain.

Peter unashamedly preens when Tony melts into their bed and starts pawing at him for more cuddles. "Say you love my cuddles and I won't leave the bed for an hour. Throw in a kiss and I'll rub your back."

He hates(loves) this kid. Hates(loves) how he sing songs as soon as the situation doesn't favour the actually responsible adult in the relationship. Hates(loves) the way Peter never misses the places that leave him sinking into fluffy pillows. Hates how, oh that's nice.

There are tiny kisses littered on a chest glowing blue, small indentations from teasing lips pressed into spread arms and cold hands.

"Ruts gotten you needy, huh, little alpha?" Not that this one was any different from all the other ruts they've shared since dating. Tony secretly adores Peter like this, extra affectionate the minute his shyness and fear of outside criticism is washed away, replaced with the need to shower his omega in love and attention. Yes, Peter has his heart 365 days of the year. Yes, he'd die for his tiny spiderling no matter what.

But this is just really nice, ok? Previous lovers were rarely alphas so this ritual of gluing their bodies together when rut came was an added benefit to being with Peter. That and the hormones he let out while happy soothed Tony to no end.

Peter nips at his finger, still a bit too early on for him to accept the nicknames. He blushes though, a pale pink highlighting a face much more lovely than the cherubs painted on the cathedrals of Rome. Jesus, he's whipped and all they've done is cuddle.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

"I love your cuddles. Cherish them. Want them every day for the rest of my life. But I love you, my needy little alpha with a fantastic," there's a pillow smashed against his face.

"If you say dick, I'm climbing down to wrestle Bucky and I won't let Karen record it for your spank bank. " Oh, that's a low blow.

He relaxes, let's Peter sink into him with a startled yelp, rolls them over, sits on the kid's lap and clamps his knees around a trim waist. Peter may be Spider-Man, but he's Tony Stark and Tony Stark doesn't lose in bed.

Well. Not unless he wants to.

"You do that and you can say hello to your toy, the one I know is stashed in your old room under the bed in a comic book box, because that'll be the only thing helping you out when the rut really hits." Will Tony suffer immensely if that happens? Yes. He's a sucker for a needy Peter being ridiculously horny and possessive. Thing is, you don't threaten a man's spank bank. No sir. Everything else is fair play. His carefully organized folders of viewing material are not to be messed with.

Peter's blush is on full blast, spreads over a long neck and absolutely delicious, no. Be strong, Tony.

"You know about the toy?" It's a squeak, normal voice rocketing upwards thanks to the position Tony's ass is in and the knowledge that his secret is out. Which wasn't even a secret to begin with anyway because Tony is in love with the only genius not smart enough to erase his browser history in the lab's computer. Which Tony uses. Routinely. Every day.

"Know about it? I've seen it. You left it out once, all used up on your bed while you were showering. You remember that, don't you? We had sex in the bathroom that day. Bruised my back and everything?"

Peter furrows his brow, works a plush lip and no, look away, Tony, look away. The kid is sin and indulgence and heaven and no.

"Oh. Oh." Whenever he thinks his boy can't go any redder, Peter busts out a new shade of pink.

"Yup. So. I'm pretty sure this is what you wanted in the first place. Maybe it wasn't your intention," he stresses when Peter's already launching up and nearly throwing him off in an attempt to reassure Tony that wasn't his purpose with the cuddles, "but you certainly wouldn't have minded this outcome. And by this outcome I mean my incredible ass on top of that fantastic dick."

Peter tries to suffocate with a pillow held over his face.

"You've got two choices, kid. You threatened the spank bank. The teasing is fine, you know I love when my pretty kitty shows his claws," a hand slaps his arm, makes him grin, " But threatening such an integral part of my mental stability? Wrong move, Queens. You aren't getting any until tonight, not even so much as a French kiss will be given. Unless you let me bite a mark on that amazing neck and don't push me away when I nuzzle you in front of the team. "

Well. Now he's definitely being thrown off of Peter's lap.

He lands on the other side of the bed with a groan, is assaulted by a whining Peter intent on receiving something to further postpone the urge for sex that's sure to hit him soon enough.

An alpha, Tony's learned, will usually be very cuddly and affectionate the first few days of a rut week. Then the possessive, protective side will slowly emerge. Nests of pillows, couch cushions, blankets and favorite pieces of clothing appear on the fourth sunrise. The next morning comes with the need for relief, for intimacy and a marathon of sex that'll leave any supersoldier exhausted by the end of it. The resulting days offer comfort, an aftercare of sorts, where the alpha and their partner show a soft affection similar to the beginning. Nests are utilized and bodies soothed. It lasts, at most, a week and the majority of the population only has to take slightly increased portions of food.

That's for people without the metabolism of four grown men.

Peter needs sex, as much as possible, so the itch for urgent intimacy doesn't result in Tony tackled to the floor of the lab in the middle of an experiment every day of the week. It's like giving him nicotine patches instead of a cigarette.

So now he's whimpering, tugging on Tony's clothes just a little too hard if the ripping sound is any indication.

"...sorry, Tony..."

"It's fine, I've got more. I'm not letting this go though. The teams' seen us fuck against a wall, their opinion and respect, your worth, didn't change. So come on. Just one little mark. One. And Bucky nuzzles Steve and Sam all the time. Hell, Pepper sometimes nuzzles me when I'm stressed out. Please, baby? "

There it was; Tony's secret weapon. Peter blushed like a virgin on a wedding night whenever he used pet names, but the genius knows his boyfriend enjoys the familiarity and subtle intimacy. Felt reassured that they were a romantic couple and not a mentor fucking his protege.

The kid nibbles at his neck, wraps gangly limbs around a body that's always been his to take comfort in. "Just one mark? And light, I mean it, Tony, light nuzzling in front of the team. For today. Then I can get what I want?"

He snorts, can't fully comprehend how the universe paired him up with someone so intent on making Tony's joints ache and creak. "Yeah, we can have sex later, Mr Charming. Subtle as brick, that Spider-Man. Let's go get you cleaned up, make sure that rut has a hard time getting my boy under the weather."

He goes to get up. He leans forward. He cannot, in fact, leave the bed.

Peter bites with a bit more pressure, drops his hips down harder and Jesus Christ, they're never seeing the light of the kitchen if his boyfriend can't wait til it's dark.

"Or..."

"I'm an old man, I need protein before you go jumping tired bones that have to spend two hours updating your suit." Ok, so maybe he's slightly bitter and annoyed at not having enough stamina (or refractory period, for that matter) to keep up with a repressed teenage superhuman. It's not his fault Pepper keeps bringing Krispy Kreme donuts to the office meetings.

It'd be rude not to eat with the others anyway.

"You don't have to do anything." Ah, it's one of those ruts.

Tony softens, smoothes a hand down a back that could hold a plank under a five story building with ease, kisses a heated cheek.

"Needy little alpha." It's his turn to whisper and nuzzle against soft skin.

"Kind, not so little omega?" Tony laughs, presses their lips together so Peter can see what's it like to taste a smile radiating with joy and love. Slowly clicks the button on the nearest nightstand; unless someone is dying , it'll just be the two of them in the room.

(There was an incident once. Groot may have been traumatized by a situation involving superstrength, webs and the Ironette costume Tony only adored when it adorned Peter's body.)

"I do so love my needy little alpha needing me, don't I?"

His boyfriend blinks, grins at Tony as if he's just hung the moon and stars for his spiderling and ok, a little sex early in the morning isn't that bad.

"You love my cuddles too."

"Shut up and kiss me, Queens. I'm not getting any-"

They don't talk about anything too important after that.

----------

A little sex early in the morning actually is that bad when you miss a meeting with the U.N and show up smelling like sex, infatuation and, oddly enough, strawberry.

Rocket doesn't stop teasing for months.