#so of course i drew a piece that dealt with both

[amazingspider-z]

Watch out! Someone call the fire department 🚒

Just kidding. It's (technically-totally-not) superhero time

[srovtl]

(Wandering Statues be Silenced) Arthur SSR Card Story Translation

Heart dancing by curiosity toward the unknown - Episode 1

Arthur: Both of you, please watch your step. There are fragments of sculptures scattered all over the place.

Riquet, Akira: I understand.

We came to a mansion filled with sculptures in the eastern country to investigate a strange phenomenon.

It seems that there are also traps for intruders inside the mansion. So Arthur, Riquet, and I decided to explore the mansion and make a map with easy-to-follow paths.

Arthur: Well then, shall we start making the map from around here?

Arthur: I'll take the lead. Sage, I want you to map out the path we take.

Akira: Understood!

Arthur: Riquet, please observe the surroundings carefully and add notes and supplements to the map drawn by the Sage.

Riquet: Leave it to me! I'll observe carefully so I don't miss anything.

Akira: But will you be okay, Arthur? If you lead the way, there's a risk of traps…

Arthur: There's no need to worry, Sage.

Arthur: I have the strongest magical power among us, so I'm the right person for the job, and besides, Lord Figaro said that there isn't much danger here right now.

Akira: That's reassuring. But if there's anything I can do, please let me know anytime.

Arthur: Yes, thank you.

Riquet: I'll make sure to keep a close eye on the rear. Let me protect your back, Prince Arthur! And of course, yours too Sage!

Arthur: Haha. Riquet, it's reassuring to have you here.

Arthur: Well, shall we get going now?

Riquet, Akira: Yes!

I take out paper and pen and begin exploring. Everywhere I go, there are sculptures placed haphazardly, and it's dark and dusty.

Shortly after we start walking, Arthur stops, signaling Riquet and me not to move. We see that pieces of a collapsed sculpture are blocking our path.

Arthur:《Pernoctant Nixzo》

As Arthur casts the spell, the debris rises and piles up in the corner of the hallway.

Akira: Wow, just a moment ago there was barely room to step...

Riquet: It's so much easier to walk now!

Arthur: Riquet, it's your turn. Can you mark the spot where the debris is piled up on the map as a landmark?

Riquet: Yes, leave it to me!

Riquet puts red circles on the path I drew and writes notes.

Riquet: Let's put this here and... done! In addition to the markers, I've also made sure to note that Prince Arthur cleared the path!

Riquet : Now Prince Arthur's achievements will be remembered for future generations.

Arthur: Haha, that's an honor.

Arthur: Oh? The corridor seems to split up ahead. Let's start from the right.

Arthur: This path seems to have more carvings. Let's Avoid the difficult areas and proceed carefully to avoid traps.

Heart dancing by curiosity toward the unknown - Episode 2

I cautiously proceed along with Arthur through the dark and eerie mansion.

Akira: (This atmosphere is really scary... the sculptures look like they'll start moving at any moment...)

Riquet, Akira: What!?

Akira: That knight sculpture just fell over!? It was standing perfectly fine just a moment ago...

Arthur: The floor around it is rotten... I don't sense anything strange, so maybe the vibrations from our footsteps caused the statue to fall.

Arthur: Let's avoid the rotten parts. Please follow my footsteps as much as possible.

Akira: I understand...

Arthur: It's okay. I'll definitely protect you.

Arthur: And I'm sure Riquet feels the same way.

Riquet: Sage, come a little closer.

Akira: Thank you!

After that, trouble continued, with howling winds and falling lamps.

Each time, Arthur calmly dealt with the situation and spoke to us kindly.

Akira: The map is gradually taking shape.

Arthur: Yes. Thanks to the Sage's careful work and Riquet's observational skills.

The three of us once again gathered around the map. Arthur slid his fingertips along the path on the paper.

Arthur: There were no traps to stop intruders on the path so far.

Akira: Indeed. Strange things have happened, but I'm not sure if it can be called a trap.

Arthur: ...However, we may need to be a little careful from here on out.

Arthur points to the end of the corridor. Beyond that, even more sculptures have piled up, blocking our path.

Arthur: Unlike the ones up to this point, it seems as if the sculptures from here on out have been piled up intentionally by someone.

Arthur: There may be something further in the hallway that the owner of the mansion doesn't want others to see.

Arthur: I'll go ahead alone first. You two, come over as soon as I can confirm it's safe.

Riquet: Very well. Please be careful, Prince Arthur.

Arthur nodded at Riquet's words and went ahead.

After checking that the surrounding area was safe, Arthur sent a signal, and just as we were about to approach him...

Arthur, Riquet, Akira: !!

Riquet: Wha, the wind...!?

Suddenly, the windows all around us slammed open, and a roaring, raging wind stormed over us.

Arthur: Both of you, come here.

Riquet: Oh, the map! I have to get it back.

Arthur: Riquet!

Arthur: 《Pernoctant Nixzo》!

As Arthur chants his spell, the window creaks in resistance and slowly closes.

With the map we made somewhere outside of it.

Arthur: Both of you! Are you okay?

Akira: Yes, I'm okay. But the map...

Riquet: Is there any way we can get it back, even now...?

Arthur smiled at us, to reassure us, as we were shaking with anxiety.

Arthur: Please don't get discouraged.

Arthur: The map is right here.

Heart dancing by curiosity toward the unknown - Episode 3

Riquet, Akira: What?

My eyes widen as I look at the unfolded map. It is definitely the one I had been holding just a moment ago.

Akira: Didn’t it go flying just now?

Arthur: I had magically made a copy just in case. The three of us had gathered around the map a few times.

Riquet and I exchanged glances.

Riquet: I didn't think Prince Arthur would be considerate to such a degree... I never would have thought of making a copy.

Arthur: But this is still only a copy. I'm sorry to have to abandon what you two worked so hard to create.

Akira: No, don't worry about it!

Riquet: Thank you for your help, Prince Arthur!

Arthur: Riquet, Sage...

(After some time passes)

Arthur: Well, let's stop the exploring here and return to where everyone is. We can share this map as well.

Riquet: Well then, I'll go deliver the map!

Akira: Arthur. Thank you again.

Akira: If you hadn't stayed calm, we might not have been able to complete the map... You were very reliable!

Arthur: I'm honored to hear you say that. However, there are still many areas where I need to improve, so I will continue to work hard.

Akira: (Amazing... As always, you're full of ambition)

Arthur: ……..

As I was admiring him, Arthur turned his gaze towards the stairs looking worried about something.

Akira: Oh, what's wrong? Is there something over there...

Arthur: ……Ah!

Arthur: I'm sorry… actually there's something bothering me about that trap earlier.

Akira: The trap?

Arthur: Yes. I had the impression that someone had intentionally kept that area off limits to people.

Arthur: I was a little curious as to what could be in a place that they wanted to keep people away so much.

Akira: That's true… Could they be hiding something?

Arthur: The inner room itself may be a special place. Or perhaps it is hiding something important to the master of the mansion...

Arthur looked up at the stairs again.

Curiosity sparkled in the depths of his eyes.

A glimpse of boyish behavior befitting his age makes me smile at the difference from before.

Akira: Arthur, if you don't mind, when Riquet returns, why don't we continue our exploration?

Arthur: ...! No, I can't cause you trouble because of my selfishness...

Arthur: Besides, there's no guarantee that there won't be a trap like before.

Akira: I don't want you two to push yourselves too hard either... But if we are more careful than before, I'm sure we'll be fine.

Akira: I'll be careful, and I have reliable Riquet and Arthur with me.

Arthur: ……

Arthur: Thank you, Sage.

Arthur smiles a little more childishly than usual and takes my hand.

As he holds my hand tightly, I have the premonition that some unknown adventure is about to begin. My heart beats with excitement.

Arthur: Then let's head out together again, the three of us. To the deepest part of the mansion, to a place shrouded in mystery!

The division of map-making duties - Card Episode

Arthur: Hello, Sage. Is it a good time now?

Akira: Arthur. Is something wrong?

Arthur: Actually, I'm going to make a map of the forest with Riquet. If you don't mind, Sage, would you like to join us?

Akira: A map of the forest?

Arthur: Yes. Riquet said he really enjoyed making the map at the mansion in the eastern country the other day.

Arthur: Next time, we've decided to try making one in the forest around the magic manor.

Akira: That sounds fun, let's do it!

Arthur: Great! The forest is much larger than the mansion, so we're planning to progress little by little.

Arthur: Also, Riquet wants to lead the way this time, so I'll leave it to him.

Akira: (Riquet was looking at Arthur with admiration at that time... I'm sure he's really excited.)

Akira: I'm looking forward to that. There aren't many dangers around here, so we can make it without worry.

Arthur: Yes. This time I would like to take on the duty of mapping out the path the Sage would be walking...

Arthur: Since I'm here, I'd like to find a place where everyone can take a break and draw it on the map.

Akira: That is a fantastic idea! If I find one, I will make sure to report it to you.

Arthur: I'm counting on you. Let's go, Sage!

Homescreen voice line

Trick or... Eh, Sage, would you like me to play a prank on you? Hmm, then... 《Pernoctant Nixzo》!... Hehe, no sage, I didn't get bigger, I just made you smaller. I wanted to keep you all to myself in my pocket so I can protect you from everyone's pranks.

[pyropsychiccollector]

Ace Attorney: IF (... Part 9)

… I'm going to be a little weird and begin jumping around the timeline now that we've reached the 2016-2019 era. As expected, JFA is tough for me to drum up inspiration for. And rather than rush it out haphazardly, I'll sit and stew on 2017. I'll also hold off on Trials and Tribulations because let's be real, I derailed much of that game with Diego and Mia as they currently are.

So rather than immediately dive into characters like the Berry Big Circus, or Mask DeMasque, or Tender Lender… Let's just… Put all those on hold for the moment. (人◕ω◕) I want to have fun with these posts, and I think I'm seeing one of my problems: I'm diving too much into the mysteries and crimes. I like dabbling in those, but these posts are supposed to be outlines anyway. So I'll endeavor for…brevity, and not get weighed down by details of cases. If they come up, they come up. If not, we can chat about them if you guys are ever curious. (人◕ω◕)

So let's look to the future instead. Add a bunch more new colorful characters to our merry brood. (人◕ω◕) Let's start with… 2019. April. (人◕ω◕)

Zak Gramarye. Charged with murdering his mentor, Magnifi. We all know he only works with people that he can acknowledge, and with Phoenix as a prosecutor that already changes quite a bit. He still dismisses Kristoph as his attorney, but that leaves the question of who he'd seek out for representation instead. … The answer is… Interesting. Initially he wants Edgeworth, but Miles isn't as quick to rise to the bait as Phoenix was. This leaves Uncle Ray to nominate Sebastian, who's freshly graduated from Themis Legal Academy at only 17.

Naturally, this goes about as well as you might think. Miles and Ray both have separate cases that day, so Sebastian makes a solo debut as an attorney against Klavier Gavin, who's also a fresh prosecutor (… And been given a hot tip of forged evidence at play). Sebastian receives the fake notebook page from Trucy, and assuming that she got it from Ray or Miles, thinks nothing of it. However, Sebastian does show the page to Zak to ask about its contents, and Zak takes pity on the boy. He knows that page is fake, so he tears it up into tiny pieces after reading it. Aghast at Zak's reaction, the greenhorn demands answers… and the magician explains Sebastian should be more on-guard against such traps. Sebastian isn't the attorney Zak wanted, but they all work with the cards they've been dealt. He won't babysit Sebastian, won't spoon-feed him answers, but he won't let the boy sabotage his own career when he's just starting. Even if Edgeworth's cold shoulder rankles somewhat, Zak won't take his frustrations out on the kid.

The trial proceeds without the forged evidence. It's slow and pretty back-and-forth with Sebastian and Klavier both making mistakes. Jake is the detective in charge, and he's pretty sure Klavier is going about this case all wrong. The police are all but certain this case was a suicide based off surveillance footage from the hallway and the hospital equipment (the EKG feed) confirming the time of death. However, Klavier is still running this as a murder trial and only the defense can steer him back on course. Valant still messed with the IV bag, so there's also that to contend with.

In the final recess, Zak decides to call off his grand escape after witnessing the sorry excuse of a trial. Sebastian being new is understandable, he didn't even get to investigate the crime scene. But Klavier has no excuse after a week of investing with the police, and it really tries Zak's patience. So the magician loans Sebastian the real diary page, sensing the trial will come down to that. And as suspected, it comes down to Klavier presenting the diary, to which Sebastian presents the page to prove Magnifi wrote more.

Klavier calls in Drew Misham as a special witness, but Drew denies that page was his work. Because it isn't. Analysis on the page further proves it's the real deal, and since Zak was granted the rights to the Gramarye magic, he has even less motive to kill his mentor. With Klavier's slip up it becomes clear that HE may be caught up in something nefarious. Despite the prosecutor insisting for an extensive investigation into Edgeworth Law Offices, he has no evidence or witnesses to substantiate him. Just a forger who confirms there was indeed a page created by him, but they have no idea where it went.

In the end, Klavier is dismissed as the prosecutor, and the P.I.C. fully intends to investigate him for this supposed "tip" he received. He fully cooperates and confesses he got the tip from Kristoph, but his brother frames him for the whole affair. Klavier winds up disbarred for the would-be forgery, and to drown out the humiliation and betrayal he feels, he throws everything into his music career now. … It's all he's got left. He knows trying to turn everything back on Kristoph won't work, not in their current court system. He just doesn't have the evidence. But he WILL keep an eye out for every opportunity… He doesn't want to give up law. Klavier just has no choice at this time.

Meanwhile, Phoenix takes over as the prosecutor and listens to the police's findings, putting the case to bed without much fuss. Zak is cleared of all charges, and Valant faces a short time in the detention center for tampering with the crime scene. Trucy doesn't take that betrayal well, but Zak is willing to keep working with his partner - they were both in Troupe Gramarye, so they were both victims of Magnifi's cruel whims after Thalassa vanished. Sebastian thanks Zak for working with him, and promises to grow to be a man, an attorney that Zak can respect. The magician is sure Sebastian will do just fine. There's the matter of Kristoph, but… Zak isn't too worried about the coward's machinations. If Kristoph wishes to throw his brother under the bus, that's on him. They both know Kristoph was the real Mastermind, and they'll be watching each other warily from now on.

Phoenix and Calisto look into Drew Studios with regards to accusations of forgeries. Vera's nail polish that she received from the client was examined, and atroquinine was discovered and confiscated. Though as an apology to the girl, Calisto ordered a replacement bottle to be mailed to Vera. … On Phoenix's account, of course. Ariodoney Nail Polish is expensive. (人◕ω◕) Atroquinine was also found on the Gramarye stamp, and replacing that commemorative stamp was harder to pull off… But Tyrell pulled some strings. For a while, they'd post an officer as a guard detail in case the client ever tried to make contact again…or in case another murder attempt was made on the Mishams.

Thus, Magnifi's death and the trial surrounding it came to a close. There remains some loose ends with Kristoph running loose, Klavier framed and disbarred, but Sebastian's fledgling career remains intact, and the Gramarye's continue practicing their magic. In a way, the "Dark Age of the Law" is still on track… People are still going to begin doubting the courts more than ever. It's just going to be very different going forward. (人◕ω◕)

[cherryxblossxms]

Masturbation May - Day 7b: At Work (Simeon)

A/N: Simeon was suggested for day 7 by an anonymous sender! Trying desperately to finish these up whoops. Same as Satan, I wasn't quite sure what constituted "at work" for Simeon, but I think as a fellow writer, we've both dealt with accidentally getting too turned on by our own writing and imagined him having to take a break to work off the effects of his own steamy scene. Not quite as exciting as the others, definitely made this more artsy haha

Featuring: GN reader || Simeon x reader

Warnings: masturbation; a little cum eating as a treat~; just Simeon getting wrapped up in his writing, sexual fantasy

Word count: 1428

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Like many creators, Simeon could sometimes be accused of getting wrapped up in his creations, lost inside the world of his imaginations until someone shook him out of it. It happened with TSL, definitely, getting so absorbed into his writing that he rarely left his desk for hours. And now, as he wrote a more personal piece, he let himself loose once more, letting the words flow like water as the movie played out in his mind.

Ever since the two of you had started dating, your love had greatly influenced his writing. Simeon would never argue against being called sappy, not when it simply implied that he showed his love and adoration for you in the things he made. It was his ode to you, honoring you for the positive influence and light that you brought to his life. You were his muse, plain and simple.

And as what can often happen when one has a great influence and inspiration towards one's writing, he often found himself writing about you. Never by name, of course, and plenty of the character details were changed to prevent anyone from identifying you in it. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable or parade you in front of his fan base like a dress-up doll. But he couldn't help it, subconsciously slipping in little things that only he knew were specific to you.

The way that you kissed him, nipping at his lower lip before slotting your mouth against his. Or perhaps the way your fingers gently cradled the nape of his neck during kisses or cuddling. Sometimes he'd include the way your fingers rubbed over his knuckles whenever you held hands, trying to commit his sensation to memory, or drew circles over his palm when you were nervous. He loved all of those parts of you, the way you showed your love for him.

On occasion, however, the writing tended towards the spicy end. Even as an angel, he wasn't a stranger to sex and the passionate romps between lovers. He'd engaged in enough hot and heavy sessions with you, in fact, to thoroughly educate you otherwise. And although he tried to steer clear of that in his writing to the public, sometimes the story would escape him a little when his thoughts were filled with you.

He'd started off his most recent piece on a strong, but sincere, romantic note, just feeling exceptionally enamored with you that day. Everything was going smoothly, the words were flowing out of him without a hitch and anyone that read it would know of his overflowing love for you, reflected in the love between his characters. But as personal writing tends to do, it slowly but surely started to lean towards the content of his current thoughts.

He couldn't help reminiscing over the last time he saw you, where you two had shared a hot morning together, Simeon just taking his time in making love to you in the early morning hours. He could still feel the touch of your fingers, warm and gentle, as it traced along his waist down to his hips and butt. Before he even entered you, you two had spent a long time just touching each other, quick glancing touches getting hotter and heavier until his need was throbbing in your hands, leaking in excitement. And similarly, he could feel the heat emanating from your core, see the way your hips squirmed in anticipation of more. When your eyes got hazy and teary with need and pleasure, it sent shivers down his spine and his blood to his aching cock.

Before Simeon knew it, he was weaving his desires into the story, the fictional main characters now seemingly familiar in the way they were holding each other and delivering their affections, including these more passionate ones. Limbs tangling as sweet kisses were exchanged, the characters and the environment were changing as the story continued. As he wrote, one of the characters even started to take on your characteristics, he could see your eyes and your body shape begin to take form in his mind.

Before long, he'd joined in the fantasy, seeing himself delivering pleasure unto you, all your favorite neck kisses, squeezing your hips and chest before dipping down between your legs. He longed to hear the way you moaned his name when he licked at your core, could see you squirming against his sheets with eyes dark with pleasure and arousal. His favorite was when you gripped his hair while he did this, tugging on it when he licked you just right or when you wanted to guide him to a specific spot.

Just imagining that made Simeon's dick twitch in his pants, and it pulled him out of his writing haze and fantasy. He realized how hard he was, tenting his pure white pants, and was embarrassed to realize his story had been turning into an erotica novel. He couldn't really be surprised, though; he hadn't seen you in days ever since he got into a writing groove, likely leading to fantasizing about you instead as his body longed for physical touch.

He took a moment to stretch, contemplating what to do. He wanted to keep writing while the story was fresh in his mind, but with how needy he'd become during this session, he was afraid the horniness would enter his writing again and make it unusable. He'd already have to revise a few parts that were certainly outside of his comfortable realm of writing and publishing. Finally, he gave in to his desires, rationalizing that a break was needed anyway, and moved from his desk to his bed to relax better.

Just opening his zipper provided some relief, releasing himself from his constraints, throbbing needily. Keeping his book's scene fresh in his mind, he made sure to take off his glove before rubbing gently around his groin, enjoying the pressure and teasing before finally palming himself. He wanted so badly to continue this with you, cover you in all the kisses you could bear and more, make you cry his name in overwhelming ecstasy as he brought you to the brink again and again.

You were always so good to him, so loving and kind and made him feel loved ten times over. He just wanted to repay the feeling, fill you with his warmth and his love and himself until it was too much. Just imagining you writhing against his sheets was sending him towards his climax embarrassingly quick, he was so pent up, but he let himself hurtle towards it, stroking himself faster, squeezing his shaft, eager for release.

Just as he felt his climax start to crest, he quickly grabbed a nearby handkerchief just in time to spill himself into it, a little covering his fingers as well. He couldn't help but lick his fingers clean, a sense of mischief making his cheeks burn. A deep feeling of relief instantly flooded his body, and Simeon took a breath as his heart rate settled down, sitting back on his shaky hands.

Now that his mind was cleared, Simeon reflected on what just happened. He had gotten turned on while working on spicier creations in the past, but he'd never been so needy before that he actually needed to relieve himself like that. But then, this never happened when he wrote about other characters that were disconnected from himself, or before he met you. It was the fact it was you, someone that resonated with his soul and his entire being so dearly. You had wondrous effects on his mind and his body that he was often surprised by but still thankful for every day.

His love for you was overflowing now, replacing his prior desperation, and it brought forth new inspiration to his piece. After tossing the dirtied handkerchief into his laundry bin and straightening out his clothes, he got back to his computer to continue typing, the words flowing with ease once more. Before he knew it, the work was completed and he couldn't help but smile. He gave the most recent portion a quick reread, just to ensure there weren't any glaring mistakes right now while it's fresh in his mind. But of course, rereading it reminded him of just how explicit he'd accidentally made it in his lusty haze. Even if he could get it published, he wasn't sure he was comfortable with others reading what was unintentionally but clearly you and him as the couple. Perhaps he should gift this to you in private...

[akwolfgrl]

How sweet it is to be loved by them 27

Sanji stood and waited as the knife juggler/thrower finished throwing his knives at a lovely lady, he resisted the urge to jump in to save her, but if he did that would break Cys concentration and someone would actually get hurt. Cy was the one who dealt with the business side of things, well him and his partner Sarah that is.

Sanji politely clapped as Cy offered Sarah a hand, kissing it as she stepped down. She really was a lovely lady, with dark blonde hair pulled back from her face and brown eyes.

“Arnt you neveus about him missing and hitting you?” Sanji had to ask.

“Nope!” She smiled and shook her head. “Cy hasn't missed yet. Even if he did, I ate a devil fruit that turned my body into stone, so it wouldn't hurt a bit,”

“Have you finally come to join?” Cy asked as they drew closer. “We'd love to add a third.”

“A pretty blonde like you, we would have so much fun.” Sarah added, both of them checking him out.

“Fraid not,” Sanji shook his head. “Already married and mated. Just here to pick a Den Den Mushi Zeff ordered and sell my slick,”

“Ahh that's a shame, Sarah. Will you go grab a Den Den for me?”

“Of course I will,” Sarah kissed Cy on the cheek before leaving.

“All right, let's see what you have,” Cy turned to him, Sanji passed over the vials of slick to be checked. “Hmm,” Sanji watched as the other omega opened a bottle and poured a few drops onto his fingers, he rolled the viscous fluid between his fingers, before he lifted it to his fingers to sniff. “Good quality, you'll get a good price from it,” Good, Sanji had to temporarily stop smoking for a few days to get a better product. “How about a hundred and thirty Berri a vial?” Cy offered him closing the lid on the vial in his hand.

“All right sounds to me, I have twelve vials,” Sanji handed over the box of vials.

“Let's see, twelve vials at a hundred and thirty a piece would be,” Cy paused as he calculated everything. If zoro had been, he would have gotten it in an istinet. “one thousand five hundred and sixty berri.”

Sanji grinned that was a good amount. They would need it, especially since he now had another mouth to feed. “Sounds great.”

“Here we go!” Sarah had returned with a large crate. “One Den den mushi, everything they need is on some paper taped to the top.”

Sanji took the crate from her. “Thank you so much, my dear.”

“It's no problem, I'm gonna miss the little guy. It's always hard to say goodbye.”

[quillandink333]

The Haunted Samurai

Kazuma Asougi × Original Character

SPOILERS FOR THE GREAT ACE ATTORNEY CHRONICLES ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.5k

WARNINGS: psychosis, violence, family trauma

Summary: Now faced with one of his sworn nemeses after ten long years of grief, Kazuma’s resolve as the lone survivor of his family line is put to the test. Later, he’s struck with an epiphany.

Notes: Special thanks to @angeaxil for letting me include her OC Genevieve in this series! It’s both an honour and a pleasure to be able to work with this lovely girly~

Masterlist

“Right, I see… You’re that Asougi’s young lad, are you? And, what? You’re gonna cut me down with that thing, is that it?”

“That will very much depend on the answers you give to my questions. I want to know what really happened ten years ago. The truth. That’s all.”

“Before we get into it, let me make one thing clear: I still believe your father was the Professor. There’s no doubt in my mind. But unfortunately back then…we didn’t have the evidence we needed to make the crime stick.”

“So…you admit it then? The evidence used in my father’s trial was fabricated?!”

“It was for the good o’ the country. Anyway…I was just followin’ orders.”

“Orders? What exactly did you do? Speak!”

“I’m not sayin’ another word.”

The complete lack of shame or regret in the Brit’s greasy, gluttonous words wrenched at Kazuma’s spine. “Even if your life depends on it?” His eyes were permanently widened, a twitch festering in his brow that would not cease.

“That’s right. Even then.”

So be it, then. This vile creature had drawn its last breath. He drew the soul of his clan from its sheath.

But the moment he did, the atmosphere in the watertight room took a nosedive.

All of a sudden, his lungs were heaving, unable to draw in a full breath, and his heart was pounding, knowing that if it stopped, it wouldn’t be able to start again.

He could hear the voice, his mother’s voice as it turned out, all around him. “He’s not going to say anything. He’s not on your side. Our side. Don’t you see, Kazuma? He’s one of them, he’s one of the enemies we’ve been waiting to find and get our revenge upon for the last decade!”

All too suddenly, the sound of her voice was slowly becoming accompanied by the sight of her face.

“Do it, you imbecile! Finish the job!” The longer she shrieked at him, spraying his cheek with her spit, the hotter and sweatier the palms of his hands became. Everything was chaos. She had him surrounded from all sides. The war between his feelings of terror and rage was so fierce, it threatened to tear him apart from the inside. “If you truly are an Asougi, you will not hesitate.”

He took a breath and raised Karuma over his head.

It was at that pivotal point in time—of course it was—that a new voice rose up above the pandemonium, crying, “Stop!”

Ki-i-i-i-i-n

In mid air, the blade screeched to a halt. The shock from the impact was all but enough to shatter the wrists of its wielder. Even if it had, it was nothing compared to the pain dealt by that deafening sound. He didn’t even have to look to know, the moment it rang out, that a piece of his life had been chipped away, never to be made whole again.

He whipped around, desperate to catch a glimpse of the girl who’d stolen the wrath from his heart, but soon fell to his knees a failure.

When he finally found the strength to raise his head, the inspector was nowhere to be seen. The same went for the ghost of his mother. Everything was in silence. The light was so little that he couldn’t see anything more than a foot away. If he were to have had a relapse in his amnesia, he surely wouldn’t have known he was in the cabin of a passenger ship. He couldn’t feel the rocking of the waves anymore. All he felt was the hilt of his bleeding soul clutched between his palms and the oppressive chill of solitude and scorn.

“Be wary of the truth.” These words echoed in his subconscious ever since that dark night. This was the message englazed in white and blue enamel upon the hilt of the French short sword he carried on his other hip—the one and only thing left undamaged. He knew the meaning of the two flowers because they happened to be two of his own favourites, though he’d never mentioned that to Cecelia, the one who’d gifted him the sword. Just as she certainly had no way of knowing about his current ordeal. But then, why violets and chrysanthemums?

For once, his mother’s voice had gone silent, leaving him with only the company of his own thoughts. That girl he’d come to know as Cecelia Gardner… He was certain that hers was the face that had flickered before his eyes and forced him to falter in that critical moment aboard the SS Grouse. But damn it all, how dare she stand in his way and imply he was overlooking something, even if she was just a figment of his imagination? He scoured his mind for some other conclusion, some other way to interpret her message, if that’s what it was.

It wasn’t until the real truth was brought to light, about his father’s death and all the tragic events that had led up to it, that the two symbols on his sword came to mean something to him. Something more poignant and powerful than he ever could have predicted himself, though somehow it seemed she had.

Still, even after the true Reaper had been defeated and the lives of his parents avenged, something else nagged at him in the far recesses of his hazy mind.

It didn’t make sense. There had to be more to her message that he was overlooking. He couldn’t trust his reasoning anymore, not after how blind he’d been.

Then it dawned on him: Japan wasn’t the only people with their own language of flowers. He recalled a time when young Susato had developed a fixation with British floriography. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? “Susato-san,” he spoke, drawing her attention from across the prosecutors’ office. “Might you be willing to look something up for me?”

In an extraordinary stroke of luck, his former judicial assistant happened to have brought from Japan her treasured copy of Nelson and Sons’, ‘The Language of Flowers.’ And, lo and behold, she’d already taken the liberty of looking up the two flowers in question, having caught sight of them on the blade’s hilt. “In Britain, white chrysanthemums seem to hold the same meaning as they do back home. They stand for truth. As for why they’re the same in both countries, I’m not sure whether the chicken or the egg came first in this case, so to speak, but—”

“That’s fine,” he assured impatiently. “What about the other? Blue violets?”

“Oh, yes, of course! Let me see…” She skimmed through her notes, tracing each neatly penned line of text with her fingernail. “Ah, how sweet. It says they symbolise faithfulness and love.”

“What did you say?!”

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin at his outburst. His eyes were wide and his shoulders high as he glared daggers at her open book.

“Prosecutor Asougi!”

Just then, a gentlewoman burst into the room. There was no mistaking those pink curls. It was Van Zieks’ doting fiancée, though her name escaped him at present.

“Lady Bellerose!” Susato chimed in. “Whatever are you doing here at this late hour?”

“I’m here to see Kazuma Asougi. That’s you, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been trying to arrange for us to meet since the Exhibition, but I just kept hitting one dead end after another!” she panted. “I have an inkling that Barok was the reason behind it. But anyway, I’m here on behalf of a dear friend of mine. A young lady with whom you voyaged here from your homeland.”

Kazuma’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait. You know Miss Gardner?”

“Yes! Poor Cecelia’s told me everything that happened between the two of you. She’s been positively beside herself. So help me, Sir, I’ve half the mind to strangle you right here and now for breaking her heart.”

She was audibly seething, and now Susato was too. “Kazuma-sama, how could you?!” she huffed. “Why am I only just hearing of this?!”

“Hold on, please! I’m sorry, I’ve just had too many other things on my mind—”

“That’s no excuse!”

“I know, I know it isn’t. Lady Bellerose, please, I beg of you. Help me fix this. I’ll do anything.”

The lady crossed her arms at him with a scoff. “Really? Then I’m sure you won’t mind taking a carriage with me to her flat right this instant.”

His voice stopped working. What could he say to that? There was absolutely no way he had the nerve to face her again after the horrific way he’d treated her, at least not at that very moment. What would he do once they arrived? What could he possibly say to make amends at this point? But doing nothing was out of the question. What he’d done was unforgivable, and yet it seemed she still wished to hear from him.

“Give me twenty four hours,” he said at last. “I’ll… Yes, I’ll write a letter. Then you can come by tomorrow evening to pick it up and make sure she receives it posthaste. That is, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“No, no, not at all. Whatever it takes for her to get the apology she so well deserves.”

“Yes. Quite right…” he nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

As he set to work at his desk that night, he could only pray that he wasn’t too late.

[ailendolin]

hey! your fics are honestly some of my faves, i can’t believe you’ve only just reached 500 followers - you deserve so much more recognition ^^

for the drabbles could i please request ❤️‍🩹 with dissectus and voltari? totally cool if not! <3

Thank you very much for your kind words, anon! 💙 They're very much appreciated. I know writers are supposed to write for themselves first and foremost but it's honestly such a wonderful feeling and privilege to be able to bring joy to other people with my stories, and I really your Disstari ficlet does exactly that! As all the others, it's set in my Second Chances verse.

Next up:

🎮 Games - Mary, Annie and alive Kitty

🌧️ Rainy day activities - Humphrey & Sophie

🩸 Patching up a wound - Alison/Mike

🥰 Saying ‘I love you’ without saying it - Thomas/Isabelle

🛁 platonic bathing - Ian/Gabriel

Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

————

Free

❤️‍🩹 Reunited after a long time apart

It was done.

Voltari still found it hard to believe, even now as he was on his way upstairs to open the Chamber doors for the Elders. Cuddly Dick had been defeated and the other Overlords rounded up and secured. Their plan had actually worked and Voltari – Voltari was free. No more mind games, no more torture and punishment dealt out with sickening smiles, no more constant vigilance. For the first time in his life, he could just be, and the realisation hit him so hard that his steps faltered on the stairs and he had to stop and take a deep breath to calm his racing heart.

There was, of course, still the lingering fear that the Elders, now that they had no use for them anymore, would go back on their word and not pardon him and Dissectus like they had promised. A lifetime of mistrust made it difficult, nearly impossible, for him to believe in the good of people now. But Voltari wanted to believe. He wanted to believe so badly even though he and Dissectus probably didn’t deserve a second chance – definitely didn’t, Voltari amended, thinking of all the things he’d been forced to do to survive in a world where showing even the smallest sign of weakness could mean certain death. But that didn’t stop him from wanting a new life, a better one – one without secrets, pain and loneliness. And after what he’d been through these last few weeks he wasn’t below begging the Elders for it.

His ruined eye began to throb under the eye piece, a painful reminder of everything he was walking away from right now. Voltari resisted the urge to reach up and rub at the mutilated skin as he continued on his way: up the stairs, then down the winding hallways until he finally reached the large wooden doors that had held him prisoner this whole time. His hands were shaking when he inserted the key and pulled them open.

The Elders were waiting outside and turned towards him as one. Voltari couldn’t deny his surprise when they all broke out into smiles, almost as if he was a long lost friend they hadn’t seen in a while. One of them, the scribe, let out a noise of unbridled excitement before she came forward and threw her arms around him in a hug.

Voltari froze.  

“Oh, sorry,” she said in embarrassment and hurried to step back. “I’m just so grateful to be home again!”

With that, she shuffled past him, the others close behind her. Voltari blinked after them, not quite able to comprehend what had just happened, before the soft clearing of a throat drew his attention back to the person behind him.

“You’ll get used to them,” Dissectus said, a smile tugging at his lips, and Voltari forgot how to breathe. He drank in the sight of his oldest, his only friend like a parched man, cataloguing all the things that were different about him; from the dark blue tunic he now wore in place of his uniform to the lack of make-up on his face. He looked gentler without both, Voltari thought, and lovelier if such a thing was even possible.

Something eased in his chest, then; something that had been tightly coiled ever since Cuddly Dick had summoned them for the first time and grown incredibly painful when Dissectus had left him behind to provide a cover for Negatus and secure their future. Without warning, tears pricked at his eyes and Dissectus’s face softened in spite of Voltari’s attempts to swallow them.

“It’s okay,” he said in a tone that had only ever been reserved for the privacy of their bedchambers before, the only places they could allow themselves to be vulnerable. “It’s over, Tari. We made it.”

Voltari knew that, of course. Yet hearing Dissectus say it was different, somehow; made it more tangible and real. He exhaled shakily and a moment later found himself drawn against a warm chest with more gentleness than Dissectus had ever shown openly before. Arms came up around his back, and when one of Dissectus’s hands found its way into his hair, Voltari closed his eyes and let his head be guided onto one shoulder.

“It’s over,” Dissectus murmured again and this time, Voltari didn’t fight the tears. He curled his fingers into the soft fabric of Dissectus’s tunic and let the tension, fear and pain of the last few weeks fall away from him. It was a much needed moment of comfort, even if it only lasted briefly before Voltari pulled back. Ducking his head to hide the redness around his eye, he gestured at the doors. “We should head inside. There’s still much work to be done.”

“Of course,” Dissectus said gracefully. His soft smile said that he had seen right through the deflection and was choosing not to mention it – just as he was choosing not to mention the angry marks around Voltari’s eye piece or the way Voltari’s hands were still trembling faintly in the afternoon light.

Voltari had quite forgotten what it felt like to be seen, but rather than letting it unsettle him, he revelled in the sensation and allowed himself a small smile as they took the first steps of their new lives together.

[bluebellhairpin]

Not Jealous

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader

A/N: So I worked on this instead of like, five other things that people want but hey - gal’s gotta have her vices. - Nemo

Summary: Even after years of fancy gatherings, Bruce wants nothing more than to give in to his introvert nature and run away from them. You however, have taught him that after sticking it out, they might not be so bad. 

Warnings: Flirting. Bruce get’s jealous but not really ‘cause Batman doesn’t get jealous. Reader has she/her pronouns and is referred to as uh ‘wife’ multiple times. 

Listening to: ‘Can’t Take My Eye’s Off You’ by Frankie Valli - ‘Pardon the way that I stare, there's nothin' else to compare... You're just too good to be true.’ 

Series Masterlist

Masterlist  

Gala’s were something that Bruce never really liked. 

As Bruce Wayne - the billionaire, playboy, golden child, Prince of Gotham - he couldn’t get to enough of them. 

As Batman - the brooding, ‘I work alone but not really’, Protector of Gotham - he avoided them at all costs. 

But as himself - the friend, father, husband, Bruce - his thoughts on such events could only be described as apathetic. 

Over the years he grew a very nice façade to hide how he truly felt. After the entrance of his wife, and then each child that followed, it became easier to fake, and he did have to admit they became a little more enjoyable with proper company anyway. 

Of course, the first time he saw she who would be his wife at one of these events, she was hanging off the arm of some blond, tanned, rich member of high society. From his knowledge and meetings with her on the streets she wasn’t exactly supposed to be enjoying it as much as she looked like she was. 

Turns out she was one great faker too. 

Over the course of the past seventeen-ish years, Bruce got to know the various ways you dealt with these gala’s. 

While he was tempted with the recluse lifestyle everyday, you managed to get him out of the house when it was needed. Even if it was a big house, he still needed to get out of it sometimes. 

With the outings you used to force him on, he was able to learn a thing or two from you. You weren’t born into wealth like he was, and you never had it until you married him, but you took to it like a fish to water. Well, the avoiding attention part anyway. In fact, when it came to going to gala’s with you, he was surprised at how little attention you drew when you didn’t want it. 

The first time you went as a couple, and then again as a married couple, were the worst as far as being left alone went, and he did expect it. Newspapers craved that sort of thing. 

After that, when it was just him and you, the most you were asked of was the journey between the car and the front door thanks to the press and media - once inside you could sulk away to a corner or table, get up for a dance or two, loiter at the bar and then go home without anymore than a half dozen people approaching. Those were very good nights for Bruce, mainly because on those nights he’d rather be anywhere else. 

As if he didn’t feel that way about them anyway. 

But lately your trick of not gaining attention at the gala’s wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t that people were noticing him again, no it was because they were noticing you. 

Namely someone kept noticing you. 

“You both have never looked more alike.” 

Tim slid into a set opposite Bruce and Damian. Bruce had a crystal tumbler filled with ginger ale pressed to his lips, unmoving as his eyes locked onto where you stood across the room. Damian was in the exact same position, whether knowingly or not, and was sending a glare towards the man who was looking far too happy about talking to you. 

“We are kind of literally related, Tim.” Bruce mumbled, sipping his drink before setting it down and leaning back in his seat.

“He’s too close.” Damian whispered.

“I know.” 

“She could get uncomfortable soon.”

“I know.”

“If it bothers you so much then either of you could go over there and whisk her away.” Tim said, shaking his head a little. “Bruce could pull out his charisma, or the gremlin could pretend to ask for a dance with his mother all cute and mother-son-like.”

Damian switched his glare over to Tim.

“Why don’t you go and fix it since you’re so smart?”

“‘Cause it’s not bothering me as much as it is you.” Tim laughed. Bruce looked between his two sons, then up to where you and the man were talking. “She can handle herself. Plus he’s way below her league anyway, if she doesn’t know that then something’s wrong.” 

“You don’t think Ummi’s being mind controlled right now, do you?” Damian asked, sitting straighter and squinting a little. “We should go home and -”

Bruce stood, patting Damian’s shoulder as he pushed his chair back in, and then strode over to your side. 

As usual, you noticed his approach with barely having to look, and reached out an arm as he pressed his side to yours. His arm wound it’s way around your waist, and he offered his free hand to the man whose conversation he probably just ruined. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Bruce Wayne.” he said, lips tight in one of the best and believable fake smiles he’s put on in his entire life. 

“Henry Syrus.” The man said, stepping to match Bruce’s fake pleasantries with his own, “I was just having the most wonderful conversation with your darling wife about the art pieces here. 

“Next time you should compare novelty keychains.” Bruce’s voice was light, but you could tell there was a little something underneath. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take her away for a dance before the night dies down too much.” 

So without another word, Bruce swept you away and onto the dancefloor with the hoard of other swaying couples. 

“You need to practice that.” 

“Practice what?” he asked, looking down at you as his fingers intertwined with yours. 

“The ‘I’m taking my wife away from someone who makes me feel like they’re making her feel weird’ thing you just pulled.” you said, a small smile twitching onto your features from your lips up to your eyes - your first genuine smile of the night - and Bruce was proud to think it was because of him. 

“I did that?” he mused, feigning thought for a moment, “I don’t think I did.” 

“Well you weren’t jealous. Everyone - including you! - says Bruce Wayne does not get jealous.” Bruce spun you away, and then back closer to him again. Closer than before. 

“I don’t need to get jealous, I know you can’t resist me.” he mumbled against your ear, then pressed a kiss to your cheekbone before leaning back some again. “That’s why you keep sticking around.”

“I thought I stuck around because you’re filthy rich and never at home, so that I have the place to do as I please.” 

“Okay, okay,” he said, chuckling, “Now you’re really teasing me.” 

“I’m just getting started.” you said, a sly glint in your eye that made his arm around you tighten. 

“Oh? Dare I ask what else you have in store?” he replied, preparing to meet whatever you came up with. You hummed at him, surveying the room and fellow dancers before looking back up at him again.

“I’m gonna take you home, pull you into our bedroom, and take you out of this monkey suit -”

“- it’s a tux, not a suit -”

“- I’m going to take you out of this tuxedo,” you corrected, tugging on his tie as he smiled down at you, “And then we’re gonna sleep for twelve. Whole. Hours.” He groaned. 

“You love me so much. You know exactly what to say. You treat me so well.” 

“I know.” you said, smiling up at him. He couldn’t help but press his lips to yours in something a little longer than a peck, and you hummed again. “Now you’re making Henry jealous with all the faces you’re making.” 

“How can you tell, you can’t see him?” he asked. Looking over, he was able to see that, yes, the man you were with before wasn’t looking incredibly happy at the moment. 

“I’m a mother of at least five children, Bruce. And I have to deal with you. I can tell when someone’s glaring at my back.” 

“I do glare a lot.” He grimaced. “I should’ve known better.” 

“Underestimate me again and you’ll pay for it.”

“And if I do then you can name your price, my dear.”

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship. 

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

           “That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

           So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

           Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

           It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

           Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

           It was the best decision he would ever make.

           So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.  

           Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

           In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

           Until it wasn’t.

           Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

           That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

           The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

           It makes Spencer sick.

           His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

           “There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

           “Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

           “Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

           “Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

           This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

           “You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

           “Not exactly.”

           The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

           Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

           “Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

           “There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

           He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

           “The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

           “Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

           “Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

           Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

--

           The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

           Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

           “Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

           “I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

           “Busy?”

           JJ nods.

           “Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

           Of fucking course.

           Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

           He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

           “– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

           You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

           “She’s not interested.”

           The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

           “What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

           Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

           Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

           “I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

           “Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

           Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

           “What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

           Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

           When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

           “I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

           “Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

           “Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

           “M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

           “I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

           Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

           “Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

--

           As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

           “Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

           You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

           “What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

           “You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

           You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

           “Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

           “Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

           Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

           He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

           “You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

           You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

           “Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

           Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

      ��    “That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

           “You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

           “Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

           “God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

           By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

           Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

           Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

           “M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

           Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

           “Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

           Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

           “Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

           “Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

           Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

           “Open.”

           You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

           “Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

           You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

           “D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

           “So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

           You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

           You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

           “Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

           “S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

           Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

           “Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

           And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

           “Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

           “So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

           “F-Fuck, Spencer!”

           “Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

           You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

           “Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

           “Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

           Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

           “C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

           “I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

           Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

           “How many do you think you deserve?”

           You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

           “However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

           Spencer returns your smile.

           “Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

           “Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

           You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

           “T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

           It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

           “Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

          “Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

           The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

          Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

          “You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds. 

          “Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips. 

          Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

           “Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

           “I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

           You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

           Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

           “So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

           “S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

           “Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

           “P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

           “Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

           It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

           Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

          “You okay, princess?”

           You give a weak nod.

           “M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

            Spencer is the first to pull away.

           “Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

           You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

           You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

           “S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

           “Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

            Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

           “Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

            You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

           “Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

           “Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

           You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

           “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

           “Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

           Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

           “You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

           He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

           Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

           “Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

           “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

           “Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

           And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

           After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

           “You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

           It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

           “You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

           “We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

           “Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

           “You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

           “Only for you.”

           A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

           “We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

           “Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

           “Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

          “Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

          “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

          “Is that a no?”

          “... Look up the number.”

-

-

-

taglist: @90spumkin​ @moon-light-jukebox​ @thebookamongmen​ @pinkdiamond1016​ @itsametaphorbriansblog​ @eldahae​

[mello-jello]

hi jello!! what about post timeskip levihan? commander hanji is working very hard and rarely, rarely sleeps (let alone eats and bathes properly. its worse than before now though.).

what if one time levi discovers hanji passed tf out due to sheer exhaustion in the most weird and random of places. he doesn’t want to wake them up bc hanji def needs the rest so he carries/tucks her into bed.🥺❤️

JAZZY thank you for the prompt! I kind of combined it with this one too:

Thank you, Anon!

Preview:

Hange gave a small laugh before saying, “Thank you Levi, I feel much better now.”

“Tch, you haven’t even done what we came here to do,” Levi scoffed.

Hange made a confused sound.

“Drop the dish.”

It had been 3 years since Shiganshina. Levi climbed into the carriage and sat across from Hange, who was still reading through her notes from the long and grueling meeting that lasted for the better part of the day. All the highest ranking military officials had been called to the capital to discuss Paradis’s best course of action. Queen historia was there, along with her staff, advisors, and of course Zackley. Levi had been to plenty of these meetings before, but this time was different in a bit of a distressing way.

Over the years, Levi had watched Erwin defend the scouts countless times. From questionable means of gathering information, to explaining away hundreds of lives lost, he always had an answer for everything and he always managed to leave with a favourable image. It was something Levi truly admired and even envied about Erwin.

But now he had been watching Hange flounder. She has indeed improved over the last 3 years, but she still doubts herself and while it might not be known to those around her, Levi can’t help but feel sympathetic to her situation. Today however, the other officials had been particularly ruthless.

“Take a break, Hange,” Levi ordered. Hange just sighed. Then her stomach growled. “Have you eaten today?”

“Uuuuuuuhhh,” Hange mused as she genuinely struggled to remember.

“Tch, there’s your answer,” Levi crossed his arms. The rest of the officials had a big dinner scheduled for tonight, but of course the Survey Corps got shafted and had to leave early in order to prepare. Hange met his eyes again with an exhausted look he was all too familiar with.

“How have you been sleeping?”

“Not great,” she admitted. Levi’s stomach sank. He had dealt with his own insomnia his whole life, but it seems worse on Hange. Perhaps it was the stark contrast from her former bubbly and loud personality. Hange pinched the bridge of her nose and let out another long sigh. Levi couldn’t help feeling inadequate and helpless. He rarely got himself to sleep, how could he help Hange?

Levi looked out the window at the setting sun when he got an idea. He realized what Hange had been neglecting while trying to be a good commander. Something that wasn’t just eating and sleeping. Something that was unique to Hange.

“Hange, there’s one more thing you need to do before we leave.”

Hange raised an eyebrow.

Levi told the driver to wait for them and escorted Hange to the dining hall.

“Levi, we were technically invited, but I don’t think showing up for food after we already said goodbye is a very good look for us,” Hange practically whispered.

Levi opened the doors and they were greeted with a sweet aroma of bread, appetizers, and whatever was going to be the main dish. Hange’s mouth watered. The long elegant table was decorated with ornate candles, beautiful china, crystal glasses, and there were 4 sets of cutlery for each place setting.

“Relax, they won’t be here just yet. They will all be busy getting dressed for dinner.”

Hange grabbed a bread roll and took a huge bite, not bothering to chew before she commented, “I never understood ‘dressing for dinner’ ugh. What’s the point?”

Levi was about to make a half hearted comment about how Hange could never fit in with “civilized” society, but he stopped himself when he saw she was eating and was a little bit more relaxed. He found a small plate of savoury looking appetizers and handed it to her. She immediately took one.

“MMM, Levi!” she exclaimed, pointing at the plate. She popped another in her mouth before saying, “you gotta try these!”

Levi put up a hand and said, “you enjoy.”

Hange enthusiastically cleared the whole platter in less than a minute, and Levi was watching her, endeared at the behaviour. He had missed this side of her. Despite how gross it was, there was a glimpse of the carefree Hange he once knew. A small hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Then Hange belched.

“Disgusting,” Levi waved the air in front of his nose.

Hange gave a small laugh before saying, “Thank you Levi, I feel much better now.”

“Tch, you haven’t even done what we came here to do,” Levi scoffed.

Hange made a confused sound.

“Drop the dish.”

Hange’s one eye widened as she processed what Levi was saying.

“C’mon, you need to blow off some steam. They were total assholes to you today, and for what? You didn’t know the exact amount of your food budget? And yet,” Levi gestured to the banquet. He then picked up a delicate looking wine glass. He held his arm outstretched, and loosened his grip, letting it crash to the ground. “Oops.”

A mischievous smile stretched across Hange’s lips. “Oops,” she mimicked Levi and let the empty platter fall to the floor, breaking into dozens of pieces. She slowly started to lap around the long luxurious set up, like a predator admiring her prey before pouncing.

“Right? And Nile, ugh, what a hypocrite! Giving me shit for not knowing about that small thing, belittling me in front of everyone,” Hange snapped a salad plate against the edge of the table. “It wasn’t too long ago when he would have been the first to admit he had no idea what the first interior squad were up to! We had to find out for ourselves. Erwin was almost hanged!” Hange kicked a chair over on its side.

“Yeah, fuck Nile,” Levi egged her on. He took a seat at the head of the table and started sipping from one of the water glasses.

“Is this his spot?”

Levi shrugged but Hange was already pouring out a glass of wine all over the white seat, staining it a deep crimson. Levi hid his delight behind another sip.

“And did you catch what he said at the end? ‘Some of us have wives to get home to’”, she imitated in a mocking tone as she casually pushed a platter of dumplings off the table. “Yeah, run home, Nile. Run home to Erwin’s SLOPPY SECONDS!”

Levi blew water out of his nose, and before he could react, Hange reached under the short side of the table and flipped it over, sending its contents hurtling across the room. Hange was elated at the result, laughing almost maniacally.

“Idiot,” Levi hissed, grabbing Hange’s wrist and leading her out the side door. He heard footsteps, and so he instinctively dove into nearby shrubbery, taking Hange down with him.

They hid in the bushes for minutes, Levi pressing his hand to suppress Hange’s uncontrollable laughter. It had been so long since she’d laughed like this. It was infectious and Levi might have actually laughed himself, were it not for the fear of getting caught. He had no problem telling the MPs where to shove it, but he didn’t want Hange to get in trouble. Her whole body was convulsing, and it was rattling the leaves around her. Levi used all his body weight to stop her jerky movements.

After about another minute of total silence, Hange tapped Levi’s arm, signalling to let go. He was hesitant, but he obliged. Hange drew a couple deep breaths, fanning herself, trying to calm down from laughing so hard. Levi was transfixed by the way the moonlight danced on her tear-stained face. They stared at each other for a moment before Hange snickered once more, causing Levi to cover her mouth yet again. “You’re impossible,” he said, pushing her head back down.

Once the coast was clear, they ran back to their carriage, hand in hand. Partly because Levi wanted Hange to keep up, and partly because it felt nice to hold her hand. They ducked their heads until they were off of the main roads. A few minutes later, Hange started giggling again.

“What?” Levi asked.

Hange bit her lip playfully as she reached into her coat and pulled out a bottle of expensive wine she must have swiped from the banquet.

Levi rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help his smile. She looked like a child that just got away with stealing more dessert. She looked joyful for the first time in a long time. She yanked out the cork and took a swig before offering the bottle to Levi. He graciously accepted and tasted the wine for himself. It was too sweet for his taste, but he couldn’t deny that it was spectacular.

“That’s nice,” he commented.

“Pfft! It tastes the same as the cheap stuff!” Hange scoffed as she took the bottle back. Any other time, Levi would have teased her and started an argument, but not today. He wanted to cherish this moment. He leaned over to look at the stars through his window. Not a bad ending to an otherwise terrible day.

After Shiganshina, he and Hange had lost so much. Their comrades, friends; life as they knew it had completely changed and they barely had a moment’s breather to come to grips with it all. Levi was unfortunately accustomed to it, but Hange wasn’t. Hange had been so strong through all of this and Levi wanted to find the right words to tell her. Maybe it was the exhaustion they both felt; maybe it was the close proximity, but for some reason, somehow, Levi felt a tiny bit of courage surge through his veins.

“Hey, Hange, I-”

When he turned to look at her, she was fast asleep, neck crooked as she cradled the bottle of wine. Levi smiled at her. She looked peaceful, like she was getting quality sleep. He took the bottle from her arms and gently maneuvered her to a more comfortable, lying down position. He removed his jacket and draped it over her, as a make-shift blanket.

“Goodnight, Four-Eyes,” he mumbled to himself and returned to his seat. Hange slept the whole way home. When they finally arrived in the southern barracks, Levi couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. He quickly ran their luggage up to their rooms, and came back for Hange.

Being as gentle as he could, he scooped up the commander and ignored the curious look he got from the carriage driver. She was taller than him, and her long limbs made the trek a little difficult, but he was determined. Her steady breaths tickled the skin of his neck.

He carried her up the winding staircase and into her quarters. He lowered her on the bed, careful not to go too fast. He cradled her head for a split second longer than he needed too. He took off her long boots one at a time, placing them silently on the floor at the end of the bed. He undid the top two buttons of her jacket and shirt, just for comfort. Then he pulled the blanket up to her chin, and tucked around the sides.

Finally, he removed her glasses and eyepatch, caressing the tender skin underneath. Placing them on her night stand, he got up to leave. The door hinge creaked as he opened it, and Hange stirred.

“Mmm Levi?” She called out.

Levi wasn’t sure if she was actually awake, or if she was sleep-talking. He was still deciding whether he should answer when she continued, “Thank you, Levi. For everything.”

“You too, Hange,” he spoke just above a whisper, as he closed her door.

[arvinsescape]

Time to Heal.

A/N: A bit of a different sort of writing for me that deals with emotional abuse, whilst i have never dealt with this personally, i know a couple of people who have and if anyone struggles with this or has my inbox is always open.

Summary: Reader finds herself in an emotionally abusive relationship and Tom shows her what real love looks like.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of emotional abuse, one mention of blood and i think that’s everything.

W/C: 2.4K.

You’d always thought that this moment should be one of the happiest in your life but here you were stood in a room full of a people with a man on one knee for you and it all felt wrong. You weren’t happy like you thought you would have been. You wished he hadn’t done this in front of all these people. You wished it wasn’t him asking. The man on one knee in front of you was possibly one of the worst men you’d ever been in a relationship with. He didn’t love you and you knew that but he made you feel like that was the best you were going to get, what you deserved.

It never starts out that way, at first Aaron was lovely, he swept you off your feet when you weren’t expecting it. He took you on lovely dates, he made you laugh and then he started making comments, as soon as he learnt your insecurities he used them against you, he never tried to push them away, no, he made sure they were at the forefront of your mind.

It started at first as being something he would say in an argument, your clingy, you want too much, you’re too emotional. Then he’d apologise, told you he didn’t mean it, his anger got the better of him and every time you’d accept with another piece of confidence, until there was none left. Then his comments became regular until you truly believed what he said.

‘You should just leave him.’ One of your friends had said when you’d worked up the courage to confide in her but you couldn’t. It’s not as simple as that. By the time you’d worked up the courage to tell her Aaron had your insecurities exactly where he wanted them. You weren’t worthy of love or being truly happy. He isolated you from your friends, especially your male friends and that made you feel more alone.

He hated your best friends Tom and Harrison and you didn’t see either of them anymore unless it was at a mutual friends birthday. You’d wanted to confide in them but Aaron had been adamant to make sure you deleted their numbers and that shattered the last piece of confidence you had. It wasn’t like they hadn’t noticed, they texted you until Aaron got so angry he’d taken your phone and smashed it. He apologised and bought you a new one and promised it’d never happen again.

He hated Tom more than anyone else, of course you’d told him in the early stages of the relationship how you knew Tom and Harrison. You and Tom had been in a relationship, you’d grown close to Haz as a result but ultimately Tom’s career was taking off and you’d both made the decision to call it quits before any heartbreak and messiness arrived so you could salvage the friendship. Then three days ago Tom came to see you.

“Tom?” You said as you answered the door. You’d not seen him for a while now so you were surprised to see him at your door.

“I tried calling.” He’d said with a sad smile.

“Sorry, my phone’s switched off.” You tried to laugh it off.

“For the last two months?” He asked. He wasn’t angry, you could see it in his eyes, he was concerned.

“I got a new one, did I not text you?” You tried again.

“Can I come in?” You swallowed thickly as you moved to the side to let him in. Thank god Aaron was out for the day. “Harrison tried calling too.” He said as he watched you boil the kettle, your back to him.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Lucy called me. Said she’s not heard from you either.” You almost dropped the teaspoon you were holding. You’d not seen Lucy since you told her about Aaron. You didn’t say anything so he continued.

“She told me some things Y/N. About what he says to you.” He grasped your hand turning you to look at him but you couldn’t meet his eyes.

“He just gets angry sometimes.” You used Aaron’s words.

“He shouldn’t say things like that to you, it’s not right.” You still couldn’t meet his gaze. His hand was still holding yours as he drew soft circles into the back of it with his thumb. You missed his touch.

“He usually apologises.” You tried to defend him.

“Doesn’t make it right love. You deserve so much better than him.” He used his free hand to lift your chin so you were forced to look at him and the look of concern in his eyes was enough to bring tears to your own.

“I don’t though.” You whispered and you watched as something shifted behind his eyes, he looked heartbroken. Your tears fell for the first time in months, you’d became so numb to Aaron’s words that they didn’t make you cry anymore but the softness in Tom’s tone had tears streaming down your face.

He pulled you into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and let you cry into his shirt. He placed the occasional kiss to the top of your head as his hands rubbed up and down your back in comfort. You stayed like that for at least ten minutes before you composed yourself but you stayed in his arms. It felt as safe as it always had.

“You deserve to be loved properly darling.” He said into your hair.

“But he’s right I’m too clingy, I’m too emotional and I expect to much from people.” You sniffled.

“You’re not clingy, you give all your love to the people you care about. You’re not too emotional, you wear your heart on your sleeve and that’s never a bad thing. You don’t expect too much from people because you should always seek to have people love you the way you love them.” He pulled you to look at him as he said it and the look in his eyes was so genuine you could tell he meant it.

“Who’s gonna want me now? I’m full of emotional baggage.” You whispered as you let a few more tears fall, voicing the fears as he caught your tears with his thumbs.

“You’re not full of baggage. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny and you love with everything you have in you, he doesn’t deserve you.” He gave you a small smile as he spoke. “I could go on for hours about all the amazing things about you.”

“Tom.” You sighed. “I don’t love him but I can’t leave him, I’m scared.” You admitted.

“Has he hit you?” Tom asked and it was so full of concern that a fresh wave of tears made their way down your face.

“No. He broke my phone once but no. I’m scared to leave him because I don’t want to end up alone.”

“You won’t. You’ll always have me and Harrison and Lucy, god the list goes on. We all still love you and we miss you.” He said as he wiped at your tears again. He was being so tender with you and you hadn’t felt that for a long time. You hadn’t felt loved. “You’ll always have me.” He said again.

“Tom- “Your voice broke and whatever you were going to say got caught in your throat.

“I’ll always look after you. I’ll make sure you always have everything you need. I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

“I still love you Tom.” You admitted as you cried into his chest again.

“I still love you.”

He’d tried to convince you to go home with him that day but something stopped you and you can’t explain what it was and now here you were at Lucy’s birthday party which Aaron had reluctantly let you attend and Aaron was down on one knee for you. You looked around the room as you caught those brown eyes that you loved so much and he was staring right back at the scene unfolding before him. Tears in his beautiful eyes.

“I’ll always look after you. I’ll make sure you always have everything you need. I’ll make sure you’re always safe.”

“I still love you.”

You pulled your hand from Aaron’s as you felt a sort of confidence you’d not had for a long time as Aaron stood, following your gaze.

“I fucking knew it.” Aaron grumbled next to you and your eyes darted back to him. He was angrier than you’d ever seen him before and it frightened you. “Him?” He laughed but there was no humour in it.

“Aaron I’m-” You tried to get out.

“Him? Really? I knew it.” He seethed at you. Everyone was staring. Lucy carefully approached and you watched as Harrison and Tom started to make their way over. As soon as Tom moved it caught Aaron’s gaze and his face twisted into one of pure anger. “Fucking Tom Holland.” He suddenly shouted as he practically ran at him, catching Tom off guard.

As soon as he reached Tom he raised his fist and placed a punch straight to his nose. You almost screamed in shock as you watched Harrison and Tuwaine tackle Aaron to the floor. Tom had stumbled and was holding his nose. It was bleeding. You made your way straight over.

“Tom, oh my god, Tom, are you okay?” You asked as you took his face in your hands. He looked down at you for a second and smiled before nodding slightly and tilting his head back. “Is it broken?” You panicked.

“No.” Tom said as someone handed him a load of tissues. Aaron’s laughter pulled you from your concern over Tom. You twisted round to look at him as Tom snaked an arm around your waist and pulled your back to his chest. Aaron was stood now, Harrison and Tuwaine were still ready to jump to the defence again if they had to.

“You,” he started as he pointed at you, “are a pathetic little bitch who pines after a man who’ll throw you away as soon as someone better comes along and that won’t be hard to find.”

“Watch your mouth.” Harrison warned as he stood in front of you. Tom had recovered now, stopping the bleeding. Aaron laughed again as he made his way towards the exit.

“You know what Tom, you’re welcome to her. She’s a frigid little fucker anyway. Doesn’t put out often.” He said as he laughed. You watched as anger flared in Tom’s face. He let go of your waist as he went to follow him. You tried to grasp his arm but he was too quick. Harrison stepped in.

“Tom, she needs you.” He said as he gestured towards you. Everyone was still staring at what had just happened and it made you self-conscious as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Tom’s anger died down instantly, Haz was right, you needed him.

“Come on.” He said as he took your hand and led you into the women’s bathroom. Once he made sure no one was in there, he locked the door and took your face in his hands.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly and you laughed sadly.

“Me? He bust your nose.” You said as you grabbed a few paper towels, wetting them and cleaning the blood that was still on his face.

“Worth it.” He laughed lightly.

“I’m so sorry Tom.” You sighed after a few moments as you felt tears brim your eyes, throwing the paper towels away once you were satisfied he was clean.

“You have nothing to apologise for. He’s a dickhead and I’ll make sure he never comes anywhere near you again.” He said as he ran his fingers through your hair.

“I’m still sorry though.” You sighed.

He didn’t reply, he leant forward and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks before finally connecting your lips. It felt to good to feel his lips against yours again, you’d missed him. Missed all the love he gave and it made you cry again.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m gonna make it better, I promise.” He pulled you back into his chest and it filled you with a comfort you’d not had since he last held you like this.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too. I’m sorry we didn’t try and work through things last time. I know we wanted to salvage a friendship but I never stopped loving you. I want us to try again but when you’re ready.” He said as he kissed your head.

“I am Tom.” You said.

“No love you’re not. What he’s done to you needs time and you need to give yourself some time darling. I’ll still be here every step of the way but you need to heal yourself first, okay? We need to push those insecurities back but we need to do it properly, you need to love yourself again first.”

You thought about what he said for a while. He was right, jumping straight back into a relationship was not the best idea, no matter how much you loved him and he loved you. You needed to take some time for yourself, heal yourself and build back your confidence. You understood what he meant; he was still going to be there but he was going to be there as a best friend would.

You realised in that moment what it meant to truly love someone. He was being selfless so that you could heal, he was giving you time because that’s what you needed and he was doing that because he truly loved and cared for you.

“You’re right.” You nodded.

“I’ll still be here, still be there for you, I promise. It’ll take time but that’s okay, I’ll still be waiting but you have to promise you’ll take all the time you need.” He said as he placed a kiss to your forehead.

“I promise.”

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Future

A/N: Yikes. I cried several times writing this. I'm very proud of how it turned out - I think it's one of my strongest pieces on the entire blog - but be warned: bring tissues. Also, Mozzie's quote is originally from Abraham Lincoln. Requested by @ladykeqing

Summary: In the wake of Neal's death, a regret haunts you.

Word Count: 1,964

Peter sat you down and told you in his home. Well… just June’s home, now. The way Mozzie had trailed behind him, for once wordless… His face looking ashen… A part of you had known even before Peter asked you to sit down.

“He told me to say he’s sorry,” Peter said, barely more than a whisper that somehow felt deafening to your brain. “And that he loves you more than you know.”

The room was suddenly stifling. It was more than just the emotions in the air, layering over each other into a thick, caustic fog. It was the darkening of shadows that stretched in from the glass doors, and the silence of the record player that drove deep into their eardrums to muffle the little sounds of life coming from each other. The penthouse was, in an instant, so tiny and deathly empty, and you wished so dearly that you’d been at your own apartment. Staying the weekend had seemed like such a great idea before you abruptly became the only resident.

For a few seconds, you had a mind to just stay put and let the shadows come and take over. To let the agonizing ache of loss engulf your entire heart and continue expanding until it was bigger than your body and you disappeared forever. All so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the records Neal would never again play and the table he would never again sit at. So you would never have to spend a last moment in the home of your lover before turning your back on it and, by extension, him.

Without him, there was nowhere to turn. The prospect of your remaining lifetime without your partner made your chest and throat tighten with another round of sobs. It all felt so dim. You tried to hold it back, but couldn’t last long before your hands were to your mouth and a strangled whimper was breaking from your lips.

Mozzie could have fooled you into thinking he hadn’t heard, so resolute he was in boring a hole into the rug with his stare. Peter looked towards you with deep brown eyes, solicitous and pleading at the same time. He was as stunned as you were – but where you were being crushed under the weight of isolation, at least Peter got to go home to El. You didn’t have anyone to go home to anymore. Hell, without Neal, did you even have a home at all?

You envied Mozzie. Really, you did. His Buddhist leanings might be a comfort to him, able to think of Neal’s absence as temporary, or his spirit as remaining around them in some way or form. But when you tried to imagine you could feel him still there, the encroaching shadows and silent record player and empty bed all drew together at once until you were drowning in the lack. It was as if your haywire senses were punishing you for thinking even for a moment that you could feel your loss as anything less than absolute. He was gone and the world was permanently less wonderful.

A gunshot. Neal hated guns so much. Maybe this was why.

Wait. No. Time didn’t work like that. Right? He couldn’t hate something for a reason that hadn’t happened yet.

Laughter that bordered on hysterical bubbled out of your throat as you anxiously covered your face, waiting for the mania to pass. Laughter was easier than sobs. It physically hurt less. Emotionally it was so much worse. You could feel the concerned eyes on you while you waited until your desperate giggles died, just like your partner.

“I never said,” you said, wresting the words out before cries – or worse, more laughs – forced themselves out instead. You looked down with shame and guilt. His last words to you were almost cruel. Tender in their meaning, but cruel in consequence – he would never know how deeply you cared for him. You hoped he did. Didn’t you show it all the time? But that was different from hearing the words out loud, and now not only were you going on without Neal, but you were going on carrying the burden of knowing you hadn’t been able to offer him the comfort of certainty in knowing he had been loved in life and would be grieved in death. “I never got to tell him I love him.”

The mere look that Peter gave you in response would have broken your heart if it hadn’t already been lying shattered somewhere between your stomach and the floor. It was as if he were imagining for himself not getting to tell Elizabeth how he felt, or worse, imagining how alone or afraid she might feel if she didn’t know there were somebody fighting for her and remembering her every day.

Sobs would come any moment now. Your throat was tighter than a string on a violin, and any minute you’d stop being able to breathe. In, out, you reminded yourself. Keep it together just a moment more. And then another moment after that. You couldn’t break down until you were alone. You didn’t know why you couldn’t break in front of Neal’s family, but didn’t have the energy to question it, either, not when you barely had the energy not to scream and weep into your hands.

“He knew.” Mozzie’s words were quiet but startling and said with all the confidence of Neal himself. “You didn’t have to say it.”

“But he deserved to hear.” Knowing it and hearing it were different games and Neal, for all his faults, deserved to hear it, too. “He deserved to come home. I don’t…” You lost your train of thought. Why were you talking about yourself when you weren’t the one whose brilliant life had been stolen? After a small shake of your head, you sniffed and shakily breathed out. “We had an entire future. And now there’s nothing left.”

You could see it passing in your imagination, all the little milestones that you’d come to anticipate. Content days at home, interspersed with adventures to his favorite places around the world, marked by marriage and birthdays and achievements and anniversaries. You’d never articulated them out loud, never even realized fully that you’d started to await those days, but now you saw them vanishing and you realized not only were you having to grieve for the best man you’d ever known, but you’d also have to grieve for the missed experiences and joys that he had lost, and the shared life that you had to give up on, as well.

Mozzie finally looked up to you and you noticed that his eyes were puffy and red behind his glasses. You didn’t even know someone could cry that silently. “The best thing about the future,” he quoted, slow and weighty, probably to keep his own voice level. “Is that it comes one day at a time.”

The comfort was meaningless to you. One day at a time was worthwhile when it was endless days of love and companionship. When that was gone, it was just day after day of being adrift with nothing to hold onto.

You sniffed again and replied in a surprisingly even voice, “My future is laying in the morgue.”

~Future~

Leaving Y/N was one of the hardest things Mozzie had ever done, and he had a lot of challenges and dubious decisions in his past. Leaving her to wallow and suffer rubbed him in every wrong way possible, except for the one where it meant – at least for now – that she would be safe. He didn’t think, if he stayed, that he would be able to hold back from blurting out the truth. He couldn’t even look at her for fear of spilling. Not once her tears started. He couldn’t watch his friend, and his best friend’s love at that, weep with agony she didn’t need to feel.

Neal begged to differ, though Mozzie knew that it tore his heart in two to hear her voice over the long-distance connection. When Mozzie was sure the suit was out of earshot, and that Y/N and June had both stayed inside, he lifted his phone from his pocket and breathed heavily in the cold December air that seemed to burn his lungs.

“Did you hear all that?” He asked, impressively steady and managing to get his criticism and support across with his tone simultaneously.

He took off his glasses, thankful Neal couldn’t see that he, too, needed to wipe his eyes dry. Alive was good. Alive but far away and unreachable – at least for the foreseeable future – was still painful.

“I did,” Neal confirmed, voice and heart both heavy somewhere at least a thousand miles away. “I wish…” Neal trailed off, and Mozzie wholly believed that he also needed a moment to compose himself. Why either of them bothered pretending not to cry, he didn’t understand, but they had already dedicated themselves to the farce. “She’s safer this way. If she looks for me, we’re all in danger.”

“If you let this go on, she will never forgive you.” Mozzie warned, thinking about the broken look on your face. It had been like watching a dropped plate shatter in slow motion to see the cracks begin to appear before your very spirit seemed to splinter. Then he thought about how desperately you wished Neal knew you loved him, and he thought maybe there was a chance that desperate love would override the anger. He amended, “Or, if she does, it’ll never be the same.”

“I know.” Neal agreed readily but with a quiver to his voice. “I want to come home, but not if it means visiting her grave.”

“The cautious way it is.” Mozzie put his glasses back on his face, bravely shoring up his willpower. “I can’t know where you are, and she can’t know you’re out there.”

“Keep an eye on her for me.”His voice was full of sorrow and longing.

“Of course.” Neal didn’t even need to ask. If there came a time when the Panthers were dealt with and Neal could – well, if not return home, at least be reunited with Y/N somewhere without an extradition treaty, Mozzie would be the first to set it in motion. “Be well, mon frére.”

“You, too, Moz.”

The line went dead.

~Future~

Approximately four thousand miles away, on a windy beach, Neal stood barefoot in the dark, watching the light from the moon reflect off the choppy, shallow surf. The breeze drifted through his hair and bit across his face with the sting of northern weather.

He looked down at the open phone in his hand, fighting every feeling in him to turn it back on and beg Mozzie to take the phone back up to his former penthouse. Or, worse, to turn his whole body around and get on a ferry to the mainland, and fly back to New York as fast as possible to hold you in his arms. The heartbreak in your voice had been almost too much for him to bear. It would have been, if not for his terror of being reckless and selfish and letting you pay the price.

He had known you loved him, and because he loved you so unbelievably much in return, he couldn’t go home. Not yet. He would work on it from afar, where no one knew he was breathing, much less could trace him back to his darling. One day, if he were incredibly lucky, he could come home and you would still have space for him in your heart and mind. For now, he would have to settle on replaying your words in his head.

I love you, too.

Neal hurled the phone out into the ocean.

[sunnysviolin]

Day Nine- Favorite Boss

Okay so this time I didn't forget to post this here I just hadn't finished it yet. SOOOOOOO yeah I'm playing catch up but we all knew it was gonna happen

“I had problems a therapist couldn't solve; grief that no man in a room could ameliorate.” ― Cheryl Strayed

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.” ― Rumi

In his time as a psychotherapist, Peter Roquefort had helped a number of eccentric patients. Generally the children he worked with were very special cases, kids who needed a special touch or a careful conversation digging deeper into what exactly was hurting them. Even among his peers Peter was known as the go to for the difficult ones, the ones who wouldn’t or couldn’t find a way to explain exactly what they needed. He had spent a lot of time in local police precincts working with children who had dealt with the worst humanity had to offer, and there were plenty of social workers that had both his work and personal cell numbers. He was dedicated to his profession, probably to a fault given his lack of a love life, and working with the kids was heartbreaking but exceptionally rewarding.

Still he had never encountered anyone quite like Sunny.

Sunny hadn’t trusted him with the entire truth of the story until quite a few weeks into their sessions. He and Peter had gone through a strange back and forth on what Peter had to tell others and what Peter had to keep secret. Of course in hindsight it made perfect sense, and Sunny was not a danger to himself or anyone else now so Peter had no reason to inform anyone of what had occured, but a lot of the teenager’s issues were made clear once Peter knew it all. Yes losing his sister to suicide was a tragedy, and yes finding her would have been highly traumatizing, but Peter couldn’t see how it would have caused the extent of Sunny’s psychosis.

Accidentally killing his sister and then helping his best friend to frame it as a suicide? Well...that would definitely be enough to give even the most well adjusted person some pretty severe issues.

But it was more than just the horrors of Sunny’s story, and there were quite a few there to unpack. It was also the way Sunny acted. He was a walking contradiction, one minute creative and open to share, the next shut down and silent. It was hard to piece together what of the boy’s memories were true, what were embellished the way memories get after someone in them dies, and which were the dissociative comforts of a child that was desperate to escape from himself. Peter had been working hard to help, but the layers of this case sometimes seemed far out of his depth.

Sunny sat in front of him now, sketching in his favorite book and periodically staring out the window. Sometimes their sessions went this way, with Sunny silently sketching and Peter occasionally interjecting to try and begin a conversation. It worked about half the time, but Sunny always seemed settled when he left no matter what they did, so Peter was content with these occasional quiet days. He craned his neck to look at what Sunny was doing now.

It was a brown pencil sketch, messy but refined. It was a girl with long hair, not his sister from what Peter could tell, and she was holding a rolling pin. Sunny was drawing a piece of bread next to her? As Sunny began to draw a face into the bread, Peter decided to cut in.

“Does this magic bread lady have a name?”

Sunny looked up and smiled, laughter in his eyes. He finished the face in the bread and turned it so Peter could see what he was doing. The bread had turned into a boy, who had bread for a head. Both the boy and the girl had sad expressions, but Sunny hadn’t drawn them in blue the way he usually drew sad people.

“Doughie,” Sunny supplied, and Peter nodded. A talking day then, “Her twin is Biscuit”

Peter made a note of the names on his notepad, something he kept near him for all of the names Sunny told him. These sounded like names related to his dreams, but Peter could never be positive. Basil and Hero were both very real people who lived in his old town according to Sunny.

“They don’t seem very happy,” Peter commented, letting his unspoken question stand. Sunny liked taking his time to answer, and Peter didn’t like to rush him. Sunny usually got uncomfortable with having to process a lot at once, and talking about his maladaptive daydreams was always a toss up.

“They feel trapped where they are, so they’re not happy,” Sunny replied, continuing to add details to the drawings. “They were the ones who created everything in the dreamworld. They baked everyone out of flour and then when someone became toast the unbread twins made them again. I based them on this set of twins Mari was sorta friends with,”

Mari wasn’t a subject that Sunny often brought up all on his own, so Peter took the chance while he had it to dig a little deeper. Keep it neutral, not emotions, just facts

“Mari was close with them?”

“With Daphne, the girl,” Peter's strategy worked. Sunny was fine with recalling facts that had nothing to do with him. This was just something that existed, it held no positive or negative charge. Peter dug further.

“Is that why you made them the creators in your dream world? Because she was friends with Mari?” Sunny looked up from his drawing, eyebrows furrowed as he muddled over the questions. Peter broke his own rule and elaborated on his question, knowing Sunny needed some more clarification, “Hero was Mari’s best friend as far as I remember, and he was just himself. I’m curious as to why these two specifically were so important,”

Sunny rolled his shoulders and tapped his pencil against the page in a staccato beat. Not good, Peter had unintentionally slipped into a previous unseen rabbit hole of Sunny’s mind, something that happened pretty often in their sessions. It seemed every time he thought he had discovered everything in Sunny’s past, there was another hurdle he had never expected jumping out. Unraveling the tangled web was immensely satisfying, but moments like this required precision.

“You know our rule, Sunny.” Peter said, interrupting the boy’s thought pattern wherever it had gone. Better to interject before Sunny came to his own conclusions on whether or not he could share this with his therapist.

“If I don’t want to talk about it, then we won’t,” Sunny parroted back, the words ingrained in his head from how often Peter said them. The man nodded, pleased that Sunny knew it and believed it enough to be able to say it back.

Then he sat back in his chair and waited, placing his notebook to the side. There were times where it was better to just be in the moment. He might miss a few details later recalling, but there were times patients just needed to be heard, not analyzed.Sunny went back to staring out the window and tapped his pencil, the beat less harsh and more dazed. He was somewhere back far away, and Peter mentally reminded himself to run through a grounding exercise before Sunny left for the day.

“It happened at Mari’s funeral,”

Peter bit the tip of his tongue, keeping his mouth shut and his face encouraging but not eager. The biggest thing he had learned in all of his time at practice was patience. He was not a patient man by design, he was someone that wanted to solve problems and was eager to help others. He had chosen a job that required an extreme amount of something he didn’t have much of, and Sunny needed that patience more than most. He wasn’t a talkative person, he wasn’t a person who shared easily, and Peter sensed he was about to get a story out of Sunny that the boy probably hadn’t told before. Sunny looked up and they stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking or breaking eye contact.

Whatever Sunny saw must have been the right thing to do, even if Peter had no idea what that was, because the boy sighed and shut his eyes, starting to talk.

“I don’t really remember much of it. We were at the church, my dad and the pastor spoke. People didn’t talk to me. They came and talked to my mom and dad before and after. Kel might’ve tried a little, but his mom pulled him away. I don’t know.” Sunny spoke in short sentences, pausing and considering his words between each one. It got like this when he spoke about hard things, things that needed courage or delicate phrasing. Peter was content to wait and draw it out.

“The only ones who talked to me were the twins. After we buried...after it was over. I was sitting on the steps of the church alone. My mom and dad were talking to the pastor, everyone else was gone. The twins walked out of the church and got down on my level.

Bowen didn’t talk. Daphne said some sort of prayer. I don’t remember it. Then she said that Mari wasn’t gone. But Mari was, we had just buried her. She said it again. Mari isn’t gone. She said Mari was the wind in the trees. The sound of a piano. The brightness of a smile. That Mari was someone new now, but it was okay because we would be reunited. She told me no one ever really died, not fully. Bowen gave me a necklace with a cross. Then they left,”

Sunny went back to drawing, and Peter let him, giving them both a minute to recover. The connection was obvious then. Sunny had been desperate at that point for any way to still have his sister, and there were two people telling him that she wasn’t really dead. Peter wasn’t particularly religious himself, but in this situation he could see the appeal of a god that told you that your loved ones were never going to be gone. Before Peter could point out this connection and try to get Sunny to expand on it, the boy spoke again, this time keeping his eyes on the drawings.

“The last time I was in Headspace, we fought the Unbread twins. At the end they left their bakery, and now Headspace is gone. Mari’s gone too. I don’t know if its for forever or not,” Sunny said, daring a quick glance up to his doctor. Peter hummed, pulling his notepad back into his lap and jotting down some quick things. A quick glance to his watch told him time was almost up for them.

“I don’t think I can tell you that Sunny. That’s all about your own beliefs,” Peter replied, answering the unspoken question the child had asked. It clearly wasn’t the answer he had been looking for, and Peter’s heart cracked for him. It would have been easy to go along with whatever idea had been planted in the boy’s mind, but that wasn’t Peter’s job. Still...leaving things here for the day didn’t feel right. Peter weighed his options and took the leap.

“I think that whatever you believe, Daphne was right about some things. There are parts of Mari that live on in you and the people that loved her. Not literally, but in the compassion you show others and the growth you want to have. It might not be a magical bread god that resurrects you every time you get hurt, but it’s a place to start.”

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[rufousnmacska]

Only You

A manorian arranged marriage fic from an anon request -

Do you think you could write an angsty manorian drabble where political/royal pressures and such has Dorian marry someone else + Dorian being mortal has Manon encouraging him? just all that manorian heartbreak+pining. also really love your fics!

This turned into much more than a drabble, but I hope everyone enjoys it! 🤗

Many thanks to @itach-i for beta reading and helping plot things out! ❤️

*

PART ONE

*

Dorian hadn’t noticed the cold until his valet wrapped a furred robe around him. How long had he been standing out here? The sun had just broken from the horizon and his breath was pooling in front of him with each exhale. The valet, a gray-haired man named Ruben, disappeared back into the royal suite, muttering something about the foolishness of young men. Dorian smiled grimly, knowing he was indeed foolish. Worse. He was a godsdamned idiot. And he felt numb, as though his body was somewhere far from here, his mind with it. None of it was due to the winter chill. Staring off towards the hills west of Rifthold, his eyes glanced over the many red and gold banners attached to the city’s roofs, snapping in the wind. Part of him loved seeing his people so excited, so proud for the coming celebration. They’d suffered greatly during the war and had worked hard in the rebuilding effort of the last two years. But that small joy for his kingdom was overshadowed by his own despair. How many times had he stood in this spot, watching and waiting and holding his breath until he caught sight of those silvery wings and moon white hair dancing in the sky? He’d known today would be his last chance to watch for her. And since sleep was a fool’s hope, he’d come out to his balcony and stood here for hours, his gaze on the west, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

***

The rising sun shone brightly off the tops of the castle towers, giving the small group of witches their first real view of Rifthold in the distance. In the past, this sight would leave Manon breathless with anticipation, pushing Abraxos to speed up in her excitement. There had been times when her giddy desperation to reach the castle was almost humiliating, forcing her to contain her emotions before she landed. But no matter her control in those moments, Dorian would greet her on his balcony with a ferocious embrace, seeing right through her mask. He always had. Now, Manon wished that truth away, pushing it deep down, along with the nausea roiling in her gut. As they drew nearer to Rifthold, she could just barely make out the decorations hanging from the castle. It almost brought up the meager breakfast she’d eaten not long ago. With the brightening sky, she realized the entire city was decked out, covered in colorful banners and garlands. Of course, a royal wedding demanded finery. She had expected it, guarded herself against it. But her expectations were dealt a swift blow by the reality now facing her. Manon was on her way to Dorian’s wedding. Not as the bride, but as a royal guest. And she had no one but herself to blame.

*****

Six months earlier…

Manon frowned as Abraxos landed on an unusually empty balcony. Though she’d never asked for it, the space had been rebuilt to provide a large enough area to comfortably hold a wyvern. Wrapping halfway around the king’s tower, the balcony offered magnificent views of the ocean to the east and the mountains to the west. As she dismounted, Manon realized that vast western view was what gave Dorian the ability to know she was almost there. Normally, she wouldn’t notice the view because he would be there, scooping her up and taking her inside to say hello in her favorite ways. But tonight, she and Abraxos were alone.

Quietly, so as not to startle Ruben, Manon stepped through the doorway. She needn’t have bothered. The bedroom was as empty as the outside and she heard no sounds coming through the door to the other rooms. Wondering if he hadn’t received her last message telling him when to expect her, Manon sat on a sofa to wait. She lasted less than five minutes before pacing around the room, then finally deciding to go in search of Dorian.

The office was empty and as she continued through to the exterior door, Manon rolled her eyes at the messy desk. How Dorian managed to keep everything straight in the piles and stacks of papers was beyond her. She wasn’t in the corridor long before she heard angry voices echoing up the stairway. Chaol and Dorian had stopped part way up the tower.

“You can’t afford to just dismiss this threat of rebellion. Lord Frey is an ass, but he has the ear of too many other nobles to be ignored.” Chaol sounded winded. Manon didn’t think he came up here very often since his mobility was tied to his wife’s magic. That he was here now to continue this conversation was significant.

“I refuse to give into his demands,” Dorian growled. “He complains about me leaving the kingdom to Erawan, and yet he brags about how he profited from the war. Whatever gold he has in his coffers did not come from me.”

Manon inched back to the door on silent feet. She knew Dorian’s lords were causing trouble, but he’d refused to go into detail about it with her. The thought of anyone claiming Dorian had willfully abandoned Adarlan to Erawan made her blood boil. The valg king and his armies had left a path of scorched earth and devastation on his march to Terrasen. And Dorian had spent the last two years of his life dedicated to rebuilding his kingdom.

Chaol sighed. “Yes, but what he’s proposed in exchange—”

“What he’s proposed will not be considered,” Dorian interrupted. It was a voice Manon had never heard from him.

After a long pause, Chaol continued. “I know how you feel, Dorian. But we need to put emotions aside and think this through. I’m not saying we go along with it. But right now, we have to look at every option.”

“You say ‘we’ as if you would be the one marrying his daughter.”

Manon gasped, covering her mouth to remain quiet.

“It would be a political alliance,” Chaol reasoned. “You wouldn’t have to end things with—”

Again, Dorian refused to let him finish. “Stop. I’ve told you my decision. We will find some other way to placate the rebellious lords. I am not marrying her.”

Soft footsteps punctuated by the clack of a cane sounded as Chaol left his king and descended the tower. When he was gone, she heard Dorian smash his fist into the stone wall, pieces of mortar crumbling and raining down onto the floor. Manon was paralyzed, her hands balled up into tight fists, eyes wide. And that was how Dorian found her when he took the final steps up to his suite.

***

“You misunderstood. Frey doesn’t have enough clout to demand such a thing.” Dorian was frantic, spending the last two hours trying to explain away what Manon had heard. But her face had frozen into a mask, nothing he said could tease out even the slightest reaction.

“You can’t be so flippant,” she said, the stony resolve in her voice starting to scare him. “He’s offered you an out from civil war. If you care about your kingdom, you must do it.”

He was going mad. First Chaol, now Manon. Where was Yrene to talk some sense into them? He cared about his kingdom and his people. He cared so much that he had no life whatsoever beyond the endless meetings and negotiations and squabbles. His sole joy in life was standing before him now arguing that he should marry someone else.

“If I care?” he asked. “I was prepared to die for it. On many occasions. I would gladly give my life. But I won’t give my heart.”

Manon blinked slowly, and he realized she was looking past him. “You once told me you were prepared to give up your throne for Sorscha. Then the war taught you how foolish, how childish that was. And now, as if you learned nothing, sacrificed nothing, you want to do the same thing. Your life and your heart are one in the same.” Finally, her golden eyes met his. “I am immortal. You are not. You need a human queen to give you heirs and unite your kingdom. I will not play a part in disrupting that.”

Dorian searched for any sign - an unshed tear, a twitch of her lips, a clenched jaw. But there was nothing. Nothing on her face except a cold certainty that left him feeling lost, alone. He knew this was an act, a means of protecting herself. And yet, she was right. When they’d parted ways in Orynth after the war, he’d ignored the desire to ask her for some sort of commitment beyond “We’ll see.” They both had countries to rebuild and had chosen that greater responsibility over personal wishes. Dorian told himself then that they had time. Yes, he was a mortal. But he still had a plentiful well of raw magic on which to draw upon, magic that would give him a much longer life than a normal human. And only two short years later, out of nowhere, everything was falling apart.

No, he would not let his people suffer through war again. But giving in to extortion was not an acceptable alternative. He thought of Aelin, wondering how she would handle a situation like this. With the way her people adored her, he knew she’d never reach this point. Maybe Frey and his allies were right. Maybe he’d left them to fend for themselves out of cowardice instead of prudence. Suddenly, Dorian was exhausted, tired of being king, tired of giving up everything he wanted. He rubbed his eyes until they were red

“You know it has to be this way,” she said, having watched him sort out his thoughts. “No matter what they claim, you’ve never once abandoned this kingdom. Which is why you won’t do it now.”

Dorian stared at the ground, grasping for a way out, but his mind felt like aspic, soft and muddled and useless. “I won’t be a king who takes a queen and still keeps a lover.” The ultimatum was hard to voice, but it was true. Despite his rakish history, he’d never taken a new lover without breaking things off with the old one. If ever an exception was to be made, it would be with Manon. But he would never disrespect her, a queen in her own right, by reducing her to a secret paramour and source of castle gossip.

Still stoic, she replied, “I would not expect you to.”

They had always pushed and teased each other, seeing which one would break first and admit their feelings or give in to the desire. Desperately hoping that they were playing that game now, he surrendered. “I want you, Manon. No one else.”

The slightest hitch in her breathing and a tiny flutter of her eyes sent his hope soaring. But, with a firm tone that meant she would say no more, Manon said, “Marry her, Dorian. Save your throne and keep your people from more bloodshed.”

Before he could respond, she walked out the door and climbed into the saddle still strapped to her wyvern. Manon was in the air without a look back, and Dorian sank to the ground, his head in his hands.

*****

Rumors were flying through the witch city faster than the most agile wyverns. Mere months ago, the witches had expected an announcement from their queen, happy news that their kingdom would be united with Adarlan. Some were not in favor of their queen marrying a human, king or not. Others, especially those in the queen’s council, saw it as a good match. A love match, they claimed. But now, after the royal messenger from Adarlan had arrived, the gossip was spinning out of control.

Manon stared at the thick envelope sealed with red and gold wax, the wyvern stamped into it watching her with a single mocking eye. Dorian had once laughed about how significant it was for his royal crest to include a wyvern, a connection forged between their two kingdoms before they had even met. She’d brushed the thought away at the time, rolling her eyes at his insistence that fate was at work. But now, the memory of his teasing voice sank into her chest, adding to the heaviness and pain that had been choking her since she’d left him on that balcony months ago.

“You don’t have to go. No one would fault you for it. We can send Petrah as a representative,” Glennis said, her voice stiff and formal. It was a tone usually relegated for council meetings, not a conversation with her granddaughter.

She was silent for a long moment, still looking at the envelope. Instead of answering, Manon picked it up and ripped apart the seal. The invitation was written in fanciful blue ink with a border of red berries and ivy stamped into the parchment. She frowned at the flowery words that matched the design, knowing the girl must have been behind all of it. The girl. Manon knew she was likely close to Dorian’s age, but she didn’t care. The future queen of Adarlan would forever be the girl in her mind. Even so, it was impossible to miss her name in elegant calligraphy.

Your presence is requested at the royal wedding of Lady Eveline Frey and His Majesty Dorian Havilliard II, King of Adarlan

Manon stopped reading at his name and continued to flip through the remaining pages. They contained notices of the pre-wedding events that the ‘happy couple’ hoped people would attend, despite the possibility of poor weather at that time of year.

Happy. Her eyes caught on that word and didn’t move. She knew it was a lie. And yet, her old doubts and fears flooded back into her mind. She was still heartless despite her efforts to change, he deserved someone who could sufficiently return his affections. She was immortal, he was not. Manon had reasoned that she would rather lose him like this than watch up close as he aged and died. Rather lose him now, when they could both move on to full lives, than be forced to somehow carry on after his death. A magically extended life or not, she could see no other scenario if she continued with him. And if that was truly how she felt, then she wanted to be there and show him they were both better off this way.

Glennis watched her, likely reading every thought that had gone through her head. For when Manon said she was going, her grandmother’s head dipped in resignation. “Then I will accompany you.”

Manon lost count of her attempts at crafting a reply. She began with a simple list of witches who would attend with her, which morphed into a long drawn out explanation of why she wanted to be there. Then she backtracked into a brief, two sentence response. And even then, she had to make several copies until one was legible. The anguish of what she faced kept showing itself in her shaking hand.

Her eyes keep going back to their names and she found herself wondering what the girl was like. Did she like to read? Could she fight with a sword? Would she stand up to the nobility who claimed Dorian was not worthy of his throne? How would she react to him waking up screaming in the middle of the night from a nightmare in which he’d been torturing people?

That last thought made her feel sick. Not because of the dreams that still plagued him - she was well versed in helping to comfort him, just as he knew how to ease her grief and fear after a nightmare. It was the idea that they’d be sharing a bed that turned her stomach.

Gods what was she thinking? There were two months until the wedding. Was that long enough to forget everything Dorian was to her?

Manon knew the answer. And yet, when she read over their names again, she made herself remember why things had to be this way. Adarlan could not survive another war, especially one which tore it apart from the inside out. This was for the best. His and hers. This wedding would be closure, and afterwards, she could move on, search for a suitable consort. Not to become her king. She could not bear seeing anyone else beside her in that capacity. But finding an acceptable male to produce an heir would help to stabilize her kingdom. If Dorian was forced to set aside his heart to help his people, then she would do the same.

When she gave the reply to Glennis later, her grandmother frowned. “I find myself not wanting to send this.”

“It will be us and two sentinels. That’s all,” Manon said, ignoring the witch’s reluctance. “We will arrive the day before and leave immediately after the ceremony.” As Glennis nodded in agreement, Manon noticed she held a royal envelope in her other hand. “What is that?”

Again, that frown. “It’s from Prince Fennick Whitethorn of Doranelle. A cousin of Rowan’s I believe.”

“Was he in Orynth?” She didn’t recall him being there, but her memories from those early days battling Erawan’s army were foggy.

“I don’t think he was.”

Manon took it, examining front and back. The wax seal matched that of Queen Sellene Whitethorn. “What could this be?” she wondered aloud.

Glennis was already walking away, but she turned and said sharply, “I can only imagine.”

Manon was glad she waited until she was alone to read it, for by the end of it, she was sitting motionless, the letter forgotten on the floor.

Prince Fennick Whitethorn, a cousin to both Rowan and Queen Sellene, had written to express his regards and dismay at the news that the King of Adarlan would marry a noble from his own kingdom. He’d felt compelled to write her directly, offering her his support and friendship since he’d experienced something similar a few hundred years before. As Doranelle’s representative at the festivities, he hoped they could meet in Rifthold. In not so veiled terms, he suggested they might establish an alliance of their own, one that would be amenable to both their countries.

Mere hours after speculating about taking a consort and here she was, staring at a proposal. She couldn’t decide between outrage or amazement at the audacity of the fae male. It had certainly taken balls to approach her this way. And at this time. Picking up the letter, she read it over again. From the sounds of it, Fennick had been left heartbroken in his past. A past that extended even further back than her own. Had she not used her own immortality as a reason that Dorian should wed another? Here was an immortal throwing himself at her, eager for alliance. But she wondered if his interest would wane when he was told that at best, he might become her consort. There was only one man who she’d accept as her king, and he was now outside her reach.

She decided not to send a reply. If the fae prince was there, she would meet with him, see what kind of male he was and whether he might bring anything of worth to an alliance. If not, it would be one less thing to worry about.

That night, as she tried and failed to fall asleep, Manon found herself imagining how she might say goodbye to Dorian. They never used the word, choosing instead to focus only on their hellos. It made a twisted sort of sense that this goodbye, this parting that would be permanent, would be the first and last time it was spoken between them.

***

Yrene found Dorian in his office, watching the brutal winter winds send snow whipping through the air outside his window. Judging from her expression, she knew why he’d sent for her. When her eyes went to the letter on his desk, her shoulders seemed to slump, and she sat down heavily across from him.

“She will be attending,” he said, pushing the short reply across the desk in case she wanted to read it. After immediately recognizing the handwriting as Manon’s, he’d stared at it for a long time. As if there might be some sign of hesitation on her part, he’d examined the note, his eyes running over each stroke of ink, again and again. It was flawless. Just like her, he’d thought miserably.

“I didn’t think she’d actually come. It was meant as a formality between two allies.”

“Perhaps that’s why she has agreed. Formality, nothing more,” Yrene offered.

“How do you think Eveline will handle it?” Despite a wedding date only a few weeks away, Dorian barely spoke to his future queen. Yrene had been acting as a go between, keeping Dorian from having to feign pleasantries and interest in someone who he’d claimed looked and acted like an empty doll.

“She has been trained as a courtier since birth. I’m sure she will be as polite and ladylike as she always is.” Yrene rose and came around the desk, standing in front of the window to make Dorian look at her. “She may appear timid and vapid in front of her father, but she is no fool. She knows what this arrangement is and why it’s happening. Your involvement with Manon was never much of a secret. Eveline knows she is not your choice. But like you, she is doing her duty.”

Dorian didn’t reply. He knew his opinion of her was misguided, that it was based on anger at the situation, at her father. Which was why he kept his distance. If he couldn’t keep himself in check in private or with his friends, how could he expect to refrain from unleashing his rage on her with hurtful words? At least, that’s what he told himself. It was true, but some part of him knew that if he gave in and spent time with her, it would make this all the more real.

Yrene’s eyes darkened as she said, “Lord Frey has a reputation to match Chaol’s father. With her mother gone, I suspect Eveline has not had much control over her life. This would be nothing new to her.”

Now fully ashamed of himself, Dorian only nodded. If there was anything he could understand, it was not being able to defy a bullying parent. A new sense of sympathy filled him as he wondered how desperate Eveline must be for a new life. Freedom from an abusive father would be worth the heavy responsibilities and loss of privacy that came with being a queen. Maybe it was time to make an effort. He couldn’t envision a future where he would ever develop actual feelings for Eveline. But he could at least become her friend.

“What else have you learned about her?” he asked.

Yrene shrugged. “Her education has been extensive, and she knows much about the court and how it runs. She enjoys art and music, embroidery …” She trailed off, trying to think of any other attributes worth sharing. “Horse riding. She always seems to be coming back from the stables when I see her. I’ve gotten the impression her father does not approve of that hobby, but she maintains that being a good horsewoman befits a true lady.”

“So, she does disobey him then …” Dorian smiled slightly, recalling how he used to rebel against his parents. Horse riding was much less scandalous. “Does she need any help with the wedding plans?”

The suddenness of his change in tone had Yrene blinking at him. “I don’t believe so. But I can ask her.”

Dorian stood and walked towards the door. He knew if he didn’t start now, he never would. “I will go ask. I’d like to recommend some music.”

“Wait,” Yrene cried, trailing him out into the corridor. When she caught up to him, she asked, “What are you doing?”

The fear in her eyes almost made Dorian turn around and forget his pledge of moments ago to try and accept this. Yrene had always been the biggest supporter of his relationship with Manon. Whether she was helping them arrange a short, secret escape from their duties, or using her sharp tongue to tear down any detractors of the Witch Kingdom, or giving him advice on how to help Manon recover from the loss of her coven … Yrene had always been there. And now, for the first time, it seemed to be sinking in for her that what she had dreamed for her friends – a happily ever after to rival what she had with Chaol – was impossible. It pained Dorian to see it and he pulled her into a hug.

“If there was another way, Yrene, I’d do it. You know that.”

She hugged him back fiercely, her voice shaking as she said, “I know. She is my friend too, Dorian. And I don’t want to lose her.”

Gods, Dorian thought his heart couldn’t break anymore. And here it was, cracking into even more fragments, each time becoming smaller and smaller. “I know.”

Yrene backed away and let loose a string of curses and insults about Lord Frey that left his eyes wide and mouth agape. He’d never heard her speak like that before, had never thought her capable of such filthy language.

Before she could think to apologize, he laughed. “Well said, Lady!”

Red with embarrassment, Yrene burst into laughter too. When they’d both regained their composure, she said, “Come. I’ll walk with you to Eveline’s rooms and catch you up on her wedding plans.”

“Thank you,” he said, and meant it. “She is as much a pawn in this game as anyone, and she doesn’t deserve my animosity.”

Yrene nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s a perfectly lovely young woman. It makes things worse in a way.”

When they reached her rooms, Yrene led him inside.

“Your Majesty,” Eveline said brightly. Her dark hair matched her eyes and she gave him a beaming smile. “I was not expecting you today.” She was going through a stack of replies to the invitations.

“Please, call me Dorian. I insist,” he said. “I have one more to add.” Slowly, as if not wanting to give it up, he handed her Manon’s reply. He and Yrene both watched her carefully as she read it.

With the same smile as before, Eveline said, “I’m so pleased the Witch Queen will be attending. None of your other royal friends are able to come due to the weather. Though Doranelle is sending someone.” She paused, thinking. “I can’t remember his name.”

As the two women went through the replies and spoke quietly, Dorian pretended to listen. For one terrible moment, he wondered what the word princeling might sound like from Eveline’s mouth. The thought felt blasphemous, leaving him spinning and trapped between two worlds: the reality sitting next to him, this perfectly lovely woman for whom he felt nothing, and a dream world where he’d wake up happy each morning to snow white hair and golden eyes. A dream that had slipped through his fingers, like the wind gusting wildly outside.

Perfectly lovely. Eveline was lovely, and perfect, with exquisite manners, an impeccable wardrobe, and a distinguished education. But despite that loveliness and perfection, he knew without a doubt that his feelings towards Eveline would never come close to what he felt for Manon. Manon was his mirror, his equal. If beings other than fae were able to have true mates, she would be his.

The thought struck him like a dagger, straight to whatever bits of his heart yet remained. Shaking his head, Dorian tried not to think of Manon, of how this next visit for the wedding would likely be her last. Tried not to dwell on how he would have to live the rest of his life without her, his mate in every way that counted.

Of course, he failed. And when Eveline asked him about what music he’d prefer, Dorian used every ounce of strength he had left to force a smile on his face and answer.

To be continued...

***

Thanks for reading! You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

It’s been a while since I’ve written and I’m not sure who all is still out there. So if I missed you, or you’d like to be tagged/removed for parts two and three, let me know.

@itach-i @bookishwitchling @manontrashbeak @awesomelena555 @jimetg98 @over300books

[yandere-sins]

:D requests are open! i’m really excited nat i please request some yandere asmodeus from obey me he’s gotten a little bothered that the mc is so comfortable around his brothers and not him

Since it’ll be easier to come up with an idea if I combine these two, I went ahead and did that, thank you two for requesting ^-^

»»———————— ♡ ————————«« 

There were certain ‘qualities’ that humans seemed to choose their demons on.

Power, of course, many humans simply wanted the demons to do some shitty, dirty job for them. And for that, they had to be stronger than them, able to tear someone else apart into pieces in the air preferable. Asmodeus wasn’t weak, but that simply wasn’t how he dealt with things. They often were too bloody, too ugly, and too dirty for his taste, so he refrained from them.

Others wanted a wish, and that was already more in Asmodeus’ taste. However, other than Mammon or Satan, Asmo did not know how to cheat your way out of peculiar life situations, and he also didn’t know a lot of magic that could help against illnesses or problems that were very delicate.

However, some humans had a strive for beauty, which certainly was the quality Asmodeus could help with the most. Whether it was some form of becoming more beautiful or to have someone desire you for what you were, both could be achieved with Asmo’s help, and he always found himself quite happy to provide services for this. The more people craved his presence, wanted to be near him, touch him, adore him, the more he felt at peace with himself.

After all, he was the most desirable demon of them all.

The best-looking demon, the one that everyone stared after. No matter if it was his smell, his aura, his posture, the way he carried himself - it all drew people in. They flocked to him like moths to a flame, dreaming about the day they could be as beautiful as him, but this day would never come. He was a singularity, and as such, Asmodeus believed he should be worshipped as one.

It really didn’t help that you didn’t think that.

Never had he met such a delicate soul as you were. One, where when the soul entered a room, it lit up everything from candles to moods. It was a peculiar taste of energy when you talked, laughed, even just let your eyes wander through the room, and Asmodeus came to crave it. You, too, were a singularity, and as such, he wanted to be recognized by you as a fellow uniquity.

By now, it’s been a month that you started to hang out in the Devildom, and you began forging meaningful relationships with his dear brothers, playing this game that the demon lord wanted to construct for humans like you. Asmodeus had yet to see you shy or reserved with your affection and your orders. You were almost too comfortable, and the demons played to your tune either out of boredom or because your aura seemed to have bewitched them too.

And yet, despite the path before you clearly leading to Asmodeus, you seemed much more interested in straying from it than following it right into his arms. It should have come naturally. You should have been led to his singularity just like any other human or demon did. Still, despite that, you always turned your head in the direction of others, but not Asmo’s.

Even when he went out of his way - but not calling it desperate yet - to face you, you were quick to turn the corner or change directions when you spotted him across the hallways of the school. It was a hard thought to comprehend, but it almost felt like you were deliberately avoiding the Demon of Lust, no matter how alluring he must have been to you too.

Asmodeus knew that if he wanted anything to come out of this situation, he had to become more proactive on his own. You two being separated was wrong and a reality he did not want to face. If everyone adored him, so did you, even if you tried to avoid him rather than face this truth.

Luckily, you and he were the only ones blessed with en-suite bathrooms to your rooms, that much he knew. It also meant that despite Asmodeus never using it, your room doors had locks, just in case someone barged in at an inconvenient moment. And with luck on his side, you too had a habit of leaving it unlocked, counting on the demons to knock before entering your door. In the worst case, they’d hear your shower running and walk out again - or so you hoped.

Entering your room, it was almost too easy to intrude, was a perhaps rather aggressive action. But the goal justified the means, and Asmodeus made sure to turn the lock on closed once he entered so that no one would disturb. It was tempting to hear the water run in your bathroom, making him want to wander in there for a surprise. But he figured, seating himself just across of the bathroom door, on your bed. The mattress squeaked while the feathers in the blanket began to puff up around him, releasing small bits of your magic and smell.

He could have bathed forever in the comfort of your bed, but instead, Asmodeus took his mission of facing you seriously, ignoring the little appetizers when the full meal was just about to come his way. Just as he regained his composure after a few seconds of weakness, he heard the shower turn off, a merry tune falling off your lips as you got out and ready to exit the bathroom.

The shock couldn’t have been bigger to see Asmodeus sit there quiet as a mouse, and you jumped hard as your mind registered him. Your eyes widened before narrowing in suspicion, dissatisfied with the usual chipper, “Hey!” he let out, grinning from ear to ear.

“Asmodeus... do you need something? I didn’t hear you knock,” you asked, confused if perhaps you had invited him over and forgot he was coming. Then again, knowing yourself, you deemed that as impossible. You had your reasons not to invite someone like him to your room after all.

“Ouch, so formal,” he chuckled, hearing you call him by his full name. “You know you can call me Asmo! As for the knocking, well, you couldn’t hear what I didn’t do.”

Irritation flashed over your face for a moment, your human brain working through many thoughts visibly. Despite you being a singularity, you still were only capable of human emotions and thoughts after all, but Asmo knew that. Yet, he still desired your attention, happy over even the suspicious glare you took on instead of the confusion.

“Then, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing...” he chirped, leaning back on your bed, caressing the place next to him. “Just thought we should hang out some and talk, don’t you think?”

Your mouth opened as you wanted to refuse, but hesitation got the better of you as you tried to search for a good excuse to tell him. “I promised to bake with Beel, so... maybe another time?”

Hurrying to the door, you were less than subtle with your efforts to get away, but when you pulled at the doorknob, it only rattled in your hand. Instead, you relived your shock as Asmodeus suddenly reached out from behind, digging his fingers beneath your hand. “He’ll be fiiiine ~” Asmo announced, prying your hand off the knob before turning you around and leading you back to the bed.

Your hands were exactly how he always imagined them to be. Strong, warm, reliable. The kind of hands he wanted to feel cupping his cheeks and run down his body, your presence being made known to every fiber of his being. Asmodeus felt his mouth dry out with the desire to have that feeling right that moment, but it conflicted with his plans even though he wanted it so badly.

On the other hand, there was you, perplex over his actions, yet, too slow to comprehend them until you were suddenly pushed back onto the bed, body shaking from the fall. Pinching your eyes close, you didn’t notice Asmodeus on top of you until you opened them up again, staring right into his.

“It’s always Beel this, Belphie that. Errands for Lucifer and playing with Levi, right? Did you notice how busy you are? Who’s ever doing something for you instead?”

Asmo couldn’t know if your mortal little brain worked fast enough to understand what he was trying to say, knowing if he didn’t speak it out, there might be a chance that you wouldn’t catch on. But if you caught the hints in his words, you might have noticed the sounds of displeasure swinging in his voice as he muttered them. You may have noticed how little he approved of your constant engagement with his brothers and the way he hissed their names as if they were actually irrelevant participates in his life.

“How about I take care of you for a while? Isn’t it hard? To look after and be surrounded by beings so exhausting? Are they draining your energy? Don’t you just want someone to spoil you for a while in return?”

He took a deep breath. With you being so close, it was unbearable to not touch, kiss, or suck out your soul right then and there. “I can do that. I can give you so much more than those ugly demons downstairs,” he whispered, his lower lip quivering with excitement.

He finally had you right where he wanted. You were still looking at him with wide, deer eyes while you tried to simply comprehend your situation, but Asmodeus was satisfied. Two singularities next to each other, there was nothing that could destroy the beauty lingering between you two at that moment. Everything in his life had led to this, he believed, he was finally where he was meant to be, with the person he was meant to be with at this moment.

Surely, you felt that too, right?

Right?

“N-No, I’m fine,” your pesky little reply was, voice shaken from the happenings and eyes darting back and forth from him to the door. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I am totally fine the way everything is.”

Biting his lip, Asmodeus smiled at your words, feeling as if you were piercing his heart with a dagger. When he didn’t immediately react, you shimmied your way out, ducking under his arm and slipping away, dashing back to the door with the determination not to stay another second in this room with the demon.

Finally, you found the lock you had never used, turning it and pulling at the doorknob again, but it still wouldn’t budge. Another turn, another pull, nothing. Growing frantically, you turned the lock back and forth, knowing that one side had to be the one to open, but nothing happened. No matter your shaking and hammering against the door, it wouldn’t budge.

The squeaks of your bed made you look back over your shoulder, seeing Asmodeus how he stood there in the middle of your room, eyes at the floor, shoulders droopy. Like a sulking kid at best, a rotten, angry demon at worst.

“You don’t get it yet, but that’s okay,” he mumbled, barely decipherable for you, who stood a few steps away. But when he slowly began to approach you, your subconsciousness started to panic, pulling at the door even harder and begging it to open under your breath.

Obviously, all that Asmodeus already saw - the singularities, the perfect match you were to him, the desire plaguing your encounters with him - your weak, human mind couldn’t comprehend yet. He would have to show you. It would be his responsibility to explain it to you, make you understand.

His hands fell on your shoulders, making you stop dead in your tracks. Perhaps, it was just his luck that you weren’t sensitive enough to understand that what you were rattling was just an illusion, not actually your door at all. It had given him the time to understand you a bit better and realize what he had to do from now on.

“I’ll show you. I’ll show it to you all,” Asmodeus promised, fingers digging deeper into the flesh around your muscle, and you winced in pain, trying to duck out beneath it. Just this time, he wouldn’t let you escape like this. “You’ll come to understand, and then, you’ll know that you belong to me.

Right, [Name]?”