#thank you again to everyone being pleasant on this post

[hailsatanacab]

Okay.

OP here, ready to add my two cents.

First of all, thank you to everyone that has been defending fanfic authors and championing creative freedom in fandom, you're doing the lord's work, thank you so much.

Secondly, what the actual hell are you both doing?

Honestly, @jedipirateking, I was going to live and let live and just ignore the whole mess you've created on this post because frankly I didn't have the time nor the energy to interact with you, but @shadowykittengladiator added their grievances and I couldn't not say something.

This is a creative post. This is, in fact, my creative post. I wrote something that I'm proud of - and while it's not an entirely serious piece of fic (it's crack! it's not meant to be serious!) it still hurts to have to people find it, criticise it, and dislike it enough that they then have to go on and list all the things that they don't like about the fandom on it.

I appreciate that it started with, what I hope was, an earnest desire to be helpful in telling me whether the code was canon or not. I can understand why you did that and I'm not angry or upset with that. I can also understand why you do that to other, similar posts. You like DC and you want to share that with people, and that's great!

What I am upset about, and what I can imagine a lot of people are upset about, is the holier than thou attitude that comes with your corrections and additions.

Fandom is not about superiority. Fanfiction is not about superiority.

Adhering to canon does not make a fanfic any better than one that doesn't - otherwise you wouldn't be getting some of the dope AUs floating around.

What I'm trying to say is, canon is not the be-all and end-all of fic and to treat it as such is a disservice to both fandom as a whole and creators in general.

And, on the other end of the spectrum, nor is fanon! Yes, a lot of the DP fandom is built on fanon, but the fantastic part about that is that there's always an author or artist or blog that headcanons it differently.

When it comes to fandom, there's always going to be bits you don't like, people you don't like, fics, fanart, tropes, whatever, that you don't like. That's fine, that's understandable. There's a lot in this fandom that I'm not a fan of, either! We all have our opinions.

But what makes you think it's right to go on someone's post and list out everything that you dislike, everything that you think is wrong with the fandom that you're in, under the guise of being helpful?

It's rude, it's incredibly mean, and frankly, it's childish.

Not everyone wants corrections on canon or characterisation. Especially when it comes to shit like DC, where canon and characterisation varies so widely from author to author and run to run.

We're all just having fun playing with the building blocks that canon has given us, throwing out the bits we don't like and molding our own to fill in the gaps. You're more than welcome to play with what's been created, to add your own bits, or offer your suggestions, but coming in and knocking everything over because it's not the exact shape that canon gave us is ridiculous.

Finally, I want to address your last sentence, @shadowykittengladiator -

Overall, all I'm saying fics people write would be a lot more great than they already are if people respected the characters and took them a bit serious.

The sheer amount of entitlement in that sentence alone is what spurred me to respond to this. Are you kidding me? Do you understand the amount of work that goes into fanfic? They are, quite literally, labours of love born out of the passion people have for the source material, and you have the audacity to think that they need to respect the characters more? That they're not taking it seriously when they can sink hours/days/fucking years into it?

I said earlier that the fic on this post was just a bit of fun, a bit of crack specifically made to make people laugh, but for you to come here and tell me that I don't respect the characters enough to write better fic about them is such a slap in the face.

It's mind-boggling that you think that's okay. I cannot get my head around how you think it's okay to imply that people don't care enough about their passions simply because they don't cater to your specific tastes in fandom.

I'm a firm believer that people should be allowed to write and draw what they want.

So am I. I'm glad we can agree on that. I wish we could have agreed about that on a post specifically meant to say that and not, say, on my fic where I wrote exactly what I wanted, regardless of how well it fits into canon or how much you like it.

One of the core, unwritten rules of fandom and fanfiction is DLDR. Don't Like Don't Read. I implore you both to use it.

Even better, DLDC. Don't Like Don't Comment. I can guarantee that you'll get a lot less people arguing with you in the reblogs if you did.

I'm glad you like canon. I'm glad you like dpxdc. I'm glad you like reading the fics people put out. I've never been in a more supportive and creative fandom and I love it to pieces. At the end of the day, I'm happy you're both here and enjoying yourselves in it, too.

I just wish you'd both be a bit more gracious in the way you handled fandom and the people that create in it.

Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

[folkwhoredoll]

by the shore - rafe cameron x fem!reader

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader (friends with benefits)

synopsis: being friends with rafe has its benefits

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: smut! (f oral, unprotected sex), few curse words

request: rafe x Reader, they are best friend that’s are on a family trip that they take every year in summer, reader is good friends with both Sarah and rafe, rafe and reader are a bit tipsy messing around and find their way to the beach and that’s were the smut happens :) hope you can do it thank you.

a/n: hi everyone! it's been a while since my last post because things got busy in nursing school but since it's summer break, i can now post again! thank you to the one who requested this <3 i hope you'll like this one. happy reading!

masterlist

➶-͙˚ ༘✶

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the beachfront estate where you and the Camerons vacationed every summer. The annual family trip was a cherished tradition, one you eagerly anticipated each year. It started long before you even entered school, a yearly event your parents initiated to celebrate their friendship with the Camerons. Naturally, you also formed a growing friendship with Sarah and Rafe.

Though, if you were honest, "friendship" didn't quite describe the bond between you and Rafe. Whether you and the Cameron heir were dating was unclear, but he acted like you were most of the time. Almost no boys dared to ask you out, not with Rafe always glaring at them from behind you. He accompanied you almost everywhere, even pretending you were his girlfriend to keep other girls away.

But your relationship with Rafe wasn't simply a friendship because of what you two did behind closed doors. It was no secret that Rafe had several experiences, his natural charisma drawing girls to him. Perhaps that's why you couldn't resist him when he told you he admired you months ago. He was your first.

Not one soul knows about it; you couldn't risk it.

The evening air was filled with laughter and clinking glasses as your families gathered on the deck, enjoying the night of their getaway. You felt a pleasant buzz from the beer you and Rafe had been sipping, the alcohol buzzing through your veins. Sarah had to excuse herself to answer a call from Topper, leaving you and Rafe alone under the twinkling fairy lights.

Rafe grinned at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Wanna take a walk down to the beach?" he suggested, his voice slightly blurred but full of excitement.

You smiled back and nodded eagerly, the idea of sneaking for a late-night adventure sounding perfect. "Absolutely. Let's go back before Sarah gets back and decides to drag us into some boring game."

Rafe laughed, a deep, infectious sound that made your heart flutter. The combination of alcohol and the intimate setting seemed to excite you.

The two of you stumbled down the wooden steps leading to the beach, giggling and shushing each other while your hands gripped tightly around your beer bottles. The fine sand was cool beneath your feet and the ocean waves lapping gently at the shore.

Rafe motioned for you to sit near a large rock, sitting down first to make sure that it was comfortable enough. You positioned yourself beside him, sighing contently as you took in the view before you.

"Remember when Sarah and I built a sandcastle when we were like, ten? Then you ruined it with your soccer ball." You said.

"In my defense, I didn't mean to kick it towards your castle." Rafe chuckled at the memory. "And I got the worst punishment from you because you refused to speak to me for a week."

You hummed, sipping more of your beer. "Still not over it."

He snorted, leaning his head back.

The next moments were spent in silence. You and Rafe took turns drinking what was left from the bottle, smiling whenever you would make eye contact, and leaning closer and closer to him until your shoulders touched.

You took a deep breath when you felt Rafe kiss your cheek suddenly. "What was that for?"

"What? Can't I kiss you?" He smiled innocently. "It's not like we haven't done anything more than a kiss."

You threw him a look, knowing that in a few moments, you would be doing something that friends don't normally do. How Rafe could always be turned on, you could never understand. But you don't complain, not when your hormones also betray you every time you see his muscles strain from his tight shirt.

"Come on, Y/n. No one can see us from here." He whispered, his breath tickling your skin as he lowered his face to your neck.

You didn't say anything, and Rafe took it as a sign to move further, abandoning his beer to the side. He placed one hand on your thigh and another hand on your waist. Your head was spinning from both the alcohol and Rafe's hands, suddenly not able to speak as you savor the moment of his lips on your neck.

"What would our parents say when they find out what we do?" He wondered teasingly, smirking when he saw you discreetly push your thighs together. He loved you like this: submissive as you let him do whatever he wanted.

"Probably celebrate. They've been teasing us for years." You finally replied, a laugh coming from your throat as you remembered the times when they would try to set the two of you up in every gathering.

Rafe suddenly lifted the skirt of your sundress, causing you to gasp. "Out here? Really?"

His other hand moved from your waist to your back, feeling for the zipper of your dress. "It's a perfect spot. No one can see us or hear us unless you scream, of course."

His cocky attitude made you roll your eyes, though your cunt already fluttered at the thought of being bare under his body as the sunset. "We have to be fast, got it?"

You didn't give him a chance to reply as you tilted your body, swiftly pushing him back so you could move on top and straddle him. Rafe, although shocked by your sudden movement, smiled cheekily as he witnessed you reach to your back to unzip your dress.

"Damn, baby." He breathed as he eyed the way the straps of the dress dropped, hastily helping you to get out of your clothing. He licked his lips as he stared at the sight of you. Your breasts perked up as the cool sea breeze touched your skin, leaving you in your underwear.

"Take it off, Rafe." You told him, helping him take off the shirt that accentuated his muscles.

Following your request, Rafe moved quickly and placed his shirt on the sand beside the two of you, lifting your hips and guiding you to lay on his shirt.

He finished removing the rest of his clothing, never cutting eye contact with you even as he pulled his cock out. You made a quick look back to the house, making sure that you were not within anyone's eyesight.

You gasped as Rafe pulled your panties down, your cunt fluttering at the excitement. He lowered his head down until it was leveled with your pussy, his manhood hardening at the sight of your wet folds.

Without warning, he gave your cunt a long lick, pushing his warm tongue as deep as he could reach. You moaned loudly and quickly gripped his hair, your back arching as he sucked on your clit.

Rafe reached a hand upwards to cover your mouth, not too tight to restrict you from breathing but just enough to muffle your moans. Your chest heaving as you gasped, the alcohol and his tongue working together to give you the best pleasure.

Rafe himself was groaning as he enjoyed the sight of your writhing body, his heart swelling with pride, knowing that it was only him who could make you feel that way.

Your moans were exchanged with whines when he suddenly moved away from your pussy, kneeling in front of you as he stroked his stiff dick.

"You said we have to be fast." He chuckled, teasing you. "Ready, baby?"

After seeing you nod, Rafe pushed himself inside you, a loud groan erupting from his lips as he felt your warm and wet folds around him.

"Best cunt in the world." He whispered to himself.

You let out a loud moan as he filled you completely, growing needy and desperate for a release. "Move, Rafe. Make me cum, please."

Your words sounded like music to Rafe's ears, further feeding his ego. "Since you asked nicely."

In one quick movement, Rafe thrust in and out of you, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist so he could reach deeper.

The sounds of both of your breaths were mixed with the sound of the ocean waves as sweat grew on the surface of your skin. You were shamelessly whining and moaning in every thrust while Rafe was closing his eyes as he groaned in pleasure.

He pushed your other leg upwards, having you nearly folded in half as he pushed harder. He looked down to where you two were connected, his cock twitching at the sight. "Taking me so well, baby. Come on, I know you're close."

You were panting, breathless, and unable to speak. Your hands were clawing on Rafe's shoulder, wanting to push him away from the overwhelming feeling.

"R-Rafe…" You breathed out, feeling your pussy pulsate around him.

"Yes, Y/n. Go on, cum for me." He urged you, his pace never stopping nor slowing down.

You looked at him, admiring how he looked with his disheveled hair and warm cheeks. His muscles were tensing as he thrusted faster.

Without warning, he pulled your legs apart slightly, just enough so he could reach your clit with his hand. You almost screamed at the contact, another surge of gratification taking over your body as he pinched your bud.

"Fuck, Rafe!"

He smiled, hips going faster until he felt you cum around his cock. Your hips were jerking upward as you released, thighs shaking as you squirted on him.

Rafe moaned loudly, and after a few more thrusts, he released his load inside of you, not letting a drop go to waste.

You were quiet as you panted underneath Rafe, your legs still shaking occasionally while you enjoyed the feeling of both of your cum inside you.

Rafe was whispering compliments in your ear softly, stroking your skin as he slowly pulled himself out. He then helped you back into your underwear and dress, gently guiding you as you regained your balance. Rafe was quicker as he dressed himself up, grabbing your hand immediately and leading you back to the house.

"Let's clean up inside before Sarah finds us here."

[prettyboykatsuki]

alkali. | m. bachira

✮  tags ; afab + gn!reader, established relationship, omegaverse, morning sex, unprotected sex, knotting, bachira being a lovesick mess, 18+

✮ wc ; 2k (guys....)

✮  a/n ; a comission for @cottoncalicoes. thank you for commissioning me!!!

✮  synopsis ; every moment of bachira's life has been painted by you.

or a soft post story from another word for homesick, from bachira's perspective.

tip jar | commission post (currently closed) | ao3 link.

[ TWENTY-ONE ]

"Meguru," Your voices catches on a breath, just short of pleasant sigh as your hand lands on his chest, pushing him away from you. "Quit it already."

There's an edge to your exasperation - familiar and affectionate that makes Bachira purr deep from his chest. He's wrapped around you tight, morning sun filtering through the blinds and casting a soft yellow glow on your skin. He buries his face in your neck, nose brushing your scent glands.

Something rich and warm suffuses through him as he inhales it. Years and years of his life entangled in you.

He's giddy with it. It's been months now and he's still so restless with his love you for.

His voice comes out whiny, high pitched yowling as he hugs you tighter, still, somehow. Trying to squeeze you into his ribs like you'll fit there with enough effort - he slots his morning wood against the swell of your belly and inhales. Marks you with his own scent until it covers you completely.

(Bachira developed this habit forever ago. Back when you were kids and you were convinced that he was another innocent omega. It worked well enough to keep alphas off of you, omega's not so much.

He wishes it worked on both. On everyone so you could be his so obviously nothing could get between you. He wishes he could bond with you so many times over until he's engraved into your bones

It might be enough then. Probably not though.)

You laugh again, and it's beautiful and measured like always. "Meguru,"

"Don't wanna get up yet." He whines. He can already feel you concede. "Wanna do stuff. And have lots of sex."

"It's too early to have sex,"

"It's never too early to have sex, silly," He replies, all smiles. "I'm an alpha you know? With the worlds prettiest omega in my bed. This much is normal. It's fine already so come on."

"I had plans for today." You say, ignoring his words with an expertise of a life time. "Errands, chores."

"Ehh?? Boring—like super boring. Super duper boring. Don't wanna, wanna stay here with you."

"You're so difficult," You're smiling while you say it. "We spent most of this week together again, Meguru."

You skirt around the obvious. Most of the week making love. Bachira can't keep his hands off of you. He can't get enough of you and during the limited weeks of his off season - there's nothing to do but indulge his strongest emotions.

He lets his nose brush your jaw, placing a kiss a a fading mark on your neck and the permanent bond on your nape. "Mhm. And you look so full and perfect with my knot, I can't help it. It's in my instinct."

"Your instinct is to keep your knot in me 24/7?" You tease. Bachira nods.

"Duh. Right where it belongs." He says, then adds. "I want to be close to you all the time. Cuddling isn't enough, yknow? I'd eat you if I could."

Weak against him, you move to curl up into him. It makes Bachira so happy he feels like he could explode into a million pieces. It's there again, that feeling. That he's so happy he could burst at the very seams of him and there's no other way to express it other then loud enough for the world to hear.

A wave of affection and aggression and adoration come over in one go. And he's swift as he flips you onto your back. You turn over with a yelp, arms securing around neck. "Don't be so rowdy this early in the morning,"

He looks at you where you look up at him, soothingly pushing hair from his face when you say it. You're not even slightly upset. You look like you love him, like you always have. Kind and perfect and lovely and wholly like you understand. Like you know Bachira. Not once in his life do you look at him like he's too much for you.

He loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he—

He kisses you. Hard and desperate. A kiss to your lips, then the corner of your mouth, to all over your face as his fingers deftly pull away at your PJ shorts. You're a mess of giggles— sweet between gasping breathes. Bachira thinks it might be his favorite sound. He kisses you while you laugh, between breathless sharp bouts of it until you're content with sighing.

His brain loops the same thought, simple and constant like a stream. Or maybe more like a tidal wave. More like a tsunami, more like an Earthquake. Maybe there's no disaster grand enough to put the feeling into words - maybe a love so pure and full exceeds language entirely.

Bachira thinks so. His head is so filled with you it feels like you're what makes up the gray matter of his body and what words could there be for something so physical ? He feels it in his chest when he breathes. When his shoulders tremble with laughter, when he cries or sleeps or eats, when he lives at all and every cell in his body are screaming at him that he loves you more than anyone else in the world.

He's unceremonious and desperate when he takes your shorts off. He wants you. He needs you. You're all he's ever needed.

When you spread your legs, he's greeted by the perfect view of your pussy - hairs slicked back from arousal. He should get to take his time with you. He thinks about it. How to treat you gently, properly. He's never been good at it though.

He's never been desired you in a way that's gentle and you've never asked him too. His feelings are overbearing and possessive. Even smothering you isn't enough.

You've been dating again for a few months now, together again after years. Drops of affection piling up inside of him leaving an ocean of longing in it's wake.

You're the first person Bachira has ever known. You were the one to approach him, to trust him, to be honest with him, to accept him wholly.

He doesn't think there'll ever be a time where he can tell you what it meant to him.

He can't bring it in himself to be patient when it's so heavy in him all the time—when you've got yourself spread open like this. Pretty and perfect and dripping - aching for his knot early in the sunlight, familiar flush on your face. A wetness to your eyes, color to your lips.

"It's soft enough," You tug at his wrist. "C'mon. If you're gonna do it. Hurry."

This is how Bachira has spent every day of this week. Listening to the pleasant melody of your voice when he goads you again - loving the way you break down for him. He sits up slightly on his knees and draws his thumb against your slick folds.

Your body is so inviting. Throbbing with need as you whimper in response to his touch, his thumb settling on the swollen nerves of your clit. Drawing circles too slow on purpose and watching you get wetter. You keen.

"Meguru, don't be mean."

God. He grins a little, pulling his hand away as he shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock stands, fat and heavy as he taps it against your sex. You look down in anticipation, look up again for him at mercy. How could he fuck you gently when your expression reads as so desperate to be pounded?

He leans down to kiss you hard as the tip slides into your entrance. He captures the gasp you let out, a hand on your waist to anchor his grip - another at your jaw to hold it and kiss you deep. His tongue slides against yours sloppy and you make a noise of protest - probably concerned about your breath or something silly.

Bachira doesn't care. He can't think of anything other than how much he utterly adores you. How it wires him. Makes the parts of himself he's always been disconnected from—the alpha he's always felt separate to, pant with desire. He can feel every nerve in his body, every fiber of his muscles—all the ways they want you to be between his teeth. Devour you, makes a mess. An apex predator who so adores his perfect prey. Born to hunt you. Born to love you.

He slides his cock into the soft, wet, sticky warmth of your cunt with ease. Your slick makes it easy for him - built to take his cock in smooth motion. A soft sound comes from your throat as he thrusts in easily.

"It's so full, Meguru," You mumble, a hand on your belly. "I love you."

"So cute," He kisses your jaw, waiting for you to adjust only long enough to breathe. "You're so cute."

He rocks his hips slowly building to hard thrusts, feeling you clench down around him whenever he slides out - cunt gripping down like it needs him always.

Bachira lets the temptation of that thought guide his hips. He's always learning new things about himself with you, or maybe just the old parts of him always evolve to fit you better.

He can feel how easily his body wants to succumb to the pleasure of you around him. You wrap your legs around his waist as he fucks into you again and again, arms around his shoulders. The way you moan his name is sweet, makes Bachira feel even wilder.

Your hands card through his hair even while he fucks you hard and reckless. Gesture sweet and domestic, it makes him laugh against your mouth.

Bachira thinks of your life together as he buries his dick deep inside you. Thinks of the years you were apart and feels his chest get tight. Thinks of all the time he wants to make up for it by spending the rest of his life with you now and forever.

He was made for you. That's the only way he can make sense of it. Why else would Bachira be made to be too much if not to be softened and nurtured by you? The only omega in his life. only one he'll ever miss.

Here is the only place he'll ever feel at home.

The thought drives him over the edge. He feels his chest well up with emotion as he thrusts - gripping onto your hips as he lets it all go. He cums hard, his knot swelling at the base of his cock. You whine loudly as it stretches and stretched and stretches you, the air punched out of your lungs.

He holds it in until he can give you the same. His hand slides against between your bodies, clumsy and desperate, as his fingers find your clit. You're sensitive to the touch, throbbing endlessly as he rubs the bundle of nerves, fast and hard.

It just doesn't feel good if he doesn't cum together with you.

"Meguru—c-cumming,"

He cums right alongside you. You pulse and spasm, legs clasped around his waist and holding onto him desperately as your cunt milks cock. He follows, filling you with his cum almost instantly before the base of his cock begins to swell with a familiar euphoria.

The pleasure is intense. It never seems to settle down, sensitivity spiked as he plugs his knot inside of. The way your body accommodates him makes his stomach tie in knots, cunt clinging to him possessively in the same way his knot anchors inside of you. He shivers.

The intense feeling of longing doesn't dull even after you both catch your breath. Instead it shifts, changes to something heavier as he sniffles.

He always cries during sex lately. You comfort him the same way you did when you were kids.

"You're crying again," You whisper, all warm.

"I love you," He sniffles. He doesn't know how else to say it. "I love you so much. You're never allowed to go anywhere ever."

You laugh loudly at that and he smiles even through tears.

"I don't have any plans to do that anyhow," You hum holding him. "We're made to be a pair, you know? Makes more sense that way,"

An ocean of longing and you—the hopeful sky above it. The moon to his sun. A corrosive acid and his great equalizer. A perfect pair.

Yes, Bachira knows exactly what you mean.

[callme-holly]

Hello!

So I came across your post about The Outsiders requests and if you are still taking them I have one! And if you don't really like the sound of this or don't feel comfortable writing this that's more than okay!

But, if you are comfortable with it..

I was thinking a Darry x Reader where the reader is drunk and Darry brings her to his place and takes care of her. Stuff like where she is in one of his shirts that is way to big on her, and like if the other boys are being to loud he will get very defensive and tell them to quiet down since the reader is hungover. Just little things like that in it.

Thank you!! <3

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚/𝐧 : i kind of really love this

The whole room spun as Darry set you carefully down onto the couch, your mind reeling, feeling sluggish and heavy with fatigue. It’s not like you’d meant to get drunk; it had just sort of happened; one drink turned into two, and then another, until you were a stumbling, giggling mess. 

It hadn't taken long, however, for the novelty to wear off, the initial pleasant buzz dissipating and leaving you feeling nauseated and tired, your eyelids growing heavy with each passing second. If it weren't for the fact that Darry was currently holding onto your shoulder in an attempt to support you, you probably would have passed out right there on the couch without so much as a second thought. He was trying his best not to look worried, but, even in your inebriated state, you could see the way he kept biting at the edge of his lip, the slight furrow of his brow giving him away entirely. 

It’s not like you were the only drunk person in the room; the other boys were far worse off than you. Two-Bit and Steve were practically tripping over themselves, and Dallas had dragged himself off home, refusing to accept the help offered. Soda hadn’t consumed a single drop of alcohol, yet he was still bouncing around, laughing loudly, and to anyone who didn’t know him personally, they would think he was just as wasted as everyone else. 

A sharp sting of pain tore through you, hammering at your skull as Steve let out a particularly shrill cackle that seemed to reverberate through the room, causing you to wince. You closed your eyes and let your head thud back against the cushions, trying desperately to focus on anything but the dull throbbing behind your eyes. 

“Hey, darlin',” Darry's voice sounded soft, barely above a whisper, as you felt his cool hand gently press against your forehead, smoothing down the hair that fell in loose waves over your face. “What’d you say we go run you a nice bath, hm? Might help with that hangover.” 

You don’t have the energy to fight him on the offer; in fact, a warm bath sounds almost heavenly right about now. The room spins again as you nod numbly, limp in Darry’s arms, as he scoops you up and carries you slowly towards the bathroom, the voices and shouts of the other boys becoming more and more distant until they’re nothing but a muffled hum behind the closed door. 

Your mind swims, and you struggle to stay awake, blinking your eyes rapidly to clear them before they start drooping shut. Darry is still speaking, though you can’t seem to make out what he’s saying, his voice sounding too quiet for you to be able to pick apart the words. He spends a few moments fussing over the water, making sure it's not too hot, before turning back to you, carefully removing your clothes, and setting them aside to be washed later. His movements are gentle and slow, and you lean against him, relying heavily on him to keep you upright, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you.

He wraps his arms around your waist, cradling you close to him, his chest pressed against yours as he holds you close, guiding you to the tub with the same care as someone who is handling a small child. He lowers you gingerly into the water, fingers carding through your hair as you sink into the warmth, letting the heat consume you entirely, your eyes finally fluttering shut and a contented hum leaving your lips. 

You feel weightless, completely relaxed, your body drained of everything except for the sweet, blissful sensation of Darry’s hands running through your hair and over your shoulders. 

“Better?” He murmurs, his thumb stroking softly across your skin, drawing a hum of affirmation from you. 

“Better,” you answer, your own voice slurred with exhaustion. “Much better.” 

Darry smiles faintly at you, kissing the top of your head in a way that could only be described as tender. He washes you slowly, massaging shampoo into your scalp with practiced hands and scrubbing down your body with careful deliberation. Every once in a while, one of his hands leaves your side to stroke lightly across your cheek or to brush away a stray lock of hair sticking to your face. 

You don’t remember when he started talking to you, mumbling under his breath about how he’d told you to go easy on the drink, nor do you know when he’d started to drain the soapy water surrounding you, leaving you cold and shivering. Your eyes are still half-lidded, your mind hazy, your body heavy with sleep. But Darry keeps murmuring to you, brushing kisses across your cheeks and jawline, your forehead, your temple. His voice is soothing, low, and rich with a hint of something you can’t place, that southern drawl coming out as thick as honey. 

A towel is draped loosely over your shoulders as Darry guides you out of the tub, making quick work of drying you off and sitting you down on the edge of the closed toilet seat. He kneels down in front of you then, his large, calloused hand resting on your knees, flashing you a small smile.

“Do me a favour and wait here. I’ll go get you something to change into, alright?” 

You can only nod in response; any other answer would be deemed unacceptable, and you’d be made to wait here regardless. 

 You watch as he disappears into the hall, thecacophonyy of shouts and laughter reaching your ears the second the door opens, only to be muffled just as fast as it swings shut with a barely audible click, leaving you alone. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to force away the heaviness clinging to your limbs, the fuzzy feeling beginning to creep into your head, and the headache pounding behind your eyes. 

You don’t know how long you’re sitting like that, trying your hardest not to give in to sleep, but after a while, Darry steps back into the bathroom, a glass of water in one hand and a pile of clean clothes in the other. You blink blearily at him, watching as he kneels before you once more, setting the clothes aside and bringing the glass to your lips.

“Take a few sips for me, sweetheart. It’ll help the headache.” You comply, accepting small sips until your stomach decides it's had enough and you're forced to pull back, a slightly disgruntled expression on your face. Darry doesn’t force the issue, simply removing the towel and dressing you in nothing but his shirt and boxers, both items hanging off your frame loosely, the fabric soothing against your skin.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re burying your face into his chest with a quiet whine, pressing yourself firmly against him, your arms clutching his waist like a lifeline, as if you're afraid he'll leave if you ever let go of him. 

Darry chuckles softly in amusement, rubbing your back reassuringly, his chin resting atop your head. 

“I think we should get you in bed,” he whispers, his voice rumbling deep within his chest, sending a shudder down your spine. “I'll get the boys to quiet down, and then I'll come join you, yeah?”

“Okay,” you murmur, nuzzling closer to him, closing your eyes. You feel his arms tighten around you, holding you close, enveloping you in warmth as he presses a gentle kiss into your hair. 

You want to ask him not to go, to keep hold of you and never let you go, but you also know it won't be long before he's beside you once more, pulling you tightly into his embrace and promising he will never, ever, let anything happen to you. And you trust him more than anything in the world.

[hballegro]

"It's more than something. It's everything."

s8e11 "Life Time"

painted screenshot. cannot give a time estimate, i lost track long ago. still gouache brush, my beloved, with blur tools to fade edges and so on

i have to go to the zoo now and will be making the version with the clock later [i cannot express how long ive been battling with hawkeye's face, gamers]. background went very fast like i said it would lol

version 2 [as in, w/ clock] will probably be done later today, and i will edit this and add it when that happens [and prolly make a separate post too, for celebration purposes, and will link them]. i will also compile progress pics for that post. they are terrifying early on lmao

"A lot of very touching songs came outta that war" previous painting

"It was pink, and perfect, and I tossed it in the scrap bucket" previous painting

everyone say thank you to bj to being a perfect painting subject today he was very polite and he looks about how i wanted unlike SOME PEOPLE

that was me to my sibling last night, and i stayed up til 1:10ish and still didnt finish the final pass over hawkeye's eye. everything else took like 5ish minutes

also everyone say thank you to margaret and nurse kellye for also being perfect and lovely and pleasant to work with

photo used blatantly stolen from this post thank you again @remyfire i owe you my life

update edit;

clock back

[razzle-n-dazzle]

- hi ! 💌,,

ISTG you’re writing is so well done and creative I had to contain myself from like spam!!

I hope you’re still taking request and if you’re not that’s totally cool, I’ll wait ‘till next round.

Adam reincarnates in hell and oh, would you look at that? the s/o is the only one trying to help and not making him feel worse that he already is. (i just need wholesome content, exam week is killing me rn).

AGAIN, love you’re writing thx for reading so far!

ᯓ★ Let's Give This Another Shot (and not fuck it up this time) Sinner! Adam / Sinner! Reader | Drabble

‗ content / trigger warning: fluff, swearing, Adam being Adam, not proof read (we die like Adam) ‗ author's note: this is for everyone who's dealing with exam weeks, it sucks but I believe in all of you any you're going to kill those exams! (don't let them kill you!). Also thank you so much for the compliments Anon <3, I write for the people and myself, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying the crazy shit I've posted here!

ᯓ When you fall from grace, it's not a pleasant feeling; That Adam knew - or at least he thought he knew - well enough from hearing about Lucifer falling, hearing the horrific things the others whispered about it, mentioning it in passing before the thought disappeared and dispelled into the air as though Lucifer had never held a place in Heaven. As though he was nothing that what he was now, demonic figure that wore a crown made out of skeletons and bones fashioned to mimic horns. Adam never cared about the stories that were whispered, about the horrors he sometimes heard through passing, about Sera recalling how she heard Lucifer scream on the way down, about how Michael watched with horror as Lucifer tried to shield Lilith and himself, about how Gabriel heard his pleads and couldn't do anything; No one could save him from the fate that had been weighed on his shoulders as soon as he had fed the apple to Eve. And partly it was because Adam blamed Lucifer for ruining his paradise, for infecting the mind of both his (ex) wives and causing him grief and pain. Dying alone is almost just as unpleasant as falling from grace; almost.

ᯓ You see, while Adam had died alone on Earth, at least his soul went to somewhere pleasant and he was able to continue living; To make a name for himself and, he guessed, make some friends and live a rather worriless and carefree life in the clouds. He was able to have fun, rock out, and be known as the first human soul ever being able to reach Heaven - that was something not even Eve managed to do, and he took it with pride! It was his title. It was partly who he was. Maybe it was all he was. That much became more clear to him when he found himself waking up in Hell again, the stabbing pain of a dagger striking his back still their along with the weight of his wings. At first, he had thought he managed to survive the assassination attempt, that Lute had just left him in Hell on accident or because she thought he was dead. It caused some sort of pride to well in his chest, a flame that sparked his need to go boost and scream at the top of his lungs - he had survived an angelic weapon! He was immune! He was the strongest angel there was, because Sera would totally fall and die in a sad crumble after being stabbed with angelic metal! He was . . .

ᯓ And that's when Adam happened to pass by a mirror, or well more of a reflective glass on the street of Hell (as he walked, not questioning the odd ball looks he got), and that's when he saw it; What looked like a stranger to be staring back at him, engulfing and taking over his reflection like they owned it, like it was there own. That wasn't him! Well, it looked like him, he could admit that, but it wasn't as sexy or as handsome as him! The reflection would copy his movement, snarling as he did and grinning all the same. With his same fluffed up hair and piercing eyes, the reflection wore no mask yet still held the horns of his all the same; Even the way they slowly curled back before dipping down, forming and L for the gold spikes to rest at the end. The reflection wore his exterminator uniform, yet it was the darker version with the yellow having somehow been dulled and deepened and faded out all at once. His wings were still golden, still tucking at his sides from under his arms all the same, though there was no halo to accompany them this time. And Adam almost wanted to laugh, maybe it was hysteria or maybe it was disbelief, yet he watched to cry and laugh and break the glass all at once; Denying that this was his fate, being unable to stomach that he, First Man Adam, was not only double dead yet in hell. Hell! The first man cannot be in hell, he had created everyone on Earth; All of them came from his nuts and in turn all of them should be praising the fucking land he walked on because if it wasn't for him he wouldn't be here!

ᯓ And yet the Reflection looked back all the same, teasing him with a distorted grin; Like it could feel his distress in the way he curled his fist, pulling back before he slammed it against the glass. It gave a crack, a small one at first, before completely shattering. Adam could care less what shop or business had that glass, he could care less how he effected them or how he was going to be painted in Hell, because this was some crazy mistake! He was not supposed to be down here and he was not going to stand for some stupid mistake that happened because some small crazy bitch decided to back-stab him! Literally! And yet, if Adam wanted any of the answers he so desperately craved, he would have to suck in some of his pride and trudge along to the damn Hotel and talk to the residence who had taken his life. It would take him a while before he accepted such a fate, taking the chance between deciding and doing to walk along the Pride Ring before stumbling into the wrong town and being chased out by crazy demons who wanted to bite him! Maybe even eat him . . . What crazy place is this?!

ᯓ When Adam had begrudging and reluctantly knocked on the new Hotel door, which he would never admit to stopping and marveling at for a second, he would feel that ever irritating dread weigh in his stomach. Who wouldn't feel such a feeling after coming to the front door of a group of people you had tried to exterminate only, Adam didn't know how long, prior! Maybe, silently, somewhere inside Adam knew if he were in their shoes, having faced what they had, he wouldn't accept him either; He would throw him to the curb. Yet, he didn't exactly like that thought, and it wasn't very on brand, so he shoved it down and away and deep until all the could think about is: How in the hell would they not accept me? I'm Adam, I'm the first man! And yet when the door opened, allowing Adam to come face to face with none other than Vaggie, he felt that dread creep in a little. But, not enough to stop him from greeting Vaggie in a less that desirable way, "What's up Vagasaurus?" The sneering comment left his mouth, "I love what you did with the place. You know, it looks slightly less like a destroyed pile of Sh-" Yet the door would only slam in his face before Adam could finish his thoughts or his words; Leaving him standing outside, a tad awkwardly, waiting for the doors to open again. He, also, would never admit giving a glance behind him, making sure no one was standing there to watch him standing in front of the doors.

ᯓ "Vaggie, who was that?" Charlie would call to her girlfriend as she walked away from the door, coming towards where Charlie sat on the floor organizing new activities that everyone could do. All while Nifty rushed around nearby, cleaning Sir Pentious' and Dazzle's memorials in the new Hazbin Hotel. She muttered to herself quietly, not bothering Angel and Husk, who sat at the bar. "No one important." Vaggie would mumble, not being able to catch her tone before it could reveal that it was someone less than desirable. Possibly another sinner choosing a path of redemption after the last extermination! Which the thought caused Charlie to gain a burst of energy, barreling onto her feet so quickly that she knocked around the carefully organized slits of paper on the floor. Vaggie tried to protest, saying it was truly no one at the door and Charlie should just leave it alone! But she was never a really good lair, "Oh calm down Vaggie, I'm sure it's no one bad!" Charlie would grin with a wave, her hand touching the crisp and cool metal of the door handle before swinging the door back open. "Hi, welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! How can I-" And yet her words fell flat as soon as her eyes were locked onto Adam's - who quickly spun around, pretending like he hadn't just been looking behind him - and was also welcomed by his light groan of annoyance. "Oh fuck me." ". . . help you." Charlie's voice flattened, dropping as her eyes widened. You know, she's never felt this shocked to see someone at the steps of the Hotel before since Alastor had came along without warning.

ᯓ "Adam?!"

ᯓ "BITCH CAN YOU NOT SHOUT MY NAME?!" Was the next words that were exclaimed out of the ex-angel, the now outcast, as he seemed rather eager to push Charlie inside of her own Hotel and walk in after; Quickly shutting the door as though there was someone outside waiting and stalking him, watching him with all their attention. "Hey no, you cannot just let yourself in here this isn't Heaven!" Vaggie was swift to march her way over to the two, seeing as Charlie wasn't doing anything to discard of Adam she might as well do it herself! No way was she going to let some two-timing exorcist angel not only push her girlfriend around yet also push his way into the hotel. Who did he think he is? And yet Charlie waved out a hand, stopping Vaggie in her tracks. There was confusion, and the two at the bar would turn their heads, before scowling seeing the fallen angel. Adam was sure he could hear Angel's accented voice loud and clear shouting out, 'oh what the fuck is this bullshit!' before Charlie began to talk to him again in a rushed fashion; One he remembered quite well during the meeting that Lucifer subbed her in for instead of coming to it himself, and he was still annoyed by her voice. "What are you doing down here? I thought you-! You know . . . " Charlie rushed out, trying to make it quick as though the others at the hotel would jump and kill Adam again with no remorse, finishing the job that clearly didn't stay permeant the first time; And, honestly, Adam wouldn't put it above anyone here to do that. Adam, who had been picking at his teeth with his pinkie finger, would turn away from Charlie and shrug his shoulders, "Yeah, well, I fuckin' did and ended up down here for some fucking reason, probably a mistake and mix up of souls. I'm sure you have plenty of those down here, pft!- I mean who else would want to stay in this charity case!-" "We're not entertaining you Adam!" Vaggie would cut off the ex-angel, causing his interest to peak over at her. Though he relaxed quickly enough, maybe too quickly seeing as Vaggie had drown out her own weapon and that . . . nasty little creature stood beside her with the dagger made out of angelic metal; Now that little one-eyed demon could give Adam the creeps, maybe even a little (lot) fright, but not Vaggie. "You know, I thought were all trying to redeem souls in this junk box of yours." Adam scoffed, quickly crossing his arms with a tilt of his head. "Are you fucking discriminating against me wanting to return to where I rightfully belong just because I was an angel before this? Wow, that's a low blow, especially for someone light you." Adam's voice dripped with sarcasm mixed with malice, maybe even still a little pride. "You literally tried killing up like- 2 weeks ago!" Vaggie would gesture to the side, as though trying to compare time to the length of her arm. "Oh shit it's been too weeks?" Adam paused, thinking about it yet drawing a blank and shrugging in result, "Shit, didn't know, pft! That shit must still be fresh for you then, huh? Well, let me remind you all that you weren't the ones who DIED!-"

ᯓ "Adam?" Your voice would slip out into the common space of the lobby of the hotel, honey sweat to Adam's ears; Filling them with a melody that could match the songs of Heaven, running down his spine with the comfort he didn't know he needed until now. But even then, you knew he wouldn't break his 'tough man' exterior until you managed to snag him along, away from the prying eyes of everyone else. "Holy shit, hey Babe!" Adam was quick, rushing past and slightly pushing Charlie out of his way to make his way over to you, over to his love. "What the fuck are you doing in a dumb like this? I thought you said you had your own fucking spot near Cannibal Town!" - It had been the only reason why he had tried traveling to that cursed town, even while knowing its residents might try and take a bite out of him or his wings. He craved for the familiarity of someone in this new world, as he had never felt this vulnerable since his first days on Eden; Earth. God's Earth. "Babe?" A chorus of confused, slightly concerned, and baffled voices followed as Adam came to your side, swinging an arm around your waist and instantly drawing you closer. You swore he was fighting off the urge to flick off the others, a casual fuck you for trying to push him off and out. You could feel their eyes as you leaned up to pepper a kiss into Adam's shoulder, to which he squeezed your waist slightly tighter, adorning a snicker upon his face. "Wait, wait!-" Vaggie started, taking a staggering step forward as her arms laid limp besides her. One of her eyebrows were cocked up, her eyes narrow, "What do you mean Babe?" Your name left her lips, "Don't tell me you're dating that fucker!" She would soon exclaim, tossing her hands out as they finally regained the life they had lost. To which you would turn towards her confused, and then remember oh yeah . . . the battle. The one you hadn't been present for though heard about through Channel 666 News; In all honesty it's why you had came here, to the Hotel, to see if you could try and get to Heaven and find Adam again - praying he didn't actually die but was taken back to Heaven to heal or was revived in some way. "Uh, yeah. Adam's my boyfriend-" You would start with a wavering smile, nerves tugging at the edge of your lips. "Oh, this couldn't have gotten worse." Angel would groan, slamming his head down onto the bar countertop, acting like a disappointed parent; Silently telling you that you could have done better. To which you placed a hand on your hip, about to tell Angel off, only to be cut off by Husk tsking and shaking his head, "I would not put you as an Angel and sexist fucker, but whatever rows your boat." His tone came off dry, uninterested, and a little hostile. And with Charlie's silence, you couldn't help but feel the weight of everyone's words a little heavier.

ᯓ And Adam noticed that, with one glance down at you and your face, his wings would flare defensively and his glare was snapped back at the other demons. He couldn't care less that they had been talking shit about him, he couldn't care less on how they saw him or the reasons they thought you could do better than him; They shouldn't care about whether or not someone was out of their friend's league if they were clearly happy with the person! That, Adam knew - or maybe he believed it more. "Hey, what your fucking mouths!-" He would start, trying to draw you away from the others. Sure, he was no longer an Angel, but he was sure as hell he could take any of them in a fight anyways! And yet, his anger was snuffed like a candle as soon as you placed your hand on his chest, gently pushing in and pushing him back. The breath of ire was caught in his throat, not even being able to reach his lungs, as he glanced down at you, noticing the spark that you had seemingly stolen right out of his chest and placed in your eyes. He knew your reservations of fighting with friends, or with anyone in general, so he couldn't help but feel pride swell up in his chest watching you stand up for yourself, for you and him: "I will not let you speak about me, nor Adam that way!" You defended, shooting a star through your eyelashes that the group; Who seemed just as taken aback as Adam had been before the warmth spread from his chest. Vaggie would scrunch her face, much more concerned that irritated or disappointed, but also all of that at the same time. Your name slipped from her lips, "You can't be serious! He's . . ." She stumbled for a moment, trying to grasp her words, "He's led genocides on Sinners all over Hell! He's like really gross and he doesn't respect people. He's a douche and a dick!-" "Dick master," Adam would correct Vaggie just to piss her off, earning a slight jag in the gut from you and a snarl from Vaggie. Vaggie, who, tossed out her hands once more, yet pointed at Adam this time, "See what I mean?!"

ᯓ "And tell me how you felt when you first lost your divinity?"

ᯓ The question lingered in the room, drifting and sticking in the air, as Vaggie stared at you with disbelief; Her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide, and her stance rigid. You noticed how Charlie grew nervous behind her, how she seemed rather uncomfortable in the atmosphere that been created in the room since Adam had arrived than you. She would place a hand on Vaggie's shoulders, attempting to comfort her, yet failed to pick out any words to say in response. "It's hard enough to leave somewhere you've called home," You would continue, frowning, "To be tossed out like you had meant nothing, like one mistake had deemed you unworthy despite everything great you have done in your life. Vaggie! . . . out of everyone, I would have thought at least you would understand something like that." Seeing as she had gone through the same process herself, yet had always had Charlie there by her side to walk through everything with. Was she implying that Adam didn't deserve the same because of what he had done? Sure it was crude and cruel, but everyone deserved another chance to mistake their wrongs and that was what this hotel was about; And you voiced such concerns to not just Vaggie but to Charlie as well. What makes Adam so much different from Lucifer, or say another Fallen Angel that managed to wind up down here? What makes him less worthy to be redeemed? What made him less of a human soul as say Angel or Alastor? Everyone fucks up in their life and as long as they're trying to better themselves, understanding what they did wrong and why it was wrong, they should be given a chance!

ᯓ It wasn't long before Charlie said that everyone should take a break, and as such you would lead Adam away from the crowd of people and up to your own room in the Hotel. You could feel Vaggie's eyes linger, you felt like she wanted to say something yet let her words fall short before they were ever given a chance. But, even if they had, you were too pent up to even discuss anything logically with her at the moment. And you think she could feel or at least tell and that's why her words fell short, yet you would never know - you're not Vaggie nor would you ever think like she does.

ᯓ You and Adam found yourselves in your bed after settling some matters, such as a change of clothing for him and whether or not you wanted to try and make the trip back to your apartment today; Luckily you had some of Adam's old T-shirts and joggers you had stolen from him from one of the few trips where Adam had snuck you into Heaven - and yet on the same note, either of you felt like going downstairs to face anyone to leave to your apartment. So, with not much to do, you set the TV on as background noise and brain fuzz as you snuggled up to Adam's side. You felt as his claws, at first, scratched gently at his side, pairing with a kiss on the forehead, and then they began to tap the flesh there; Like you were some little drum that made no noise, yet Adam continued until he switched to rubbing his thumb against your hip. "What's wrong, Adam?" Concern dripped from your lips, forcing Adam to draw his eyes away from the mindless television and down to meet you, and your eyes. He had known your attention had been up at him for a while, at first admiring his face (as you didn't get to see it much) yet it had shifted to concern the more he played with the plush flesh of your waist. He wondered if you could tell he was nervous from the start. Adam's eyes would falter and glance off to TV again, his words causing a lump in his throat as he tried to play through them; Trying to find the best combination to spew out instead of talking without thinking - vomiting whatever first came to mind and not thinking about it later. And maybe you could tell the trepidations that filled his head too; Seeing as you shifted your position from his side, pushing yourself up, and instead onto his lap, effectively blocking his vision of the television. Your hands rested on his chest, something so natural at this point yet something that still caused Adam's lungs to halt for a minute and for his stomach to flutter. Even so, he would give you a curious glance up and down, trancing the curves of your body with his eyes as he has done countless times before - yet every time, you managed to take his breath away. "If you wanted to fuck, babe, you could have just said so!" The snarky remark left his lips, meeting your amused yet disapproving face. He knew that's not what you wanted, yet he couldn't help but entertain yourself when you were basically straddling his waist; As such, his fingers would drag along the calf of your leg before his hands would trail up your thighs before tailing back down and up once more. He saw the flutter in your breath, yet you tried to keep your composure. Even if Adam was making it ever so hard.

ᯓ "Adam," You would start, your tone causing Adam to stop caressing your thighs. It stuck his eyes to yours, and he couldn't look away no matter how much his nerves pulled at him to. "I want you to know, no matter what happens . . . I'm here for you, okay? We're in this together. You're not a solo act anymore, we're a duet . . . or, well, more a duo act." Your words sunk down into Adam's skin, they infected through his lungs and ran to his heart before infecting all his blood and his veins. His hands, which had ran up to hold your waist, gave a gentle squeeze as he swallowed down the saliva that built up in his suddenly dry mouth. A duo act? Sure, he knew you two were dating, that you had been for a while, yet even then he had a silent thought in the back of his head that you would leave him, much like the others; So he never considered himself no more than what he had: A soloist. First Man Adam! . . . but now he was able to add being 'Yours' to his list with some sort of fire-like confidence; Burning and bright. It made his heart catch fire, even more so when you would stretch out lightly and lean down to lay down on his chest; Your warmth infecting all of him you touched, allowing his arms to wrap around your back and for his wings to fluff out and wrap around your frame. It was like he wanted to shield you from the world, shield you from Heaven, shield you from everyone and anything that wanted to hurt you. Sure he had the urge before, but now? . . . "You heard that big man?" Your voice broke through his thoughts, your teasing smirk had him fighting for a breath. You would playfully nudge his shoulder, "You're stuck with me, I'm stuck with you're, we're stuck together so you better be getting used to it! I'll fight for you, you fight for me, and we'll get back to that stupid place that outcasted you in the first place!" But he would like to stay here, with you, forever. "And we'll show Charlie and Vaggie that it can be done and that even if you fucked up you have a good heart in you! . . . Because I know you do under all the gunk." And your laughter had never sounded so sweet, and you touch has never felt so soft and loving.

ᯓ A duo act, huh? With you? Adam could get used to and stand behind that thought; Perhaps, even after all this time, he wanted nothing more than to hear those words, or well the meaning of those words, from your mouth since the start.

ᯓ But even then, with the emotions that swelled Adam's heart with nothing but pure love, he couldn't help but nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. Your scent filled his nose with a warmth he missed, the soft skin of your neck flushed against his smirking lips, a feeling he longed for and couldn't forget. You were perfect, you always had been! "Fuck, Babe, when you say pretty shit like that, it's hard not to fuck you right here and now." Adam would groan before a loud cackle left his lips as soon as you smacked his back. All too used to his ways, you couldn't do much yet shake your head against Adam's shoulder, like a parent scolding their child for saying something offensive. "You ruined the mood Adam!" The huff escaped your lips, it hit Adam's neck and made goosebumps spring up his arms. "Again!" And yet, you didn't protest as Adam tossed you both into your sides with a fever, still cackling as though this was the funniest joke in the world - and you couldn't deny, you loved the sound of his laughter so much. Even as his stubble would tickle your neck as he did so, causing you to start laughing soon after and trying to push his head away from your neck. "Adam! Oh my god, Adam stop that tickles!" You gasped between breaths, struggling to push your boyfriend away as he found joy in your lighthearted misery. Though he would only curl around your frame, not answering your desperate calls of a truce and a stop, and trap you in his arms and wings with no remorse. "You're stuck with me Babe, you said it yourself! Now come here, let me kiss that pretty fucking face of yours until you can't breath!"

Home | Masterlist tag list | @lily-ann-b

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

Nourishment, Beyond the Physical

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 11.7k words

He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset. He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon. He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again. Such messy business - love.

Banner credit

Crossposted to AO3!

I had an out of state wedding, a death in the family, and double-shifts at work all week long, but none of that could STOP me from finally finishing whatever the hell this is. Inspired by the beautiful and wonderful Cole’s post here, this was one of the realest things I’ve ever read everyone say thank you Cole for being correct and being vocal about it !!

I honestly have nothing to say for myself, other than this was supposed to be no more than a quick and dirty drabble with a double shot of angst at best. Before I knew it, this thing grew legs and booked it. I hope you're as exhausted by the end of reading it, as I am now having finished writing it. I've been working on this one for a minute.

I love you all so much, and I pray to whoevers listening that you like it !!

The last gasp of winter stained his high cheeks, and nipped his nose. Blistering gusts whistling past his ears, the frigidity cut through the wool of his coat with icy talons; swiping at any and all that strode along in it's wake. Spurred by desperation it to cling to it's dwindling reign, as it slipped from it's clutches a little more with each day.

An early evening that marked the start of Wintersend, the suns retreat came later and later, yet the chill in the air refused its dismissal.

Emmrich was but one casualty of few who walked the thawing domain this time of night, having traced this exact path through Nevarra's streets many times.

An ordinary stroll home, after an unassuming day back within his classroom. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.

No stranger to the Necropolis's unforgiving temperatures, the elements outside it's walls throbbed bone deep. The bitterness raw, whereas the former was tempered.

A flush of nostalgia was quick to warm him, as he passed the storefront of the florist he had seen prior to his escapades with the Veilguard, Safeia.

She was delicate and attentive with their romance; he felt tended to, like one of her prized blooms. While their affair was as lovely, it wasn't meant to last. Just as the crisp of spring wilted to summers swelter, the annual that was their courtship neared it's end.

They wanted different things out of life, out of their partners. Gentle as she was considerate, their release of one another saw her wistful, but to the same end of her understanding. Their parting amicable, they sometimes bumped into one another around the city. Only ever having gratefulness to offer, in their exchanged nods, and kind smiles.

It allowed him to appreciate the flower shop every time he passed it by, more anxious than ever for the approach of springtime. To see budding greenery overflow through doors she liked to prop open, inviting the mellow sweetness of the air, and prospective patrons alike. His memory of her, just as the woman herself, was always perfumed by fresh soil, and Freesia.

A pleasant smell for a pleasant recollection, Emmrich held nothing but fondness as he thought back to his time with her, however brief.

Spring his favorite season, no one's anticipation for its arrival was greater. Though winters stubbornness held firm, he had his own, personal little slice of spring every day. Waiting for him back home, to where he was en route.

Yet as he strode past, the gentle smile that crept across his face was not for the florist.

Nor was the accompanying tightness in his chest for the anticipation of her floral arrangements that would soon line the windows.

It was for his destination, and his newfound eagerness to reach it. Eagerness that quickened his gait along the paved walk.

All for the woman who awaited him there. Milk and honey in her kiss. Petal curved, and satin soft.

The one who gave him reason to return at the end of each day, instead of idling at one shop or the next, stalling the loneliness that used to receive him.

The one he wanted to be back to, even more than he wanted to stop and admire Safeia's blossoms.

The one who made his house a home.

It was their first of this holiday spent together, and as a couple proper. Far away from the horrors of the blight, and genocidal elven gods that sought the worlds destruction. Though it was a morbid little thought, he couldn't help but pay due credit to those horrors. Stowing aside that guilt and selfishness, it was what brought he and Ariadne together, after all.

Without that interference - be it fate or coincidence or dumb luck - he may have spent the rest of his days without ever knowing the resplendence of her affection. Fierce and unbridled, just like the young necromancer was herself.

Many months had passed since then. Returned to Nevarra, he brought Ariadne back home with him, and brought her back for good.

After the expected reluctance, and no small sum of bluster, the order had agreed to reopen the case of her transgressions. All at his insistence, of course.

Insistence that expressed in no uncertain terms the thorn he'd pose in the sides of not only his colleagues, but the nobility whose favorable relations they prioritized, in the event it fell on sudden deaf ears.

It was almost comical, the utterance of Watcher Ingellvar shifted from the air of an ill-favored black sheep, to one of high esteem in but a blink.

With impressive restraint, Ariadne waited until she was given a formal pardon - as well as an invitation to return to their fold - before taunting with flippant indecision. Exaggerated hemming and hawing, as to whether or not she'd deign to grace their ranks with her presence once more. All through a cloying simper.

Emmrich expected no less.

Prior to his sabbatical, the right of Emmrich's predominant dwelling belonged to the Upper Mortuary, though he owned more than one property.

The Volkarin Estate in the heart of the Nevarran countryside made for an exceptional holiday retreat, and little else. It's distance from the obligations and responsibilities of his day to day made for an impractical primary residence.

It only made sense to whisk her away to his town home, tucked within the city walls on the upper-east side.

Accessible to both the Necropolis, and the tamer portions of the city he frequented, his private niche sat adjacent a sprawling botanical garden. A regular haunt of his, he now had a beautiful young blonde to steal away with amongst the orchids and delphiniums upon their return.

The space of this lodging was always meant for more than just one. Three spacious stories that boasted multiples rooms, each spanned a near obscene amount of square footage, when compared to its occupant; a single, lone necromancer.

So she came to live with him. No theatrics, or pondering. Just emphatic agreement, in the form of the arms she threw around his neck and wound tighter than a copper coil.

All that remained was for them to begin again, anew. To lay the foundation for the life they'd share; and theirs was a quiet one. Their mutual appreciation for that stillness the axis on which they thrived.

Ordinary strolls home, after unassuming days, and weeks without note.

Taking full advantage of her new status, she'd slink through the Necropolis' halls whenever the mood struck, otherwise her appearances were to surprise him. Luring him to the memorial gardens to share the lunch she'd prepared.

True to her reputation, she caused quite the stir amongst his pupils, much to the chagrin of their fellow superiors.

Legs folded beneath her in the grass while her lap cradled his head, his lank stretched along the ground beneath him in comfort. Rattling off the adjustments to his syllabus he was entertaining for the next semester. Or reading aloud to her the poetry of the late Nadia Ulpius, his possession of such rarity all thanks to their dear Neve.

During which she'd hum, and comb her nails through his hair, mindful to go with it's styled pattern, so as to not muss a single strand. Halting his prattling only to lift a strawberry, or wedge of clementine, to his lips for a bite.

Believing themselves to have ample privacy situated behind their preferred tomb, he had made the mistake - for the first and last time - to suck the juice from her finger-tips. Damning impropriety for long enough to indulge a throaty rumble, his tongue lapped the pads of her fingers and lacquered nails in suggestion.

Only to bolt upright once the giggles from some of his first year students burned his ears, rigid with mortification. Clustered and whispering to one other with fervency a little ways off, their distance suggested a discretion that didn't match their prying eyes, and craned necks.

From then on their lunch dates never went behind the walls of his classroom. Door shut and the shades drawn.

Of course it didn't deter Ariadne from trying her best to persuade him back. His romantic involvement with her was every bit as tantalizing as one would expect, and she delighted in the scandal of it all, the wretched little vixen that she was.

It had been only a few days since her last drop-in, but already he'd been spoiled by her presence there, natural as it was familiar. Though she had dashed any hope of the sort for that day, with the litany of errands she recited over breakfast, it didn't prevent his longing for her little figure to saunter through his door all the same.

Before he knew it he was rounding the corner of his block, spotting the lit candles that dressed the south facing windows of their home; the glow combating the dreariness with soft glints through the glass. Beckoning him back to her, like a beacon to ships in the night.

As Emmrich approached their front door, the steady thrum in his chest then soured, no longer weightless with his reminiscing. A once placid heartbeat, it jerked with every step he took that closed the distance.

No warning, no immediate trigger made obvious, as he thought of his little Watcher, and their home together.

They were now on the other side of the insurmountable odds they bested. Together at long last, and happy. The sap in him liked to attribute such things to fate, their story mirroring that of the fairy-tales Bellara had introduced to their book club.

He got the girl in the end. Even though she wasn't promised to him.

Nothing of their future was.

But if his experience with fate taught Emmrich one thing, it was that she was nothing if not a cruel mistress.

Simple, unadorned contentedness appealed to him more and more in his later years. He appreciated the little things; the magic in the mundane. Now having achieved such fortune, it only increased his anxiety that he would lose it.

Just as his fear of death had slithered it's way in when he was at his most unsuspecting, this startling new and very unwelcome loathing had roused when he lost her to the Fade, all those months ago. Her return should have seen it snuffed, but it continued to flicker, faint yet undying.

While he couldn't deny the predictability of such a turn, that was a beast he kept caged in the dark.

He tried to quell it by the way he hugged her a little tighter than he did before, and for longer than either of their full schedules would permit.

He thought to soothe it by staying up later than her, if only to watch her eyes twitch, and her lashes flutter in dreams. Tracing her clavicle, before resting his palm above her heart, stilling himself to it's mesmeric beating.

Able to take a breath in their bed; knowing that the heart that pulsed against his touch was indeed right there alongside him, to be cherished. To be held.

Foolish habits of a foolish man.

He blew in through the front door with an energetic burst of the cold, it's final stab at domination. Pulling the knob with a firm hand, he shut it out, denying it further infestation.

"Emmrich?"

Her call to him echoed the latch as it tumbled with a click. Surmising her to be in the kitchen, if the sugared aroma that tickled his nose upon entry was any indication, it returned his smile.

As did his fears subside. A flaming torch thrust into the snarling face of the beast, banishing it back into the fetid depths from whence it dragged itself. Back behind lock and key.

He was home.

"-Only me, darling." He called back, dropping his shoulder to let the strap of his satchel fall down the length of his arm. Beginning to shrug out of his coat, light foot falls pranced the distance of the hall runner behind him before he pulled out of the first sleeve.

"I missed you today." Ariadne then at his side, she pinched his coat sleeve to help it the rest of the way off.

"And I you." The elf poised on the very tips of her toes in a wordless request for a peck, one that Emmrich was already stooping down to steal. "How did your day treat you? Did those errands keep you very busy?"

"It was all wonderfully dull, thank you for asking." She beamed, relishing mundanity's pace. "What about yours?" Grasping his coat collar, she shimmied it from around his shoulders. "All went well?"

"Very well indeed. My junior apprentices have made remarkable progress, and their aptitude for psychometry continues to astound." He watched as she collected his jacket and bag, and left him for only as long as it took her to hang them up for the next morning.

His look of pride then struggled. "Though, while the subject presents, some have developed a worrisome habit of... oh, how shall I phrase this... enquiring on matters most private. In regards to myself, and my amorous displays with a certain elven Watcher."

Ariadne's lips pulled into a grin, and though her back was to him, he could hear it hugging her words. "Sounds like their fantasies have been piqued."

Back on him twice as fast, she knotted her fingers into the ends of his scarf to coax him back down to her. And he allowed himself to be, her fiendish simper spreading. "Surely you, least of all, are no stranger to some smitten pupils."

His grimace taut, it strained his usual velvet timbre to loose gravel. "They look at me as though I'm some roguish heartthrob straight from a pulpy Minrathous serial."

"Well, I can hardly blame them," she sighed with a bat of her long lashes, chest pressed to his abdomen as she continued to sag against him. "You really are quite dreamy."

"I've no doubt that my stunt in the gardens will shadow my academic career to an indefinite end."

She leaned back for a better view of the grave face angled down at her, one that didn't crick her neck so. For all his lamentation, his eyes sparkled.

"My perfect gentleman, assuming all the credit?" Her tease curled through a wicked pout, the saccharine purr of 'my perfect gentleman' dripping from the tip of her tongue like caramelized sugar, sticky on his teeth and heavy in his stomach. "I played a hand in that one myself, need I remind you."

"Your culpability needs no reminding, my dear." Rocking back to her toes, he seized the opportunity to snake an arm around her waist, sweeping her back into him with a wickedness all his own. "Nor does your insatiability."

A spot of flour dusting her nose caught his eye, it's placement looking purposeful. Spidery digits cupping a rosy cheekbone, he reached forward to brush it away with his thumb, though not before she squeaked from his frozen touch.

"You're as cold as death." She tsked, a flurry of fingers reached up to swipe across his cheeks and temple. He couldn't fight his smile if he wanted to. Emmrich leaned into her, savoring the infectious spread of her body-heat. Her nose crinkled in just the way he adored, murmuring as she fussed. "I'll go run you a hot bath."

"Lovely of you to offer, my darling, though unnecessary. I'll warm up before long." Without breaking their gaze, he turned to lay a kiss into her palm, as it continued to rub the chill from his blushed skin. "That aside, I'm much too interested in that exquisite scent wafting from the kitchen."

"Hmm? Scent?" Expert coyness he was now practiced to poke straight through, her efforts were all for naught, betrayed by the creep of her own sly grin. "What scent?"

Contentedness weighing as heavy on his lips as in his eyelids, he hummed in thought. "What ever are you up to?"

She wrinkled her nose; believable offense feigned, her grin persisted. "Do you always believe me to be up to something?"

Voice kicked into his chest, the abrupt lower in octave had her sway in his hold. "Not at all, my love. Only when you look as though you're up to nothing, is when I begin to suspect you're up to something."

"Wouldn't Neve be proud." Tittering as she slipped from his grasp, she gathered one hand in both of hers, toes planted behind her heel. "Come with me then, and close your eyes."

"Such secrecy." He mused, allowing her to disappear from sight as his eyes fell shut.

Spinning around, Ariadne began to coax him forward with a bounce to her bare step. Flitting a glance over her shoulder to make certain he followed instruction, her timing was precise enough to find his left eye slitting for a peek, only when he knew he'd get caught.

"Ah-!" She chided through a cheeky smirk. "Absolutely not, young man."

Emmrich did as he was told, though not before barking a deep chuckle.

Eyes shut, no so much as twitching to sneak a peep, he allowed his tiny elf to lead him by the hand from the foyer and down the main hall, into the kitchen that they shared. The fragrance strengthened the nearer they drew; something sweet, and still warm from the oven. He could lift the aroma of toasted hazelnut through a haze of fresh sugar paste.

It ghosted across his lungs in bittersweet familiarity, before it spread throughout the breadth of his chest at an alarming pace. Pooling around his heart, it roused an old, dull ache to spasm throughout the muscle. One he knew well, he hadn't felt it in quite some time.

Emmrich didn't need to open his eyes to know what it was.

A chair positioned for him at the table, she guided his tall frame down to take a seat. Traipsing to stand behind him, he felt her breasts against his back, as she gathered his tapered upper body into her arms. Linking them around his neck with fingers dangling against his buttons, her cheek came to rest at his temple.

"Alright." She cleared her throat, the words cracking under her anxiousness. "Now you may look."

The sight of a dessert came into view. A cake, propped up square in his field of view. But not just any cake, if his nose was to be believed.

His mother's hazelnut torte.

It's presentation was pristine. Centered on a black crystal server, the sides were smooth with the whipped silk frosting, though pebbled with crushed hazelnut, just how he liked. Swirled peaks dotted the circumference of the top, dusted with cardamom, and flecks of what appeared to be orange zest.

Both assembled and decorated with a diligent hand, Emmrich could scarcely believe it was crafted by the same one that blurred in a lackadaisical whirl when extending a whisk. Whose 'pinch's and 'dash's were more akin to 'handful's.

Baking was a precise art, and Ariadne, by her own admission, was an imprecise woman.

Mother Volkarin's Nevarran Hazelnut Torte was every bit the labor of love she feared, one that consumed the lion's share of her day.

The hands that brought one of her gods to his knees before her, were the same that shook as she folded the egg whites into the batter. Emmrichs written instruction to 'do so gently' so heavy in it's emphasis, she could hear the ink admonish her from the page.

The cakes almost cracked during the transfer from pan to cooling rack. She drizzled the espresso into the icing before it was whipped, curdling the chocolate in the process, so she had to make it twice.

An adept cook, that skill was much looser with the rules. It allowed for improvisation, and fudging. She could afford to be distracted, and make substitutions without worry.

They often alternated the role of cook, unless it was a shared evening off, in which case they did it together. A testament to their complimentary opposition, seamless cohesion while preparing a meal was not a feat just any couple could boast. But they could.

Baking allowed no room for error, and would punish even minor offenses without discrimination. So much as one under performing ingredient would see the whole suffer. Baking would sooner bite the hand of the uninitiated than show it grace. Not dissimilar to how a beast snaps at one unfamiliar, one that approached with unease.

It required focus. Dedication. Her full, undivided attention.

Judging by it's looks, she had done just that. Having gone through the endeavor for no other reason than to surprise him. To do something special for his favorite time of year. To let him know her adoration of him was boundless, and what she was willing to give went without limit.

Even if it meant baking from scratch.

The length of ring adorned fingers closed around her wrist almost twice over. He stroked the knob of bone there with brisk thumb strokes, as if to quell her doubts through touch, while he was too overcome that moment to speak.

"I know you're not one to spoil your dinner, but your secret'll be safe with me." She pulled away, lips curling to a kiss against his forehead. Tugging the scarf from his shoulders to fold in half, she peered at him sheepish and sidelong. Unwilling to rush him, but anxious for his validation in the same breath.

Those bright eyes of hers boring into him in impatient wait, Emmrich shook himself free of the beginnings of his spiral only as her gaze began to burn.

Finally inclined to speak, the words snagged against his throat, strangling his inflection with what what of his voice managed to escape.

"Forgive me my discourtesy, dearest, I'm... at a loss for the proper words."

Draping his scarf over the back of an empty chair, she came to his side again. "How about your improper words, then?" Taming her nerves, Emmrich clasped her hand and lifted it to his lips.

A soft snicker misted into her skin, before molding his pout to the valleys of her knuckles. Spine then erected, he intoned through an easy smile. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather get on with spoiling my dinner."

She left him sitting there, alone with the torte, to fetch a plate and utensils. Shifting in his seat, Emmrich arranged himself over the side of it, one long leg crossed over the knee of the other. Turned away from the table to instead face her, she returned as if she had never stepped away.

He then eyed her as she placed the setting before him. Counting one plate between the two of them with a knit brow.

"Won't you join me?"

"I'll sneak a bite of yours." She teased, sinking the knife down in two clean, angled lines. Forming a neat triangle, she divulged where her motivations for such an act of service stemmed as she did.

"Lucanis told me when you gave him the recipe. I've been holding onto it for so long, I'd almost forgotten he'd given it to me." Lifting the wedge free, she plated it for him with ease. "It's only taken me so long to get around to because I saw you specified that your mother made it for you every Wintersend, and I wanted to do this properly."

Satisfied with the slice, she then passed it to him, trying to mask her shyness by babbling over it.

"I'm sure you could just make it for yourself perfectly well, but it's... different, I think, when it comes from someone else. Made for you, by someone who loves you." She continued to explain, and he continued his stunned silence. Willing himself to nod when appropriate, all else he could do was swallow hard against the cold lump in his throat.

A heaviness settled around him, but one that posed a comfort. Shielding. A hearty glass of mulled port on a frigid, lonesome night. That warded against the chill, and wrapped the heady spice of cinnamon and anise around his weariness, until it all melted away. An embrace of care. Of affection, and devotion.

For him, by one who loved him.

It patched another of his holes, one leftover from the accident. Another one of his empty gaps tailor-made for her shape, greedy to receive her. Left cold and open until she came along and filled it. No longer having a mother's doting, having been deprived of it at the tender age of old enough to suffer it's absence with appreciation.

Ariadne propped her hip against the edge of the table alongside where he sat. Arms folded, they then fell to twist her fingers at her naval.

Severing a piece with his fork that was both modest yet polite, Emmrich slid it between his teeth. Woefully heedless.

Until the taste settled.

Her fidgeting next balled fists at her hips, before dropping to hug herself around the middle.

Whipped frosting dissolved against the grooves of his tongue, and the airiness of the confection yielded to his thoughtful chewing in a slurry of rich mocha, coffee, and cream. All culminated with the barest hint of a crunch from pulverized hazelnut. With the first bite swallowed, he stilled.

Fingers knotted to keep still, she gnawed at her lower lip. Brows furrowed with an intensity that contrasted against her inhibition.

His stoic features twitched with pain, one that he fought to keep quiet.

Searching him for any signs of encouragement, he stared either directly into her - or through her - she wasn't certain. But it made little difference.

He didn't see her, or whatever it was he zeroed in on. Ever alert and keenly observant, Emmrich's look of foggy displeasure sank her heart to the pit of her stomach.

"That bad?" She offered in hesitation, as she steeled herself. Working her inflection gentle and light, he flinched against her words, as if her doubt struck him across the face. Her panic spiked.

Shutting his eyes, a harsh exhale flared his nostrils. And then nothing. Wound so tight and rocked stiff, not even his broad chest rose and fell with the rhythm of breaths.

She had tempered expectations.

Of course it would pale in comparison to his mother's, but surely her efforts would be appreciated, no matter how amateurish her attempt.

However he remained tensed, and aloof.

It bubbled resignation up her throat to spill between them, like a pot boiled over. Rushing to distance herself from the flicker of hope that she succeeded, only to retreat to forgone failure. Much more familiar to her, she burrowed in that experience, and sought it's shelter. "I know its not quite the same, but I did tr-,"

Breaking himself out of the reticence that held him captive, without addressing her - or even glancing back her way - he turned in his chair to face the slice head on, before he mauled it.

Wolfing it down like a man starved, he hunched over in his seat, no different from how a hound seeks to hide their bone from prying eyes before they gnaw it to shreds and marrow.

Ricocheting the fork back and forth between his mouth and the plate, not a hint of deviation, or break, in his ferine.

His heart throbbed by a chest that squeezed against it, intent to cave in. He didn't come up for air, not that his lungs would be able to suck it in against his body's constricting. Every part of him felt heavy and tender; the sore fatigue of succumbing to grief, after ignoring it for longer than it would tolerate.

The clinking of metal against the china was all the noise between them.

"Oh-," squeaked from her. One so quiet, he recognized it wasn't meant to be playful. He had startled her, just as he had himself.

Emmrich felt himself surrounded by her intent gaze, swelling with his every hurried inhale. Little muted whines were shook loose, before they were able to be strangled by his rabid mastication. With every one that groaned from the cavernous need he rushed to fill with her, the wider her eyes grew.

And the hotter her cheeks.

She couldn't fight the allure of when he presented so unrefined. To witness such vulnerability meant that she, and she alone, withheld the privilege of the one who he lowered his walls for. Ariadne offered to him her heart for his consumption, and he accepted. Selfish and with voracity, he took all she had to give, and it worsened his body's demand for more. It pulsed and twitched around a hollow hunger. One that would never be satiated, so long as she was near.

His teeth ground through her meaning behind the torte, as though the more earnest he was in savoring it, the closer he'd bind himself to her. The stronger the hit would be. The more potent the sense memory would cement itself, should he never get the chance for it again.

Should he ever lose her again.

A fool he was, to believe he reconciled the pain of being made to go without her.

Throbbing low and dull, it shared the space with his heart, and presented like an old scar. His body's hasty work to patch it saw it numbed and gnarled, stitched closed with a ragged touch before he bled out on the spot.

Unbothered to make it clean, or pretty. To lay nice beneath the skin so he wouldn't feel it there. To eventually fade away with time, like all the rest.

This picked it back open. Confronting him with the blood, and the mess. The beast found a weak spot in the cage.

And Emmrich kept eating.

His throat felt thick, and his molars buzzed. Head clotted and hazy from the rush of sugar, it wasn't enough discomfort to keep him from going in for more.

Until every crumb was devoured. Until his fork scratched empty plate. Only to then use the flat of it to scrape the smears of leftover frosting, he sucked it clean from the tines.

He didn't indulge in sweets often, not in a long while. And never like this.

It was like just his mother's, and it wasn't.

So different from how he remembered, yet it warmed him from the inside out, just as it did when he was a boy.

He detected her use of both rum and coffee in the icing, in place of the orange liqueur. A personal preference of his mother's in which her faithfulness was strict.

It tasted like Ariadne. Her bite. How she burned down his throat and boiled in his stomach. An addictive delight, tinged with the inescapable aftertaste of regret that plagued a treat. Something that tasted too good to resist, though he knew better.

Her heavy-hand, and decadence.

Her affection for him, overwhelming as it was unapologetic.

He didn't need his mother's torte. He needed hers. And now that he got a taste, he was ravenous.

It awakened something so deep-seeded within him he didn't recognize it at first. He didn't know how to appease it. Dredged from his depths, it ordered his acknowledgment with the same loud insistence that begged her consolation.

All he could do was reach for her.

He clawed at her hips with too much strength behind his nails, and yanked her into him. Blossoming a squeal that reached his ears, but went no further.

All but snatching her off her feet, Emmrich closed in to curl around her like a sniveling child. Burying his face in her abdomen, he wrapped himself around her in a plea for security only she could give.

He was the small and frightened boy, and the man he worked so hard to become in order to leave him behind, all at once.

Too tall and long-limbed to hide himself in her, it didn't stop him from trying.

The precious trivialities on which they'd built a life upon teased behind his squeezed lids.

Her call of his name through the door when he got in. How she hung herself from his neck, and gazed up at him with those soft brown eyes, like there existed an additional lifetime just for them to admire one another.

How he'd come into their bedroom from his morning bath, to her choice of his cuff links, or ascot for the day, laid out and ready for him. How serious she contemplated his wardrobe whenever he desired her input. A regular occurrence, as he delighted in the perk of her pointy ears when deep in consideration.

Cooking together. Wine blushing her cheeks and loosening her grin. Throaty giggles echoed into her glass at some-off hand remark of his that wasn't meant for laughs, but adoring it had done so.

Eating their meal in silence shared, for even their lack of conversation was a comfort.

Her nimble fingers gliding over the curve of his rump in a playful, yet possessive squeeze as she slipped past to goose him. Her preferred method of getting his attention.

How effortless she could communicate to him, the very same sentiment she spoke aloud just as often.

I love you.

The beast was loose, and it lunged straight for his weakness, snapping at the vestiges of his composure with it's slobbering maw. No longer would it be ignored.

Vision speckled and swimming, Emmrich blinked against it in hopes that would return his acuity, while his fingers curled their way around the waistband of her pants. A thin, clinging material, they goaded his ferocious weakness for the curvature of her hips and thighs. Soft, supple, full. Fecund. What of his faculties persisted, it was not near enough to stop him from yanking them down her legs.

Needing no further clarification of his needs, one of her hands hand grabbed for the meat of his broad shoulder to steady herself. Helping him pull her leggings the rest of the way in hurried accommodation, before kicking the pooled material from her feet.

Having forgone her underthings, a keening whine rattled his teeth at the discovery. Had it been any other time, he would have better expressed his appreciation for such boldness. Her womanhood bared to him, pink and puffy, he gazed at her and began to salivate, sugar still coating the inside of his cheeks.

Another time. When he didn't feel like he might have been ill if he didn't push himself inside her that very moment.

Naked from the waste down, he knocked the chair out from under him with a squawk of its feet skidding across tile. Clutching at the little elf, he sank to the floor, and dragged her down with him.

Scrambling to mount her, he insisted she lay down and open herself up to him; beyond mere words, but begged by way of how he pushed and pulled her.

Emmrich had weathered many romances and heart break, all of which conditioned his hands with an expertise that now failed him. Gifted with unspeakable adroitness with the body of a lover, those hands now shook and misfired, and with his own trousers, no less.

Directionless, he pawed her with brutish fumbling, grabbing at her everywhere and touching her nowhere. Breaths too tattered for blush-worthy adulation. Trembling with such force he was unable to free himself as quick as he needed, much less still himself long enough for a kiss, even one chaste.

Embarrassment had set for a myriad of reasons, though the feud with his clasps whipped him back to his first time - that sweet classmate of his, all those years ago - flushed and inexperienced.

A gangling lad on the edge of seventeen, not yet acquainted with his new height fresh off a growth spurt. Navigating his hormones and fledgling manhood with tragic ineptitude, that was, until Julian.

A strapping young man with the vibrancy of a midday sky in the blue of his eyes. The same height as Emmrich, he carried it so much better, having hit his metamorphosis much earlier. He moved with confidence, an attribute that both attracted Emmrich, and made him green with envy.

Julian kissed him sweeter than his perpetual mischievousness hinted. A biting wit softened to moaned praise. Assertive hands with an exploratory touch over Emmrich's wiry, virgin body. It was romantic in the way that young, puppy love often was; affection warm and dewy as early morning grass in mid summer, their romance carried through that season to the following.

Their end reached it's natural conclusion. He missed his companionship as he did the intimacy. But more seasons came and went, missing him a little less with each one. Dulling the sharp edges of his longing to rosy remembrance, like sand and waves to fragments of glass.

In that light, he held no pain, or grudges. How could he, when he had been left with something so beautiful from his first love? A memento forever treasured.

One shaking hand pulled himself through his slacks, having at last slipped the buttons free after much fervent appeal. Unable to take the time to fold the flaps out of the way, let alone remove his clothes, for his flaring need forbade any further delay.

Her breaths were just as uneven as his own. Hazelnut eyes full of assurance, and all for him, the sight had him twitch with a vengeance against the crease of his palm. Buried beneath his furious desideratum, he was almost appalled to feel himself erect with such ferocity. The sensitive flesh hot and angry grasped within his ringed fingers.

He shifted himself further up her body, seeking to align their sexes. Taking care not to rest too much of his weight atop her, the first nudge of his swollen crown to her folds saw him hiss at the sensation. She was ready for him. Despite the absence of proper foreplay, rubbing his length at the apex of her thighs, it came away puckered raspberry and drooling.

He found his little elf always seemed to be just a little primed for him, an affect of his presence he hoped would never calm with complacency.

A reality he accepted with shame, he could spare her no further attention, or prelude, driven mad with the urgency to be inside her.

His bruised head resting heavy at her entrance, he dropped himself between her spread thighs, and crammed himself in with a stuttered cant. A choked gasp ripped from him while he ripped his way through her, wet and guttural. Shuddering against her frantic contractions to his abrupt intrusion.

Ariadne arched up off the ground as far as the cage of his body allowed. A harsh yelp shot through her lips. The ringing in his ears deadened the blow, as it did the breathless cry of his name that followed, fragile and tumbling. Fingers grabbing at his drawn shoulders, she twisted the cotton of his shirt to anchor herself.

Time was on pause. A hush fell over them as he stalled on top of her, his thumping heartbeat nipping the heels of her own. Only once her dainty hands swept up and down his back, a pressure deliberate to stroke him still, did he realize he was trembling.

He almost didn't recognize the sound that came from him as his own; a whimpering, pathetic noise. Sick. The closest comparison to the feverish hue that rushed his clammy skin. The most apt identifier to the brutal, qualmish onset.

He was a lot for her to take, though she'd have it no other way. The sweet sting of his brunt hilted inside her was ecstasy unlike any she had ever tasted. The first time she laid with Emmrich he left her ruined, and never before had she submit to ruination with such abandon.

He had the tendency of holding her needs paramount to his own. Now given the chance to return the favor, she offered herself to his exigency, unconditional and absolute. Thrust as deep as her body's accommodation could withstand, with widened thighs and a nurturing caress, she welcomed his struggles as she did his prowess.

If he lost himself in her, so be it. She'd light the way back, like a beacon to ships in the night. And she'd piece him back together again.

Such messy business - love.

A quavering sigh seethed through grit teeth, her flutters were almost too tight to be comfortable. Emmrich began to rock himself in and out to stretch her to better fit his girth. Beginning slow and shallow, his thrusts were stilted, unwilling to peel himself away from her embrace long enough for proper gyration.

Their mismatched heights made for an already awkward coupling on the floor even more difficult. Her face tucked into his chest, the top of her head bumped into his chin with her every jostle forward. Steadied by forearms planted along either side of her, he shifted his weight to his lower body, throwing as much into the momentum of his frenzied canting as possible.

The otherwise respectable kitchen now invaded by obscenity, the slap of flesh drowned only by the cacophony of their sighs, and the shrill clatter of his grave gold against both itself, and the tile.

It wasn't romantic, or impassioned. It was distressed, and sloppy. A fast-spreading sickness of which this crude joining was medicinal. Her honey, her heat; the strength and tightness of muscle, that ushered him inside her plush depths. Seeking to knead him to better health.

All of his finesse - his artistry - when it came to making love abandoned him. Exiled to flounder in a shallow pool of desperation. An aspect of all his relationships of which his confidence was unshakable, he then felt like he was laying with someone he was unfit to touch.

Beautiful, dexterous fingers clawed at the floor in front of him until the tips blotched white from the pressure. Afraid to sink them into her, he knew the scratches left behind would taunt him for as long as they'd last.

Locking her ankles at the small of his back, she wrapped her arms around his back to hold him. Her furrowed brow twitching above eyes screwed shut, as he chafed her backside against the edge of tile bared from uneven grout.

"It's okay-, it's alright-," lilting in breathlessness, she fought his attempts to steal them with every snap of penetration. "Y-you're okay."

He hadn't felt such helplessness since his Orlesian artist, Anastriana. Lissome and mystifying, she was the first woman he'd ever seduced that made him feel as though he had to prove himself in order to keep her. Or rather, she was the first woman who'd seduced him.

She liked to claim conquests instead of lovers, and he managed to hold on to her for longer then she planned to string him along. Endearing her with his eagerness to please, his devotion to her needs.

Emmrich would have pried himself open with nothing but blunt finger tips in servitude, all to pluck a rib from its cage, if it might have won her approval. But her approval wasn't equal to her love.

He proved himself a dutiful marionette, one too amusing to put back in the cupboard.

Until the next came along, and he was no longer a befitting muse.

More a heinous co-dependency than it was a relationship. To think he'd been such a willful accomplice of his own heartbreak, when he disregarded the obvious, and asked for her hand. A request denied, and none too gently.

It ripped him apart. Leaving him bitter with wounded pride, and sullied by wild jealousy. Yet, even with how thorough his dismantling by her fickle whims, he remained the same. That pain, visceral as it was, fizzled and faded. Swept away by time, the sting a distant memory.

He had gained better sense alongside self-respect as he matured. Far more guarded with his partners thereafter, Emmrich offered them a scrupulous love. He didn't know any other way to be. If what he had to give wasn't enough, then it simply wasn't meant.

"E-Emmrich-," Her moans brought him back, puffed against his collar bone as she squeezed her thighs against his hips. Her pelvis pinned under his, it wriggled in attempt to match his rhythm, but she couldn't follow a lead he didn't provide.

Withdrawn fully into himself, huffing and grunting as he rut her into their kitchen floor, still she sang for him, as if he were worshiping her the way he should. "F-feels so nice-," she sobbed, perhaps just as far gone herself. Toes curling and heels dug into his low back, her whimpers broke against his ear, finding him through the thundering of his blood, and the roar of his heart. "You're perfect - so perfect-,"

The haughty, bejeweled visage of Anastriana was exiled back to the cobwebbed annexes of his psyche where she belonged. A ghost of his past that deserved internment for what of his mind she saw fit to besiege.

He no longer looked to dissect himself, and discard the more unsavory bits. He'd never again rearrange his parts for a lovers favor.

But for Ariadne?

She'd sooner clap him against the cheek for daring to suggest such a thing, though his inescapable truth remained. The deeper in love he fell, the more certain he was of his unworthiness to have her.

Not with all his flaws. The very same unsavory bits he had been so self-righteous of before her.

Be it by shame, or neediness, he wanted to hide. Sheathed inside her as he was, the urge was demanding.

He couldn't bury himself at her neck in their current position. Stopping just long enough to shift to his knees, the joints bruised and aching from the press of the tile, she stuck to him like a leech. Refusing to detach for even that terse beat of readjustment, claws sunk and legs like a vice.

The first time he glimpsed her face since before they began, her eyes watered above cheeks smeared rogue. Loosened tendrils of silvery blonde clung to her forehead and wrapped around the front of her throat, she mewled up at him like a submissive kitten. The luster of her sex drunk haze heightened by how her pupils spilled across the irises.

Hoisting her up with him to keep her hips flush in his lap, his palms slid up along her back to grip her by her traps. Hunched over, he retreated within the crook of her neck, before rolling his hips in earnest.

His pants huffed against her throbbing pulse, the fingers he had been so worried about hurting her with prior, now bit down into her shoulders to hold her still. To keep her steady as he overwhelmed her with his gluttony.

Messy and without coordination, his heft pushed at the velvet confines of her channel, the ridges clenched tight around his every spear.

Wetness then leaked against the spot on her where he nuzzled. The gallop of her heart was all that protected it from breaking.

Though it was he who helmed this onslaught, Emmrich twisted himself around her with staggering necessity. A needful, clinging tender spot, and no more. Afraid the moment he eased up, she'd fade to nothingness beneath him. Ripped from a dream, the most beautiful he'd ever known.

"Darling, please-," He rasped into her skin, slick with perspiration and stray tears. "Don't- don't leave me."

His inner torment had been plain, but to hear it thicken his tone; so small and despondent, alarm sheared through her like cold wind.

"W-what?" Battling her own disorientation, bleary eyes blinked up at the ceiling, her grasp on him curled tighter. "What are you-t-talking about?"

Ariadne didn't make his townhouse their home. She was home. His home. A home that was taken from him long ago.

One he didn't have the stomach to lose. Not again. Never again.

And he almost had.

But not that dread. That only metastasized.

The sour taste at the back of his throat. Shaking and sweat-dampened in the middle of the night, pawing at her side of the bed to make sure she was still there.

The very thing he wanted most of all had been snatched away from him the moment he received it, and all before he could even recognize it for what it was. Their last argument echoing inside his head without end, his weaknesses and insecurities blinded him from what had been waiting there for him all along. Yet there he was, trying to reject what he had craved all his life. Perhaps the beast had been there from the start.

He could have drowned in that thought if he stayed in it any longer.

Grief was funny that way.

Unpredictable as it was unavoidable. The first week she was gone, Emmrich remained strong. Focused on what he needed to do in order to get her back, he busied himself with optimism, however contrived.

Neve began to visit him those nights in the beginning, when sleep refused them both, and cast each away.

She touched his shoulder as if the company was for his sake, but the bags beneath her eyes conveyed her struggles equaled his own. Telling him that burden was one shared.

"How are you holding up?"

"About as well as your estimations, if the look on your face is to give you away. Though truth be told, I fear I'm faring not even half as well." He attempted a chuckle, but the mirth that would have lent to it's credibility refused to surface with it, rending it a scratchy, parched wheeze. One he hadn't the bandwidth to smooth over, or excuse by that time of the night. "I'm... well."

Whether he said it to convince her, or himself, neither were sold.

The ice mage peered up at him with a tilt of her head. An invitation for him to unload. "And you know it's alright... not to be?"

"Of course..." He declined her lifeline with a tired smile, the sheen of his gaze intensified as it unfocused. "Though it would be of use to no one should I pander to such selfishness, to waste precious time wallowing. Least of all to... her." His throat closed around the acknowledgment, as if speaking about her would jinx her return.

Neve uttered a small noise of agreement from the back of her throat, before gesturing towards the spiral staircase. "Shall we, then?"

The two would set out on his balcony like weary sentinels amidst the starry night. Solemn in their silence, they were each granted a moment in the company of a friend, simply just to be. A break from having to pretend.

She'd offer her cigarette each time, and each time he abstained.

For about the first three evenings.

Catching his stolen, longing glances, and interpreting them as curiosity. An oversight she fast rescinded, for when he accepted it from her, he pulled the burn into his lungs without hesitation. His fluidity betrayed a practiced ease that hinted to an old - or secret - habit. With a taut bob of his Adams apple, he shut his eyes and tipped his head back.

Neve watched with a smirk, as Emmrich blew it back into the night a steady, flattened stream from between his lips, the smoke tugging with it a noise from him. A hum that bordered on a groan, and throaty with relief. It was one she knew well.

"I see you've met before."

"Oh yes, my dear, we're well acquainted. An admission I scorn the taste of almost as much." A hoarser edge snagging his signature silk, he rushed his next drag, and the acridity furled to mild retaliation within his rusty throat. Waving away the quick burst of a cough, he shook his head at himself with a smirk that more earnestly wanted to be a sneer. "Old friends turned adversaries, I dare say."

So became their ritual. Most nights saw them together on his balcony, passing her quellazaire back and forth about as often as their weak words of conciliatory encouragement. Whenever one would find it within themselves to proffer to the other.

Ever tactful, Neve opted to continue sharing hers, to perhaps lessen the blow of his relapse. He was as grateful for her discretion as he was her empathy.

The first week was like wading through wet cement. Every step forward a battle, he held tight to his vigilance, if only for Ariadne.

The second week was when it began to harden.

They had been moving at a break-neck pace, careening down their path quicker than they could formulate the next plan of attack. And then she was gone, and everything halted. Now idle, he had a little more time to think. To dwell.

It smothered him. Everything did. Waking, walking, breathing. A constricting pressure seeking faults so that it may get him to crack, in the form of steady, unhurried fear. The fear that no progress had been made. That she still wasn't back.

His presentation deteriorated a little more each long day that bled into the next. The circles around his eyes darkening, his stubble grown out from days unbothered to shave it. Though he held himself together with little more than threads of the hope, he held tight to them still. Regardless of how tattered.

Neve shortened the time between her visits to his balcony.

Before long, the length of those days strung him right along into the third week.

That milestone a bitter one to accept, the beast then came knocking.

Before it's arrival, he loathed being in his room at the lighthouse alone; for the whispers of their argument slithered through the air in suffocation whenever he opened himself to that vulnerability. With the beast taking that place, he would have welcomed those taunting echoes back with open arms.

It reached for him like a shadow stretching across the ground, its inevitability lurking in his periphery. In the dark corners of her quarters, when he ventured there to sit alone, and breath in her smell.

It sunk its claws into his feet and dragged him down, down, down. Into himself, into self-destruction, into agony so old and familiar it hurt just to look at it. A malignancy he believed to be bested rearing in spite.

It knew Emmrich, and knew him well. It had been a long time, but they had a history. The longer and harder Emmrich looked it in the eye, did the horrified realization dawn.

I know you. And it can't be you. It cannot be. You only come when... and she can't be...

To say he looked haggard from thereon was a kindness. Iron scruff covered his jaw, sunken in and hollow with starvation. He raked fingers through his hair over and over again, leaving it to stick up in erratic tufts that he never tamed back into place, no matter how often he threaded them through it.

By then, when Neve came calling for their regular commiseration, she discovered he'd taken to starting without her.

Perseverance no longer saw fit to bestow him it's mercy.

He turned to face her with bloodshot eyes. His tall height halved as he bent at the waist and slouched over the rail, his perfect posture disintegrated along with his nerve.

The stub of his second consecutive cigarette dangled from his shadowed frown. Without a word uttered, he snapped fingers out towards her, producing a spark between them, as a small flame appeared. Hovering above his fingertips, at the ready to light her up.

Heavy lidded eyes, they were glassy with the tears he denied himself. The top few of his buttons yanked loose, while his waist-coat hung wide open. Just so he could breath.

He had been doing so well.

Having spurned fate at numerous points throughout his life, childish as it now seemed, the frequency of the habit across all his combined years paled in comparison to those dreadful weeks.

And then, as vicious and greedy as it was; as much as it took from him, it at long last returned.

She was back.

One unassuming day. During the middle of a week that was decidedly without note.

All he could do was hold her close, and steady himself to the beat of her heart. Sighing into the top of her head how relieved he was she was back, over and over again. And he was.

They hadn't the time then for proper acknowledgment, or the right words. Already on borrowed time, and he'd squander none of it on dwelling over his anguish.

She was given back to him. And there was a god to kill.

So Emmrich laid to rest the horrifics of how he suffered in a shallow grave, one neither visited.

Why now, after all this time, after she was returned to him for a life shared, a life just beginning - why now did he see fit for its desecration?

Why couldn't it stay buried?

Somehow she managed to draw it out from him. That wound gaping once more, all either could do at that moment was let it weep. For where there was blood, coagulation would soon follow.

And then the sting would dull to an ache. An ache could be ignored, could be carried. Could be learned to live with.

That grief stripped him to his bones, weary and frail. And she cradled them. Shielding them from the hard floor, and using the heat from her own body to warm them. She looked at him no different from how she did when he was at his suavest, at his strongest. At his best.

The tragedy of his parents death shaped him, an inevitability in his story.

But those weeks where he never knew if he'd see Ariadne again, the fragmented echoes of their argument left unresolved, hers would be a loss that would define him.

And then she was back. Safe in his arms. Constant in his heart.

Emmrich spoke firmer, almost a growl. Sharpened with indignation, the words still shook with the tenuous resolve of agony just barely held at bey. "Don't ever leave me, ever again."

She laid there for him, clutching the hair of his nape her fingers thread through. Thinking to assuage him, the act of speech was was a challenging one. The mass of him stuttering into her, every time she opened her mouth, all that knocked from her were gasps.

As though she were fighting against the waves of a sea as they broke over her head, cold and unrelenting. Pushing her back, pushing her away. She hushed into the air in hopes he'd be able to hear.

"I'm-here," choked it's way out against his rutting. "I-It's alright-Emmrich- I'm here."

It wasn't enough. Unconvinced, his thrusts met her harsh and jagged. "I can't lose you, not again I-I'm not- I'm not strong enough, I-"

Far more stubborn than the two of them combined, she pulled him from his hiding place and down into a hug. Forcing him to feel her sincerity through the strength of her embrace.

Shielding him from the beast that snarled in wait.

"Not even death could keep me from you." Bruising him with the weight of dedication too heavy to hold, she begged for his trust. "I promise you, I'll never leave you again."

Usually just before release he quickened, and his movement became focused. Purposeful. This time he slowed, trying to savor her, or stall himself from too quick a release. But it was too late. Rigor had settled. He could feel the little tremors throughout his muscles as they burned. That coil seated behind the root of his cock began to un-spool with the finality of an over-tensioned wire then clipped.

"Ari-," somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, it was low and needful, and unexpected in the best of ways. If she wasn't darling, or love, or my dear - she was Ariadne. Proper, and with much reverence. He had never before called her just Ari.

Deepening the rosy hue that prickled over her every inch, it wound him tighter in her arms. To say that she knew. She understood.

As quick as it mounted, it all toppled over.

A harsh prickle behind his eyes that swept from left to right, the spasms held his lids shut. Not that he would have wanted her to look into them, even if he could fight his body to hold them open.

He emptied inside her, unable to hold it back. A sluggish release, one that seemed to worsen his inner malady as it oozed. Shaking like a wet dog and growing nauseous with the dawning of what he had just done, Emmrich didn't wait for his breath to return before falling over himself in apology.

"Oh, my darling, I-I... -forgive me, I-,"

"Don't you dare." Her tone as firm as the adoration that imbued it. "Of all the things you've sought forgiveness for, that is about the most foolish."

Emmrich felt as sensitive and needled as a nerve rubbed raw, and looked twice as battered, struggling for breath that stuck to the air too humid and thick for his lungs. He had just crashed through the final stage of grief, knotted inside her as he was. Right there, on the kitchen floor.

He thought to roll them to the opposite position, but he feared movement. He still felt everything, and entirely too much.

"Foolish habits of a foolish man." He winced upon hearing himself without the tinnitus to muffle it. Gruff beyond recognition, a raw voice belonging to someone else. In that suspension of sobriety, he very much wished he was.

"Mmm, my foolish man." Her correction loving, her arms draped lazily around his neck, peering up at him glossy eyed and meek.

Humiliation digging at his back, he peered down at her with too grim an expression for all their common vulnerability. "May I... make a confession?"

Her own face fluttered a little as it softened. "Please do."

A palm at her cheek, her crystalline gaze was alight with sincere infatuation. His tongue stalled, hesitation slithering back in. The beast heeled, but still breathing down his neck.

Would he tell her of how he couldn't eat when she disappeared? That scarcity rivaled only by his lapse in personal hygiene? Would he crush that blinding acceptance she basked him in, as he told her how often he had lost his temper with Manfred?

Or that in his withdrawal of her, he thought the dry bitterness of tobacco a worthy substitute for her sweetness? That he replaced one addiction with the other, as if his relapse reduced her to no more than a vice. One he was forced to quit, one he had to reconstitute.

No, he couldn't allow her to visualize him in such a way. Though the jaws of the beast would not unlatch until it was appeased, lest he be left with those punctures for the rest of his days, hot and festered, like wounds that wouldn't close. With a deep breath, he lowered his gaze to the space of her chest that covered her heart. Trained to it's rise and fall, instead of looking her in the eye.

"All this time I thought ill of fate; thinking it cruel to have lead me to you so much later in my life. But I was wrong. It wasn't cruel, but merciful. I've been left behind to live on in the absence of those I loved most. I could not... do that again. Not with you." His utterance just above a whisper. "Not again."

The dour severity of his words flustered her. "That's very sweet."

"Rather disconcerting of you to perceive that declaration as such." He shook, eyes wide and head hung in defeat. The ruefulness of his inflection cut through them both. "I'm a weak man, Ariadne. A coward."

"And I'm a horrid little woman." She all but groaned.

He drew back with a blink. A more familiar, perplexed look settled into the lines of his face, one she was ever grateful to see back on him.

She hadn't meant to snap, but it startled him out of self-loathing long enough to allow for reason. At the very least, their eyes had finally met. "While we're exchanging confessions I have something of my own, if you'll hear it."

Emmrich urged her on, wordless. The pallor in his face receding.

"If I died tomorrow, I'd haunt you for the rest of your days." The mischievous twinkle was unable to mask her honesty, one she was none too proud of. "I know I'm supposed to say that I'd want you moved on and happy, but I'm viciously jealous."

To what she offered, he scoffed, though not one of contempt, or ridicule. That candor of hers brought him solace, one he was gracious to accept. A fullness in his heart, a balm to that nagging ache that throbbed low and steady when she was gone. A piece of it missing in the shape of her, he was then strong enough in acceptance that it was back.

Steadfast, and unequivocal.

As was a different nagging he had been trouble by on and off, in the months following their homecoming. It was far less monstrous, though it frightened him much the same.

Though the way she gazed up at him with those big, brown eyes confronted him with a decision then made. That his rationale for its evasion was unfounded.

He could think of no better time than now, tangled in one another on the floor, as bared to her as he'd ever been.

True to his creed, he didn't dissect himself to rearrangement. He ripped himself open and let her see it all; the ugliness, the cowardice, the unsavory bits. The parts of him that begged recoil, the parts to be shunned. He bared it all. A soul laid naked and plain in oblation. All he had to give.

Should she accept, it would be hers. Forever and always.

And Emmrich knew better than most the rot of things left unsaid, how they lingered like a restless spirit when their time came to an abrupt end, and it was too late to voice them.

"Marry me?"

Clawing it's way through a tight throat that sought to cage it, the blurted plea left him breathless. Hanging between them, tender and exposed.

There was no grand romance. No honeyed poeticism, or candlelight dinner. Not the way Emmrich had expected it might be. Not the way he felt she deserved. It was coarse and raw, just as she made him feel.

Then again, he knew the little Watcher better than that.

She'd always prefer unrefined sincerity, to overwhelming sentimentality. Perhaps this was just as it should be.

No matter the dressing, whether there were dozens of candles - or not one - the promise was the same. The words themselves were the heavy lifting. She trembled beneath them.

"I-," her words caught, and she winced. A blush pooled outward from the bridge of her nose, and moisture webbed across her eyes that only broke over her lashes when she tried to will it away. She continued to blink, looking to hide her face as fresh tears welled to replace the old. "You want a horrid little woman for a wife?"

"Does she love the weak, cowardly man?"

"Point that man out and she'll tell you." She sniffed, allowing for silence to coalesce between them as she collected herself. Though the importance of the request was one that ordered immediate response, he felt weightless as she kept him waiting for it.

"Ariadne Volkarin." Her breath hitched at the taste of the title in full, the flutter of her heart kicked to dizzying thumps with every syllable, every press of her tongue to her teeth. Trying it on for size.

A name she'd be honored to bear.

The first name she'd been offered. And not because there was simply no one else for her to be, but because he wanted her to be no one else.

"Ariadne Volkarin." He repeated, a hoarseness to his deep inflection. "My love... I must burden you once more with a confession, one I'm far more hesitant to impart."

Eyes widened to saucers, they glistened with delicate tears she did well in blinking back. "Oh?"

"I... I don't have a ring." Brows bowed, frown sheepish, resignation muddled his cadence.

Her gaze still blown and shining, it fixed on him, unflinching.

And then she laughed. Breathy, gentle, and blessedly reassuring.

"Does that mean I can't accept your proposal?"

A pressure closed around his heart and squeezed. Unbearable, he could have lived a lifetime in that heartache all the same. "Do you?"

"Yes." Her touch light and trembling, she guided his head down to rest his forehead against hers. When next she spoke, it was no more than a whisper, and a reflection of his frailty she handled with such care. "I do."

Tagging as per request: @pinkuranium @goddessnyx216

[alastor-simp]

Caught In Her Web - Angel Dust x Zestial Daughter Reader

❥Summary- Zestial is holding a special event for all of the spider demons in Hell, and surprisingly Angel Dust was invited. It was hard for him to vibe with this kinda crowd, but that all change when he met Zestial's daughter

❥Tags: Angel Dust x Reader, Zestial , Zestial Daughter, Female Spider Demon, Hell Event, First Meeting, Developing Relationships, Fluff.

❥Notes: This is a request from my friend ValerieWinks777 on Wattpad. Decided to post it here as well for all of you to enjoy.

"Y/N? Hast thou finished getting dressed?" Zestial, your father, knocked on your bedroom door, curious if you were in your proper attire for this evening. "Almost Father. I'll be right out." You called out, as you slowly zipped up your dress from behind. Your name was Y/N, and you were the daughter of the powerful overlord, Zestial. Your birth happened between the undying love between Zestial and your deceased mother, who sadly passed away during your birth. Zestial took it upon himself to raise you properly with care and love. Similar to him, you possessed spider like features similar to him as well. While being the daughter of Zestial, your personality leaned more towards a rebellious nature, but you still carried yourself with grace and kindness, something that you had obtained from your mother.

Today was the day of the Spider Festival, it was a common event that Zestial held for the sophisticated spider demons of the Pride Ring, and this time you would be able to attend as you were now old enough to watch over yourself. Taking a look in the mirror again, you smiled as you watched your beautiful dress swaying in the reflection.

“Perfect.” You said to yourself, as you made your way to the door, opening it to see your father standing, wearing a heartwarming smile. “How beautiful thou look. The dress suits thou perfectly.” Zestial placed a hand on your cheek, giving it a little pinch, earning a laugh from you. “Thank you, father.” Zestial removed his hand, and began to walk to the castles ballroom, with you following next to him. “This shall be thy first time attending the festival. Try to hast fun, yet also forbear mischief. Many of the guests are close friends of mine, so I wouldn’t crave 'em to regard mine daughter is a silly little wench.” You felt your stomach tightened at that. Last thing you wanted was your father to see you as a disappointment. You nodded your head at that, face wearing a somber look. Zestial caught on to your reaction, and stopped walking, leaning closer to wrap you in a hug. “Forgive me. 'I didn’t intent to causes thee upset. All I do lack is for thou to hast a fun night and enjoy the festivities. Possibly meet someone whom suits thy interests.” Hugging your father back, you told it was alright, while also laughing at the last thing he said. Zestial chuckled before removing himself, as the both of you headed to your destination.

The ballroom was decorated, from head to toe in webs, giving it an eerie feeling. The chandelier hanging above was lit with colorful flames, basking the ballroom with beautiful colors. The tables were covered in delicious hors d'oeuvres and cakes for the guests to enjoy, along with a large glass bowl containing refreshing punch. The guests were all a mix of different spider species demons, some as black widows and others as wolf spiders. Both you and Zestial had made your way down the stairs, causing everyone to stop and stare, as well as bowing to the both of you. Zestial smiled with pride and addressed everyone in the ball room. “Greetings ev'ryone. Thanketh thee f'r attending tonight’s festival. I desire thee all enjoyeth tonight and has't a pleasant exp'rience as at each moment” Zestial gave a small bow, while you gave everyone a polite curtesy, earning a small applause from the guests.

Zestial had to go and speak to his old friends, so he motioned you to go on and enjoy yourself, as he departed you. Feelings of anxiety began to rise in you, as you felt like a bug underneath a magnifying glass, being watched by everyone. You slowly made your way to the ballroom, observing everyone and making idle chat with some of the guests. Your emotions had finally calmed down, but you still felt a sense of unease. Probably due to it being the first time you attended the festival. As you wondered aimlessly, your eyes darted towards a tall peculiar spider. He certainly wasn’t someone you recognized. Out of all of the spiders you had seen, he was the only one that was coated in all white fur. He was wearing a black and pink tuxedo and tall heal-like boots. His hair was puffed up and slightly curled, and his heterochromatic eyes were very mesmerizing. You didn’t know what had possessed you to want to talk to him, but you body slowly made your way over to him.

Angel Dust POV

“Alright alright. This ain’t so bad. Just be yourself and not make a scene” Angel dust whispered to himself, as he observed the higher rank demons around him, as they conversed with each other and danced to the music playing in the back. Angel Dust still couldn’t believe he was even attending a fancy shamancy thing like this. He only got roped into going by Charlie, who heard about the event and advised Angel to go and make some friends, while also promoting the hotel a bit. Angel had expected the event to just be some typical orgy party, but not this. He knew how famous he was in Pride, given his porn status, but he knew he stood nowhere near the same level as the others here. He could feel the hard stares being directed at him, knowing he didn’t belong to this. “This is stupid. Should have never agreed to come to this little shindig.” Mumbling to himself, Angel motioned over to the punch bowl, pouring himself a drink, thinking that it may help calm him down. A sudden tap on his shoulder behind him, made him turn around. His eyes widen at the sight of you behind him. He had never seen the likes of you before, but my lord, weren’t you quite the looker. Your warm smile and eyes were looking at him, which confused him greatly.

“Hello. Are you alright, by chance? You seem a tad bit nervous.” You calmly spoke to him, while he continued to stare at you in awe. Shaking his head, he moved one of his hands to fluff his hair a bit. “ Y-eah yeah. I’m all good.” Nervously answering your question, he shot a small smile back at you. The two of you continued to stare at each other, before Angel sighed in front of you. “Sorry. I ain’t use to this kinda scene. More of a club life kinda demon.” His response earned a laugh from you. “Don’t worry. I’m not use to this kinda thing either. It’s my first time attending this festival. I’m guessing it’s the same for you?” Angel nodded his head, as he sip his beverage, but he quickly stopped, confused at your answer. “Whatcha mean it’s your first time? You look like you have been to a million of these fancy events. Especially when your dressed like that.” Angel pointed up and down at your dress, making you blush. “Haha. I wasn’t old enough to attend before, but now that I’m older, I can attend by myself. So we are in the same boat, you and I.” Kindly smiling back, you moved closer to him and stood next to his side, leaning back a bit against the table holding the punch bowl. Angel just continued to watch you, while you heard him mumble and “I guess.”

Standing next to each other in silence, the both of you watched the others around you, until you heard the man next to you speak up. “The name is Angel Dust. What’s your name, toots..I mean miss.” He quickly corrects himself, causing you to giggle. “Haha. First time I have been called that. My name is Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angel.” You turned towards him, and gave a small curtsy, while he followed back with an awkward bow and then a handshake. You noticed he still looked a bit uncomfortable being surrounded by all these upper class demons, so you grabbed one of his hands. "Hey, we can go outside, if you want." Angel dust's eyes shot for a bit before he gave you a small smirk, saying "Lead the way." You held his hand as the both of you made your way through the crowd of demons, before you were stopped by a voice behind you. "Where are thou off to, mine sweet?" Turning around your father was standing behind you, eyes glowing in confusion. "Oh father! I was just going out to the outside garden with my new friend. Is that alright?"

Angel Dust nearly fainted from shock. This tall scary-a** demon was your dad, and an overlord as well?! His hands quickly started to fidget, thinking your dad was gonna kill him for simply conversing with you. Zestial eyes scanned Angel up and down, without any emotion on his face. Whispers could be heard from behind you, from the other demons, mostly saying "What is a commoner demon doing here?" "Wait, isn't that demon part of Valentino's group?" Your eyes widen at what you heard. How rude! Why did it matter what field of work he was it? He seemed like a friendly demon, and they shouldn't be so quick to judge a book by its cover. "Y/N. May i speaketh to thee in private?" Your dad had placed a hand on your shoulder, moving you away from Angel, who watched you with a sad expression. Both you and your dad had moved to speak against one of the pillars. "Dad, I know your going to tell me not to speak to him, but he's not a bad guy I swe-" Zestial had cut you off by placing a hand up, telling you to stop talking. You expected he was mad at you, but his face didn't show it. "It is alright y/n. I told thou to converse with other demons, didst i not? That young man possesses a kind soul, yet he hath been chained down and ridiculed by others. Do not let him slip past thou, mine sweet. Now run along!"

Your dad motioned his hand for you to go. Smiling, you gave him a quick hug and went to go back to Angel Dust. He wasn't in the spot you had last saw him, and began to look for him, heading to the courtyard. Angel Dust walked along the path that lead to the castle gardens. The area was covered in exotic plants, along with small statues of mini gargoyles. Hugging his arms around himself, Angel took at seat on the grass, heaving a sigh. He knew what had happened when your dad pulled you away. He could hear the negative things he was probably calling him right now, telling you not to associate with a whore like him. The sounds of feet stepping on the grass alerted him, and he turned seeing you coming towards him, with a smile. "Oh thank goodness. I thought you left." He watched your figured move closer to him, before taking a seat on the grass as well, causing your dress to ruffle up. "How are ya out here right now? Didn't your dad just speak to ya about me?" Angel exclaimed. You laughed at his reaction, saying it was alright and that your dad didn't mind at all.

The both of you just sat in silence, while you gazed around the garden and up at the blood red sky. "I don't care, you know." Angel looked at you in confusion, wondering what you meant. "About you being a sex worker or whatever. I don't care what rank you are or what you do for work. I would just like to get to know you." The lovely smile you aimed at him was making his heart skip a beat. Angel was at a loss for words at what you said. He was used to the ugly looks and stares people gave him when they knew what line of work he did, but you were the first that didn't care about any of that. Angel shook his head, chuckling as he smirked at you, flashing his gold tooth. "Ya wanna know me toots? Haha, buy me dinner first at least." You quickly laughed at his response, as you smiled back at him.

The two of you continued to chat amongst yourself in the castle gardens, discussing your hobbies and interests like music, fashion choices and what not. The both of you were just lost in each other, just enjoying each others presence and laughing at each others jokes. "HAHAHA no way your boss has that bad sight." You cackled, as Angel continue to tell his story. "AHAHA I'm serious toots. He can barely see whats on his phone half the time. It probably takes him hours to even send a text to anyone." He laughed out, as you followed along with him. Sadly, the peaceful evening the both of you had was coming to an end. Still wanting to spend more time with him, you walked with him back to the front of the castle, where a limo was waiting for him. "I really enjoyed tonight Angel. I would love to spend more time with you again." The fluff on his face, became dyed a soft pink, as he rubbed his neck with one of his hands. "Tonight wasn't all bad. I-I can give you my cell, if you wanna chat again." You widen your eyes at that, happy that he wanted to meet again. "Well, I don't have a cell phone at the moment. My dad is a little old fashioned, but I'm sure he can give me one if I ask him." Angel smiled back at you, as he pulled out a small pen from somewhere in his pocket, as he wrote his number on your palm. He soon hopped into the limo, and shut the door. The window rolled down, and he flashed a smile back at you, along with a wink. "See ya around, toots." You smiled back at him, as you nodded your head, waving him goodbye, as the limo drove off.

Back at the Hotel

Angel dust heaved out a tired sigh as he walked through the hotel doors. Charlie happened to be awake, wanting to stay up to make sure Angel made it home okay. "OH ANGEL!!! YOUR BACK!! HOW WAS IT?! DID YOU HAVE FUN? DID YOU MAKE ANY NEW FRIENDS?" Charlie enthusiastically chattered along. Angel was a bit too tired to answer all of Charlie's questions, so he just said it was okay and that he did meet a cool person at the party. Charlie was happy that Angel enjoyed himself and that he met someone there, but she knew he was exhausted, so she wished him a goodnight, while giving him a quick hug before running off back to her bedroom. Angel smiled at Charlie's cute actions, as he made his way upstairs to head to his bedroom.

Entering inside his room, he deeply sighed as he shrugged off his clothes and removed his shoes. Fat Nuggets was awake and ran up to him, oinking happily while trying to climb up on of his legs. "Aww Did-ja miss me?" Angel cooed, picking up Fat Nuggets and kissing him on his head. Angel walked over to his bed, and laid back on it, reminiscing about this evening. He couldn't stop thinking about you. Everything about you, your smile, your laugh, your kindness, your jokes was giving him butterflies. He wasn't use to this kinda feeling before, and it made him feel funny. You weren't what he expected when he first saw you. You were the daughter of one of the most powerful overlords in Pride, and yet instead of being a snotty bit**, you were thoughtful and compassionate. Even when you knew what he did, you still treated him normally, which made him melt. He felt trapped, caught actually, in your web. His body and soul was wrapped in your sticky threads and instead of struggling, he accepted it.

TAG LIST:

@alastorsgoldie @91062854-ka , @delectableworm , @iiotic

@cookiekyo , @demoarah , @danveration , @beebsbea ,

@veethewriter , @forbidden-sunlight , @pinkcrystal44 , @luujjvi ,

@unholycheesesnack , @saturnhas82moons , @jyoongim ,

@aceofcards0-0 , @ghostdoodlen , @yourdoorisunlocked ,

@starshipcookie , @ainsliemac , @aria-tempest , @nobuharashinyao

, @sweet06tart , @blakedbeanss , @ihyperfixatedagain , @ktssstuff ,

@yakultt-art , @mooniee123 , @nightmarenaya , @darischerry ,

@sadnessiscoldtea , @alastorssimp , @imacollasaltitan ,

@dilucragnvindr-my-beloved , @batmanmonstarr , @felice-jaganshi ,

@justchillaine , @crazed-flower , @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog ,

@akiooshizuka , @lokis-imaginary-friend ,

@themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @futureittomainn ,

@christinaatyourservice92 , , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it ,

@angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 ,

@mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow ,

@madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel ,

@artemisandhunters , @thereeallink , @ask-theradio-demon ,

@lousypotatoes , @l4zyb0n35 , @midorichoco

[leafofkudzu]

Greetings and salutations from a summer in full swing, everyone! I hope the season is treating you well, because the first Saturday of a new month is this Saturday, and the festival gods have blessed us with the perfect venue for yet another art party hosted by my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield! That's right, finally the cards have aligned for us to visit one of my favorite locations in game - the Labyrinthine Cliffs!

For those who aren’t familiar with art parties, they’re a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all types to hang out, chat, and create together! Get your favorite character/look together, head to the location, find someone that catches your eye, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! Tl;dr: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will also be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!

Location Information:

No picture needed because the Labyrinthine Cliffs are unforgettable! When the Festival of the Four Winds started on Tuesday everyone should have got an invitation to the festival grounds, and if you didn't you likely have an old one lying around, or can find a portal to the locations from just about any major location you can think of! Head to the Cliffs and look for my tag down by the water - there's a good chance I'll be on the NPC boat that cruises around, or lounging on the beach awaiting the next treasure hunt with everyone!

Time & Squad Details:

As we always do, we’ll be having two parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People tend to arrive early and/or jump between accounts as soon as the break comes up, so don’t be surprised to see tags and announcements going up ahead of schedule!

The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Summer Time (aka 3pm Eastern Daylight Time or 5 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Ashelin Falstaff for an invite.

The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Daylight Time (aka 1am Central European Summer Time or an hour before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account and may swap characters a few times, but a safe bet is to either /squadjoin or whisper Teekzi for an invite - just don't be surprised if you get a response from a different character name!

Closing Words:

As is clearly evidenced by this post being in the right format, I did mostly cobble my computer back together after last month's implosion! I wanted to wait until the Festival was announced in order to confirm that it would be active for this month, and then IRL got in the way again (but in a pleasant way this time don't worry), so I'm a smidge delayed. But we got there! Thank you for rolling with my weird Situations these past few months - hosting these events is a joy I will continue to prioritize as long as you all continue to come by and make them awesome! Keep being kind to each other, and I'll see you all on Saturday! ♥

[nkn0va]

Ok, so do think that you can do relationship hcs for Cynthia, Lusamine, Diantha from Pokemon?

The fact that a Pokemon request of all things took so damn long is baffling but whatever. Minimalistic post since I don't have banners for Pokemon and I don't feel like going through Tumblr gifs to find a decent one for everyone.

God this took way too long. Writer's block struck at the worst possible time.

Cynthia

-Cynthia's occupation as champion keeps her quite busy. Neither of you particularly enjoy this but that's just how the cookie crumbles as they say.

-Despite that, she's surprisingly good at separating work from her personal life. When the League's finding itself in a slow season and new trainers aren't running amok around Sinnoh she'll always manage to find time for you.

-She's extremely supportive of whatever you do and will be there all the way. Wanna be a trainer too? Congratulations, you have a world class mentor. Wanna be an archeologist, she will nerd out about ancient mythology with you all you want and join you on your excavations. Anything you wanna do, Pokemon-related or not, has her full support.

-Between her mythological studies on the side with her work and training as champion, there are moments she overworks herself. You'll need to play the role of caretaker and bring her back down to Earth.

-Of course despite this, it doesn't stop her from doing the same for you when necessary. Gently pushing you to go to sleep, preparing a fresh cup of your favorite warm drink, or knocking you out with a bat hugging you from behind to relax you.

-Her Pokemon quickly form an attachment to you, they see her family as theirs, too. Seeing her terrifying, nightmare inducing Garchomp acting like a big puppy will never get old.

-If you have a team of their own, they get quite protective, especially the unevolved, inexperienced ones. At least until you end up catching up to them, which they eventually will under their tutelage.

Lusamine

-Realistically, you really only get close enough to be in a relationship if you start as an employee at the Aether Foundation. Your hard-working attitude and sincere kindness towards the Pokemon they take care of quickly grabs her attention. Something about you just stood out even among the similar employees working under her.

-The relationship instantly is declared to be a secret, she still needs to keep a professional appearance at work. In private though is a different story.

-Once you do manage to win Lusamine's heart, she's extremely attached and clingy. Considering how her last relationship ended, she will not let you go. And you can bet that you're not touching anything involving Ultra Wormholes with a 40 foot pole.

-Very physically clingy all around despite what your first impressions of her might have been. It's a pleasant surprise when she finally drops the professional facade around you and craves gentle intimacy.

-It's only natural that Lillie and Gladion quickly become a big part of your life considering how big of a part they are in Lusamine's. Being there for them is a requirement in your relationship.

-It takes a while for them to warm up to you, but they do eventually. Lillie's much more open about it, happy to have a second parent in her life again. Gladion does try to keep up the edgy persona, but he does become fond of you, albeit shown very subtly.

-It's a very surprisingly domestic relationship after the whole Ultra Space incident. A very happy family picture with Lillie and Gladion around.

Diantha.

-Much like the last two ladies, very busy. Being a champion and a movie star means she's not exactly swimming in free time. Whenever you two do get to go out together, disguises are needed thanks to her fame.

-Dating Diantha means your fashion sense sees a noticeable improvement. Mostly to have effective disguises so you can go out in public without being hounded by paparazzi. It's actually quite pleasant when it works.

-You learn to spot her out in public regardless of what she's wearing as she beckons you over to a nice cafe or restaurant she wants to try with you. Kalos is known for it's exquisite fine dining, whatever gets her approval is bound to be the good stuff.

-The public is inevitably soon going to find out you're dating THE Diantha. You're gonna become a bit of a celebrity yourself whether you like it or not. If you're pursuing anything to do for a living, you're at the very least gonna get eyes on it, fortunately. You two immediately become Kalos' power couple.

-If you have a Pokemon capable of Mega Evolution, Diantha will be your number one fan and mentor in helping you achieve that power. She's about the best you could ask for in this regard, her ace is a Psychic type that she Mega Evolves, after all.

-Despite all the glamor and lights, she does crave something of a domestic life. She very much appreciates a more traditional partner there for the long run who wants the same thing. To her, buying a house and settling down is her ultimate goal, and showing you want the same makes you two pretty much set for life.

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A simple dinner party leads to new relations. Eren Jaeger can't keep his eyes off of you.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption.

— Notes: I'm so excited to post the first chapter to my new series. I've been wanting to write again for two years now and I finally got hit with inspiration. This is a little different from my usual stuff, but I hope you'll like it. A special thank you to @dreamy-jaeger​ for beta-reading <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

at first sight

Nobody ever said anything about the desperate cries that could be faintly heard from one of the units in Sina Park. Then again, the surrounding houses were occupied by people well into the age when sound just doesn’t reach them as well as it did even just a few years back.  

Sina Park was known for being a peaceful area. With its small and painterly identical houses, and its gardens full of color and floral aromas, it was a picture-perfect community. It wasn’t embedded into its terms to remain strictly as senior-only housing but the great majority of its residents certainly gave off that idea to any outsider. It was to the point where it came as a surprise for one to find out there was someone under the age of sixty living there. But everyone in Sina was well acquainted with each other, and friendliness was practically the norm between every carefree neighbor. 

That was probably why Mr. Shadis didn’t bat an eye when he was enjoying a cup of tea on his front porch and he saw the youngest of the Sina community step out with a duffel bag that was promptly thrown into the trunk of his car, the same night silence reclaimed its territory in Sina Gardens. 

“A bit chilly tonight, eh Fred?” Mr. Shadis asked from his side of the street, raising his hand in greeting when he saw his neighbor walk out.

The young man tossed a boyish smile toward his elder while reciprocating his wave. 

“Just a bit, Mr. Shadis. You probably shouldn’t be out much longer or you’ll catch a cold,” he replied, still smiling as he slammed his trunk shut and smoothly tossed his car key in the air with his left hand, catching it swiftly with his right. 

“Me? What about you?” Shadis teased.

“I’ve still got good bones,” he joked to which Shadis clicked his tongue, feigning hurt feelings as he shook his head.

“You be careful on the road now, eh Fred?” he said, watching the young man disappear into his car, his hand lagging behind to wave goodbye.

The car peeled slowly from its driveway, out of Sina Park, and onto the main road. As the speedometer needle trembled between steady numbers, music flowed softly through the car’s speakers, barely loud enough to disguise the disgusted voice that murmured “That’s not my name, you stupid fuck.”  

The early autumn breeze pins your skirt against your thighs and playfully tussles your hair as you hurry toward the bakery on the corner of the street. You’re welcomed by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door, as well as Kuchel’s warm interior that puts a stop to the outside’s disturbances on your clothes. 

A slight impatience consumes you as you wait for your turn to order, but you try to keep your booted feet from tapping against the hardwood floor and settle for tapping your fingers on your wallet as you try to assess the available baked goods from your spot in line. There’s a variety of sweet and salty treats — from jumbo oatmeal cookies to pain au chocolat to rolls — but you’ve only got a single thing in mind. A breath of relief escapes your lightly chapped lips when you get close enough to see a neatly stacked pyramid of lemon bars in the display, and a second one after you have a box of them secured in your hands minutes later. 

A satisfied smirk tugs lightly at your lips as you allow yourself to admire the neatly packaged treats. As you make your way to the door, the bell dings, pulling your attention from the box and saving you from clumsily bumping into the man who just walked in. The exchange is brief; he quickly apologizes for the avoided accident and holds the door open for you with a shy smile. 

You don’t reciprocate his warm smile but opt for politely nodding in acknowledgment and thanking him for the gesture before hurrying out the door, not wanting to prolong his act of kindness more than necessary. You take a sharp turn toward the nearest bus stop, completely oblivious to the lingering pair of emerald eyes that steal one last glance at you from inside the bakery. 

Once again, the wind teases your hair until it finds itself locked out by the shutting door of the bus you settle into. Your hand dives into your purse to retrieve your earbuds as soon as you find a seat, yet no music plays throughout your journey. The box from the bakery remains safely in your lap, the contents being lightly jostled now and then when the bus stops to pick up more passengers.  

From the bakery to the bus and for the twenty-minute commute, you go over the names of the people you’ll be meeting in your head. 

It’s not often that you get invited to a coworker’s housewarming party. It’s not often that you form a friendly relationship with a coworker. In fact, it’s not often that you engage with someone at all unless it’s for work or other impersonal things. But Armin Arlert’s nice. Despite being the kind of person who can’t seem to let the purposely lonely be lonely, you’ve taken a liking to him. 

His friends, you think, might be a different story. It’s not that you expect them to be dreadful people, but socializing has never been your scene. You can be pleasant, laugh at jokes, and perhaps even throw one out yourself, but it’s not in you to pursue deeper connections. You’re more at ease keeping to yourself and observing if anything. However, the hopeful look on Armin’s face during your lunch break last week, when he insisted he wanted you at his party, has been popping up in your head at all hours so you feel as though you have no choice but to go beyond your standard pleasantries.  

Your plan for surviving the evening is simple. Get there a few hours early so you can help cook, clean, or anything else Armin might need help with before his friends arrive. Partly because that’s what your altruistic nature steers you to do, but also because you’re hoping you can get a refresher course on what Armin's friends are like so you know what to expect and how to act. If they’re all friends of Armin, maybe it’ll be worth it for you to put some genuine intention behind your courtesies. After all, being friends with Armin hasn’t been difficult so far. You dare to even call it nice. Maybe it’s time for you to make at least one more friend.

Armin’s kitchen is bustling with energy as he and his friends move from one spot to another, swiftly keeping out of each other’s way in perfect sync to finish dinner preparations. 

“I still can’t believe every single one of you bought me a candle… and the same one to top it all off,” Armin shakes his head in amusement, his mind recalling the small cluster of ocean-scented candles he left on the living room coffee table. 

Despite his constant assurance that he’d take full responsibility for the food and drinks — he was the one to bring up the idea of a housewarming party first, so it only made sense —, all of his friends arrived little by little before noon to help out with the cooking. First was Mikasa who, as soon as Armin opened the door, handed him the gift bag with a smile, congratulating him on the move and saying she hoped her present would help make the place a little cozier.   

Then came Connie and Sasha who, despite being roommates, failed to coordinate their gift choices and only realized they bought the same thing when Armin opened Sasha’s bag first and Connie’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. It only got funnier from there. Jean barely stuck the carefully wrapped gift box toward Armin when Mikasa muttered under her breath “It’s a good day for candle sales”. 

“Well, you like candles, and the ocean is pretty much your brand, dude. Don’t blame us.” Jean shrugs, not bothering to peel his focused gaze from the carrots he’s grating. 

“The last time I even talked about the ocean I was, like, fifteen. Almost ten years ago!”

Everyone knows Armin loves the long-term supply of ocean-scented candles, and what may seem like complaints to outsiders is just another bit they’ve all dragged on from their youth.

But Connie still seems a bit lost. His hands pause from sprinkling rosemary leaves on the potato wedges Mikasa neatly laid out on a baking tray.

“So you’re not fucking with the ocean anymore?” he asks with an uncharacteristically serious expression that causes Jean to sputter a laugh before disguising it as a cough. 

“Ignore them,” Sasha prompts, rolling her eyes. Her lips then stretch into a suggestive grin. “Tell us about the girl you invited over. Before she gets here, you have to tell us for real this time, are you into her? Do we need to talk you up? I’m the best wingwoman, Armin. I will make her love you even if it kills me.” Sasha’s hands fall heavily onto Armin’s shoulders as if to back up her conviction.

Armin furrows his brow in mild exasperation. This was the second time he’d been harrowed with that string of questions, which didn’t seem like much, but it took a while for him to get his friends to drop the topic the first time around. He shakes his head and peels Sasha’s hands from his form, fixing them firmly at her sides.

“I already told you it’s not like that. And I don't think human sacrifice is needed, Sash. We’re friends. I just want her to meet you guys… and Eren, of course.”

Nobody picks up on the short pause before Eren’s name or Armin’s sly expression that he’s quick to hide by turning to face the sink.

“She’s a bit quiet but she’s really nice. I think she’ll be a nice addition to our group. You’ll like her, I promise. Just go a little easy, okay?” Armin pauses as he tugs on a pair of dishwashing gloves to whip around one last time. “And don’t say anything weird! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Jean replies in a sing-songy voice. Armin turns to shoot him a threatening look upon hearing his teasing tone, only to find Jean pointing a stern finger in his direction, “But if you change your mind, I got you, bro.” 

Armin only smiles in response, not willing to spare any more breath in correcting him, and starts washing the dishes. Before he can finish scrubbing the bowl in his hands, the doorbell rings and he rushes to pry himself free from his dishwashing gloves before heading to the intercom, glancing back to make sure everyone is still keeping busy.

“It’s me,” a slightly fuzzy version of your voice comes through the speaker. 

He buzzes you in immediately and steps into the hall to wait for you.

When he sees you round the corner, his face breaks out into a grin. 

“Hey, you made it!”

Your lips quirk into a small smile. Armin makes way for you to step inside.

“I thought I could get here a little early to help you with the food. I hope that’s okay.” Your voice trembles a bit at the end, and you start to worry when you realize Armin’s grin has faded. 

“Actually, everything is pretty much done already. Everyone got here around noon, and they kind of took over.”

As if on cue, a burst of laughter hits your ears from where you assume the kitchen is. 

You manage to let out a slow ‘oh’.

Your simple plan has officially backfired. Since Armin's friends are already here, and since he's had no shortage of hands to help him prepare for his get-together, there's nothing left for you to do. More importantly, there’s no more window for you to ask questions. You hoped you’d be the first to arrive, and each arrival after that would be spaced out so you had enough time to get a feel on every one of Armin’s friends on their own. Now that that’s out the window, you start to worry the dynamics will be a bit too awkward between you and however many there are of them. It’s a battlefield now. Too many factors, too many things to worry about. Headfirst, no safety net, no baby steps.

Almost as if he can sense your panic through your otherwise expressionless face, Armin smiles.

“Don't worry about it, they're nice.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the box of desserts. There's a permanent knot in your stomach that twists further, reminding you of its presence, in situations like this. Your mind flashes a jumble of different scenarios and all the possibilities for outcomes without letting you actually process or make sense of any of it. 

And in the next instant, you're back. 

“I brought some lemon bars from Kuchel.” You raise the box just enough for the movement to catch Armin’s eye.

His face lights up when he looks down at the box in your hands and he immediately takes hold of it.

“I freakin’ love these! Thank you!” 

Relief washes over your previously tensed features. Of course, you already knew these specific lemon bars are Armin’s favorite. He's always bummed out when you go together to Kuchel for your lunch break and there's no more left.

“I actually got the last batch,” you state proudly, the feeling only growing when his fingers excitedly tug at the ribbon tying the handles together and fishing out a pastry, biting into it with no hesitation.

“No kidding, they always sell out. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.” He heads toward the kitchen, waving at you to follow him.

You nervously tug at your turtleneck's sleeves, leaving them to cover your hands in an almost protective manner. 

The fact that all eyes fall on you the second you step into everyone's line of vision doesn't help you feel at ease. Your gaze wanders to a distant place in an attempt to lessen the mental weight everyone's stares bear on you. But Armin throws a comforting arm over your shoulder and gives you a light squeeze as he announces your name to everybody. 

When you look up — because you have to in order to properly link names and faces together — each new person in the room has a warmth to their features that gradually soothes your internal distress.

Sasha’s the first name to be called out. She's also the only one who goes up to steal you from Armin's arms and hugs you excitedly, squealing about how exciting it is to finally meet you. You're taken aback by the sudden embrace, but she’s holding you so tight that you can't look back at Armin for help. You're also oblivious to his warning gaze toward her behind your back. 

Mikasa smiles and nods politely at you from the other side of the counter. It's quite the contrast from the first girl, but her gaze radiates kindness.

Jean's good looks are the first thing you notice from him, and he's got a cool energy to match. He raises two fingers in a salute when it's his turn, paired with a side smile as he casually leans against the bar.

Lastly, there's Connie, who proves himself to be as goofy as Armin told you beforehand, by dramatically posing with one arm against the counter and his opposite hand resting on his hip, muscles flexed, head turned low just so he could look up again and say “the one and only”. 

You purse your lips in response to hide the smile that still manages to slip through.

“Nice to meet you all.”

You stand there awkwardly for what you think is a second too long, silently begging to come up with something else to say or for someone else to pick up the task so everyone can move on. 

Thankfully, Armin swoops in, showing off his box of lemon bars on his way to a seat at the bar. He taps the seat next to him, gesturing for you to sit.

“Impressive,” Jean says, nodding in approval as he neatly folds a tea towel. He knows how much Armin loves Kuchel's lemon bars. 

“It's not a big deal,” you reply, waving him off as you scan the room for something to give yourself to do. But there isn't much. 

The counters have been cleared of any signs of ingredient prep during introductions, there's a timer set for the oven, and there's but a small pile of dishes left unfinished at the sink, which Mikasa is already finishing up. So you settle for sitting at the bar and staying out of everyone's way.

However, sitting still doesn't clear you from everyone's attention. It only makes sense that they're curious about you. And with the oven timer still with a little less than an hour to go, you can sense the start of a conversation where you're the main focus. 

“So…” Jean begins. 

Everyone gathers around the bar.

You brace yourself.

The following minutes are a bit of a blur. You try your best to keep up with everyone's questions. Where you're from, your birthday, your zodiac sign, what kind of music you like, if you've been to this and that place, or tried the food at x, y, and z. They're pretty basic questions, but as long as you're a target you're kept on your toes. After each of your answers, there's an exchanged glance or a nod of approval. You know everyone is only trying to get to know you, yet you can't help but feel as though every question is part of a test and your likability is at stake. That is until the conversation branches out to a story about the best taco truck in the next town over, which, in turn, leads to a story about Connie and Sasha getting food poisoning from a different taco truck they decided to try after their favorite one happened to close early that day. Only then can you breathe a sigh of relief. You even laugh a little at Sasha’s colorful retelling of the taco story. 

“So, basically, don't go to Tito's,” Sasha finalizes, giving you a stern look. “You'll be shitting and barfing for a week.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you laugh.

After that, the conversation flows a lot easier for you. There's less pressure with the decrease in questions thrown your way, which gives you more confidence to chime in with anecdotes of your own. It's hard to pinpoint when the conversation stopped feeling like a test, but you're grateful for it. 

You realize there was never any battlefield to survive. Not here, not with this group of friends. And it’s nice to have several people willing to fill in any silence and steer the flow of the conversation instead of feeling the pressure of everyone's interest in your hands. 

Just as you take a second to wander your gaze across everyone's laughing faces, finally feeling at ease with your place in the group, the doorbell rings, followed by the shrill sound of the timer. 

“Fucking Jaeger,” Jean mutters.

“Just in time,” Armin grins, hops down from his chair, and makes his way to the door. Jean follows him at his heel, mumbling something about “Jaeger” being late. 

You're distracted by Mikasa's voice calling your name. 

“Could you get me the oven mitts, please?”

You nod and offer your assistance in taking out the chicken.

On the other side of the wall, Armin buzzes his last guest in and holds the door open to wait, shooting a confused look at Jean, who leans back against the wall to wait, too.

As soon as he comes in, Armin yells out, “Eren!” and pulls his best friend into a big hug, forcing him to crouch slightly to accommodate his embrace. They both laugh as Jean stands with his arms across his chest and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Hey, man. Sorry I'm late.” 

“Mhm,” Jean hums, expecting Eren to cower under his gaze. 

He doesn't. Jean is completely ignored as Eren sheepishly starts to explain himself, even though Armin didn't expect him until around this time anyway. 

“I wanted to get you those lemon bars you like from that bakery. But when I got there, they were all out, so I went to their other shop across town, but they didn't have any either, and so then I—”

Armin laughs. 

“Relax. You made it, that's what matters.”

“I feel bad, though. I really wanted to get some for you. I know they're your favorite.”

“If you really wanted to do something nice, you could've gotten here earlier to help with the cooking,” Jean scolds. Then he smirks. “Like I did.” 

Eren rolls his eyes, finally acknowledging Jean. 

He then pulls out a small gift box and hands it to Armin with a smile. 

"I got you a candle, though."

Jean snorts and walks back to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Eren shooting daggers at his back. 

Armin graciously takes the gift, taking the lid off to confirm that the candle is, indeed, ocean-scented.

"Thanks, buddy. I was running short on these," he smiles sympathetically at his friend, patting his shoulder. 

As they walk into the open space of the dining area, you walk out with a stack of plates in your hands to set the table. Armin perks up upon seeing you and excitedly rushes Eren, saying he wants to introduce him to somebody. 

Armin’s voice catches your attention as you carefully set the plates down. “This is my best friend Eren.” 

Your gaze shifts toward the pair of surprised green eyes already set on you while Armin’s voice goes on in the background, repeating your name to his friend. 

“Hey, it’s you.” Eren smiles in recognition. 

Armin’s eyebrows raise in surprise; yours furrow in confusion. Everyone starts filing to the dining area with food and silverware to finish setting the table. You step aside, murmuring quiet apologies as you get out of their way and step closer to Armin and his friend. 

“You two know each other?” Armin asks, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Before Eren can answer, he’s interrupted by Mikasa walking over.

“Hey, Eren. You’re late.” She looks up at him with disappointment. You get the feeling he was supposed to arrive around the same time she and the others did.

“Yeah!” Connie whines from the dining table, where he’s setting up wine glasses. “We had to work twice as hard.” 

Eren ignores Connie’s flawed math.

“Sorry, everybody,” he replies, yet his tone is more that of a meek kid who’s forced to apologize. 

He returns his focus to his original conversation. Armin is still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, right! Uh… yeah, we bumped into each other at Kuchel’s earlier,” he finally explains. He looks at you shyly. “I held the door for you.”

Your furrowed brow softens, and your lips shape into a silent ah! when you recall the brief interaction. You didn’t even remember his face, but you nod along now.

“Come on, guys. Let’s eat!” Mikasa’s voice cuts through the silence, putting an end to your conversation.

Throughout dinner, everyone is a lot more chatty than you expected, considering there's plenty of food to get through. Everyone spills out as many light-hearted anecdotes about one another as the bites they take of baked potato wedges, garlic butter chicken, and grated carrot salad. Their stories are clear to have been brought up between them several times over the years, but they're new to you and you appreciate them choosing to share with you.

It turns out, the universe has worked its magic to make sure all six friends remain close since childhood. The fact is a little intimidating when you find out, but you do your best to push it aside.

At first, you're perfectly fine quietly listening as you eat, your voice only adding to the mix in the shape of a laugh, a gasp, or a question for the storyteller — just enough so they don't forget you're there. 

The entire time, you feel a pair of eyes stealing glances at you from across the table even when you're not talking. Whenever you slowly look up to meet them, Eren quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere. When choosing places at the table, Armin insisted on having you across from one another. He didn't outright say it, but he did rearrange everyone else so that it worked out that way. 

Given that he was the last to arrive and you've barely spoken directly to each other since he got here, you're not sure how to feel about Eren yet. He seems nice enough, but you don't feel as easy even looking at him as you do with the others. It's strange, but his late arrival made all the difference. Somehow he seems like a total stranger compared to the people you met just an hour before him. After your awkward introduction, it’s hard to say if you can make the situation better.

Night has settled in by the time everyone is leaning back in their seats with full bellies, lazily sipping wine every few minutes as the conversation eases into a quieter, slower pace. The serving dishes have been scraped clean. The box of lemon bars you brought over has been split for dessert, leaving just one lonely square that you know a slightly tipsy Armin has been eyeing. 

Eren had turned to look at you with surprise when Armin thanked you for the second time.

“Ah, so you're the one who beat me to the last batch,” was what he said. 

A soft apology tumbled from your lips.

So far, you hadn't proved yourself to be big on smiling but, when you did, it was nice to look at. Consequently, he tried to be the cause of at least one. So when you gave him nothing for his weak attempt at teasing, he shrunk in his seat and decided to keep quiet. 

It's not long before Jean suggests moving to the living room to play a game and you take that as your cue to start clearing the table so there's no mess to come back to later. As you slip quietly into the kitchen, you can hear Jean and Connie arguing over whether to play cards or Monopoly. As Connie argues, he doesn't want to play Monopoly with a cheater, to which Jean says it's not his fault he's the better player.

You carefully place the dishes in the sink, adjusting the streaming water to a warm temperature. As you tug the pair of dishwashing gloves onto your hands, you catch a glimpse of a figure stepping beside you. When you look up, you're met with a boyish grin and shy jewel-toned eyes. He's setting down another pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Hi.” 

You're not sure how to respond other than with a polite nod and a soft hi back. There's not much else to say, anyway. Half of you hopes he'll leave; you need some space to recharge your social battery. The other half is curious about the kind of conversation you might have to engage in if he stays. 

You focus your gaze on the soaking dishes, waiting with bated breath to see what he does. 

He stays. 

He offers to dry what you wash. 

There's a nervous tremor in his voice. Like a kid scared to ask for permission instead of an adult offering help. It's so small you barely notice it, but it's there. 

You nod. 

You wash, he dries. 

It's quiet save for the sounds of dishes clinking together. 

Then, his voice comes through.

“I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier when I got here. I just have a knack for remembering faces.” 

An uncomfortable warmth crawls up your neck and pools at your cheeks. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm kind of the opposite. I just don't pay attention to faces,” you explain. 

“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it.” 

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. It's a bit discouraging for him to see how laser-focused you are on doing the dishes though, and he already feels foolish for making you apologize for not recognizing a total stranger. He tries not to stare at you too much but it's difficult when you're right there beside him. He only hopes you can't make him out looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You, on the other hand, can feel his eyes burning holes into your side profile. Ignoring it is harder than you hope but at least you have something to help. You're not sure if he expects you to reciprocate his efforts in breaking the ice, but you've yet to get a proper read on him. He was mostly quiet during dinner. Whenever a story with him at the center came up, he'd try to sway the conversation in a different direction. He seemed tense and you hate to think he might be uncomfortable with your presence. Maybe he's an anxious person who's easily embarrassed, you think. Or he might’ve thought you were stuck up and rude after you failed to recognize him and that's why the air now feels so thick. That happens a lot. The people around you are mostly a blur until — and if you ever — have a reason to break into friendly territory. 

The next time you hand a dish for Eren to dry, your gaze lingers, carefully taking in his features. His green eyes are striking, but it's not as if the rest of his face falls short of that. He's very handsome. In a more boyish way than you observed Jean to be, but sharper than, say, Armin. His brown hair is neatly cut on the sides, contrasted by the choppy bangs that line his forehead — something that brings more youth to his face. He's got long, thick lashes and plump lips. Faint freckles are scattered along what one might consider to be a perfect straight nose. He's very handsome, indeed. But that's not all. There's a delicacy to his features that blends them all harmoniously, making Eren Jaeger quite… pretty. 

Eren suddenly clears his throat; you take it as a sign to stop staring.

“So… um… how long have you been friends with Armin?” 

You already know the answer, and you didn’t mind the silence at all, but you might as well try to get Armin’s best friend in your good graces. Especially after your dreadful mistake of not recognizing him. It bothers you to think he might have decided he doesn’t like you because of that.

“Since we were six… Um… He had a lot of trouble with bullies back in elementary school and I beat them up for him.”

That part you didn’t know, so you pause your focus on the plate you’re scrubbing to glance at Eren with admiration. 

“I think he might’ve developed a weird hero complex by mistake though,” he laughs to himself. “He wanted me to get into fights every time he saw someone new being bullied.”

You laugh. The sound makes Eren’s chest swell with pride. 

“Did you do it?”

He bashfully nods without ungluing his gaze from the serving spoon he’s drying.

You laugh some more.

“And of course, then he would take them in as a friend. Something about strength in numbers or whatever. To this day he has this thing that he needs to take in anyone who seems vulnerable.”

You laugh through your nose fully aware of the familiarity you feel from Eren’s story.

“That definitely sounds like him.”

You grin as you finish rinsing the plate, excited to have found some common ground to latch onto for conversation. 

Eren admires your happy expression from the corner of his eye.

But when you turn to look at him, he averts his gaze, curling his lips inwards, and he takes the plate from your hands. 

Your lips downturn a bit, thinking you might still have a long way to go before you can make up for your mistake. 

Still, the thickness in the kitchen air dissipates as you each return to your tasks, the corners of your lips perking up in relieved smiles. 

Armin walks in a moment later with the remnants of a laugh on his face from whatever conversation he just left behind. His faded grin resurfaces when he finds you and Eren together, and he catches a glimpse of the pink tint dusting his best friend's cheeks. 

He watches for a few seconds, mildly amused that neither of you seems to notice his presence. Just as Eren finishes wiping the last fork dry, he decides to speak. 

“You didn't need to do that.” 

His statement is directed at both of you, yet his gaze is fixed on you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“You should join the others,” he tells you. “Oh, and uh…” He swipes a bottle from one of the cupboards. “Take this with you.” 

“Let me just help put away everything,” you offer.

“It's okay, Eren and I got it,” he assures you.

You back out hesitantly, only decidedly walking out when Armin gives you a reassuring nod.

Both men watch you leave. As soon as you're out of sight, Armin's lips stretch into a knowing smile. 

“She's pretty, huh?”

Eren's eyebrows upturn in clear worry when he rips his gaze from you to look at Armin. They soften a split second later in an attempt to appear nonchalant before his grinning friend. 

“Um… I guess so… I don't know.” 

He hurries to tend to the dishes waiting to be put away, hoping it's enough to mask the way he slowly deflates.

Plates and forks are stored in silence. An amused Armin keeps glancing at him.

After a while, a soft laugh escapes his lips.

“Relax, I'm not into her.” 

Eren stiffens, unable to remove his hand by will from the cupboard door he just shut, and instead letting gravity take the wheel. 

Before he can reflect on how exposed he feels, Armin's voice comes through again from where he's now leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

“But I meant it when I said she's pretty.” He nods along for emphasis even though Eren has yet to look at him.

“She's really smart too. And kind! I mean, she can seem a little cold at first, but I heard some guys are into that. There's just this charm to her, you know? A few guys at work have tried asking her out but they're totally wrong for her.” He shakes his head at the last thought, then side-eyes Eren expectantly.

“If she ever goes out with someone, I hope it's one of the good guys.” 

Throughout Armin's speech, Eren kept his lips pressed together in a tight line, wondering where Armin was headed with all he was saying. At first, he assumed his friend was interested in the new face of the group, which is why he feigned disinterest. But with every word that kept rolling off his tongue, his intentions were blatantly obvious. And yet he still decides to ask, “What are you trying to do, Armin?”

"Nothing... nothing at all," Armin answers with a shrug, playing it off as if any suggestion is all in Eren's head. He straightens up and starts walking out of the kitchen. There's a pause in his step just before he can slip out of sight. Looking at Eren over his shoulder, he leaves him with one last thought.

“All I'm saying is if you just keep staring at her, she’s gonna get weirded out.”

Eren is left alone, blushing profusely and running a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Come on! That can’t be your most embarrassing thing!”

You shrug.

“That's all I've got.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks as he takes in the scene. 

It took him a while to reason with himself alone in the kitchen. By the time Eren joins everyone in the living room — nerves finally dormant — everyone is sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a drinking game. He walks over in search of an open space and ends up nestled between Jean and Connie. Jean throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Jaeger, good. Buddy, tell her about the time you tried to do a one-arm pushup.” From his sleepy eyes and the affectionate term toward Eren, one can easily tell he's drunk.

Eren looks up quizzically at everybody.

“We're telling our most embarrassing stories,” you explain. “Whoever has the worst one wins the round and everyone else has to drink. I think it's just a ploy for everyone to get dirt on me though.” 

You pout at your cup. It's clear you're a little tipsy, too.

Eren softly laughs.

“Whaa– we would never,” Sasha pouts.

“You're getting a deal! You get six embarrassing stories for the price of one!” Connie points out. 

As you start to argue that it's not really fair because it's not like you have anyone to tell, Sasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket and a loud groan rumbles from her throat after skimming through whatever text she just got. Her chin falls onto the coffee table, arms stretched out before her so she can reply. 

Mikasa looks at her with concern and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately tapping her nose afterward.

“What's wrong?”

“Kaya's out with her friends and she's asking me to send her money for an Uber. I told her to be careful with her money but she just won't listen.” 

Everyone either sympathetically smiles at her or idly watches her send over fifty dollars. You look at Armin, who quietly explains Kaya is Sasha’s younger sister who's a college freshman. You nod in understanding. 

“That's a little sibling for you,” Connie mutters, softly patting Sasha’s head. 

“That's why I love being an only child,” Jean states matter-of-factly. He stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders back before reaching for the bottle of liquor at the center of the table. “Never had to worry about some annoying little runt.”

“I would've liked to have a younger sister,” Mikasa says. “It would've been fun to hang out and teach her things, you know?” 

A touch of nostalgia dances along her lips as she traces the rim of her glass with her index finger. 

“Oh, do you have any siblings?” Her eyes flit in your direction. 

The question is innocent, but the topic of family causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“No… I don't.” You try to smile, but it's stiff. 

Jean's loud clapping startles you. He tops off all but Connie's and Sasha’s glasses. 

“Oh yeah, single child gang!” He raises his glass in cheers and downs the contents. You follow his lead, hoping that'll mark the end of that topic. But it doesn't. “You must've been spoiled growing up, am I right?”

You lower your gaze, opting to fiddle with your fingers instead of answering. 

Mikasa seems to sense the fragility of the topic from your side because her eyebrows upturn in concern when she looks at you. 

“Hey, not everyone has a mother like yours. Don't be rude, Jean-boy.” She raises a teasing eyebrow as she whips her head in Jean's direction.

“Didn't you yell at her when she brought cupcakes to our class for your birthday?” Eren scrunched his eyebrows together in feigned thought.

“I was twelve! You can't keep holding that over my head. I'm twenty-five now,” Jean whines.

“And I've yet to see you mature,” Eren mutters.

A hushed giggle escapes your lips. You cover it up by sipping your drink. A satisfied smirk tugs at Eren's lips when he catches a glimpse of your smile.

Contrary to his sober self, drunk Jean craves Eren's approval and affection instead of their usual frenemy-like banter. He looks at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, I've made up for it. Mama Kirstein doesn't need to lift a finger thanks to her amazing engineer son.” 

Sasha’s face contorts in confusion.

“Last time I went to Trost with you, she was still working as a seamstress.” 

Jean waves her off.

“She just likes to keep busy.”

“What do your parents do?” Sasha turns to you.

You're trapped. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see Armin leaning forward with just as much interest as the others. In the past, Armin's asked about your family only once. After vaguely implying you weren't close to them, he dropped the topic. But now, in his intoxicated state, he doesn't do much to keep his level of curiosity under wraps. And knowing you're slightly buzzed, too, he hopes you’ve let go of any inhibitions that have kept you from revealing more of your background. 

Armin likes you. He's always admired your efficiency at work, but you seemed lonely and closed off — which is why he decided to approach you in the first place. To everyone in the office, you were a cold stuck-up woman — yet they still refused to stop obsessing over you. To him, you were just misunderstood and lowkey. Sure, you refused to do much to take up space in a room, but through small conversations here and there, he was allowed to slowly unveil your true self. 

But there was always another hidden wall. Armin wouldn't admit it out of fear of seeming like a creep, but that line you expertly draw — allowing someone in without fully giving yourself away — is part of what makes you alluring. That and your keen eye for reading people.

You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue, looking for a way out inside the clear liquid sitting at the bottom of your glass.

Eren zeroes in on your face, trying to decipher the distant look in your eyes. The weight on his chest lightens when you finally speak.

“I'm not sure what they're doing now. Last time I checked, my mom was a drug addict, and my dad left when I was twelve.”

The weight in Eren's chest comes back heavier than ever.

Silence takes over the living room. Even the darkness outside the window seems eerily quiet as your abrupt statement courses through the gears in everyone's heads.

There's no certainty as to why you blurted out what you did. Maybe it was a sense of security which you now think was a trick of your mind. Perhaps the alcohol is to blame. After all, you didn't feel any need to be a burden on others on an otherwise fun night before. But the words just seemed to push their way out of your mouth. 

A severe scolding rings in your ears.

You always ruin everything!

You don't expect anyone to come up with an answer. In fact, you'll be grateful if someone simply discards your words and steers the conversation in a different direction. But if nobody does, then you'll quietly make your way home. There’s no use in annoying others by begging them to let you stay, promising you won't cause any more trouble. 

“How long has it been since you saw your mom?” Mikasa's voice cuts through the thickness of the air.

The look in her eyes is sympathetic. Not the fake kind that makes you feel pitied for having endured a rough life. It's the kind that simply matches such an ordinary question.

“About a year,” you murmur. 

Jean hums in thought.

“A year, huh? That's almost how long you've been in the city, right?” He scratches his chin as he retrieves the information you shared earlier from his tipsy brain. 

You nod. “Yup… one year.”

Everyone nods along to your answer. Everyone but one.

You nervously blink toward the left, searching Armin's face. He's slumped in his spot, his eyes lost at a blank point. They flash in your direction, and he quickly composes himself, but not quick enough for his expression to go unnoticed by you.

Despite some things here and there, he thought you were close. He never pressured you to share anything you didn't want to. Just getting along and respecting each other would have sufficed — he’s a giver more than he is a taker. But he feels like he failed to support you. He's extremely dumbfounded, but he doesn't make it a point that you never told him the specifics on something so big. He refuses to make you think he resents you for it. 

But the glimpse you caught of his fallen shoulders and clouded eyes still makes you lower your head in guilt. Just ten minutes ago, you felt accomplished for being on your way to gaining new friends and grateful that Armin paved the way for you. You're embarrassed for having thought that you could juggle more relationships when you've barely been open to the one you already have. It's almost laughable that you thought to leave your comfort zone and give this evening a try.

Before you can issue an apology, Jean's loud clapping startles you for the second time tonight.

"Well.” He tilts his head as he splits the last of the liquor into everyone's glass for one last drink. “In any case... if you hadn't moved here, you wouldn't be drinking with the best people you'll ever meet." 

“Hear, hear!” Armin yells beside you, following Jean's lead and raising his glass toward the center. 

Your eyes meet his. He's smiling, nodding almost imperceptibly for you to join your glass with everyone else's. The corners of your lips quirk into a relieved smile. You raise your glass.

The rest of the group cheers as joyful clinks spread through the room. 

Whatever darkness was squeezing at your chest dissipates. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as you allow your giddiness to take over. 

A pair of mesmerized green eyes linger on your face from the opposite side of the coffee table. His lips part slightly to draw in a long breath, followed by a sip of alcohol. 

A beeping phone sifts through the commotion.

Mikasa looks down at her phone. First, with curiosity, then with worry. 

Levi Don't go out at night for a while. Killer on the loose. SN3

She calls out Armin's name.

“Turn on the news on channel 3.”

The urgency tainting Mikasa's usual steady voice has Armin scrambling to find the remote, though with a bit of confusion. Everyone else exchanges quizzical glances while they wait for him to turn the television on.

A male newscaster is halfway through reciting a report on the police department's recent findings. 

“... The twenty-six-year-old woman's body was dismembered and disposed of in a garbage dumpster behind a local restaurant. Police have yet to report any evidence that can lead them to any suspects. An autopsy is ongoing to pinpoint the cause of death but with the initial report, signs point to a possible case of torture…”

The mood shifts yet again. Everyone stares at the screen, but the words no longer reach anyone's ears. Nobody recognized the girl identified on the screen but it's still unnerving when something so tragic and cruel happens in the city one lives in. Being close in age to the victim just makes it even rougher. 

Eren is the first to look back — specifically at the girls.

You all seem lost in thought. His gaze flits in your direction. You're just as distant, nursing your glass in your hands as you chew on your bottom lip. He turns to Mikasa.

“Was that Levi earlier?”

Eren's voice pulls Mikasa from her thoughts.

She nods.

“Who's Levi?” you ask.

“My uncle,” she explains. “He texted me not to go out at night for a while. They didn't say if this was a serial killer but I don't think he wants to take any chances as long as the culprit is out there.” In a lower voice she adds, “he's in the police.” 

You slowly nod, then suddenly remember where you are.

“I need to get home fast, then.” 

Your eyes land on the digital clock beside the TV. It's well past the time to catch the last bus. You swipe your phone from your purse to look up cab numbers, unaware of the nervous glances exchanged all around you.

“I don't think you should leave now.” Eren stops you from dialing the first cab company from your search results, his eyes wide with concern. He doesn't realize his hand is holding onto your wrist until you look down at it.

He pulls away, embarrassed, but remains firm in his statement.

“Eren's right,” Connie agrees. He has a protective hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Mind if we crash here tonight?” He directs his gaze at Armin. 

“No need to ask. I'll bring out some blankets.”

It's two in the morning. A cluster of tired bodies sleeps peacefully on the living room floor. Lazy limbs stretch out and across someone else's. Light snores and rare mumblings are the only thing that disturbs the quiet. 

The murder on the news had left everyone unsettled. Much so, that everyone felt inclined to sleep together in the same room. It didn’t do much for their comfort given the space, but it gave everyone a sense of safety. 

Eren’s eyelids barely flutter open. They're so heavy, he wishes he could just ignore the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. But he can't. Begrudgingly, he clumsily rises to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his temples with one hand and feeling around for any walls and furniture with his other while his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

When he gets back, he catches sight of a lone figure sitting out on the small balcony outside of the kitchen.

It takes him a minute to rid himself of the extra warmth in his face. He takes a deep breath and quietly slides the door open to step out.

“Hey.” 

You look up at him from your chair. Your knees are pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around them for support as your cheek rests on top.

“Hi.” 

“Is it okay if I sit?”

You nod and proceed to face forward, resting your chin where your cheek used to be.

The night is pleasantly warm. You're wearing the sweats and shirt Armin lent you for the night. 

Eren's gaze roams every shape of your side profile. It's the second time you've been alone together and he's racking his brain on what to talk about to balance out the way he's been staring at you all night. He doesn't want to give Armin another reason to tease him. His hands are sweaty and his cheeks start to warm at the reminder.

“Did I wake you?” 

Your voice is gentle and sweet, but it startles him nonetheless. 

“No,” he manages to say. He pauses. “How long have you been out here?”

You shake your head as you look up at the star-littered sky.

“Not long.”

He hums, mulling your answer over. 

If you’re awake at this hour, not bothering to try going back to sleep, something must be weighing heavily on your mind, he reasons. That’s further proven by the way you’re shrinking into yourself, trying to take up as little space as you can. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about you, but there’s a difference in how your quietness manifests itself now than during dinner. It’s comparable to the way you were after watching the news. 

“Are you okay?” 

He watches you hesitate to give him an answer. Your lips tremble, parting and pressing together a couple of times. It’s as if you’re willing to talk but the words are lodged in your throat.

“You can tell me.”

Still no answer. 

“Is it because of the girl on the news?”

Finally, you look at him. Your brows twist with grief. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about her. Her family must be devastated.”

All evening, Eren’s had a hard time holding your gaze. Mainly because he didn’t want to give himself away, but it’s also hard to admire someone when they’re looking directly at you. Once his racing heart finds a steadier rhythm, he finds it’s actually easy to lose himself in your eyes. 

There’s a subtle glassiness to them — one he’d be more concerned about if he hadn’t noticed it as a natural part of you. Your eyes heavily conveyed every emotion, every little thought. And Eren suddenly felt compelled to learn how to read them.

The way you’ve presented yourself so far — gentle and cautious — gives you an aura of delicate maturity in the eyes of others. But for a brief moment, you seem small. Troubled, even. 

“I know it’s selfish for me to be thinking about this, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll have anyone crying for me when I die. I don’t have many people,” you whisper.

It feels strange to Eren to suddenly feel a surge of courage when he’s been nothing but an awkward wreck around you since you met.

“You have us now.”

You don’t show yourself to be entirely convinced. In fact, there’s a hint of amusement shimmering in your eyes. But you appreciate his words no matter how empty they might turn out to be. 

Eren hesitates to ask you the question that’s been gnawing at his brain for hours now. You’ve been sharing such a pleasant moment, that he hates to think he might ruin it all and end up losing his cool in the process. 

“That stuff about your parents… is it true?”

It’s a leap of faith.

“You think I made it up?”

The raised eyebrow and the humorless smile that graces your lips take him by surprise, even more so than the firm tone of your voice.

“No, of course not!” He chokes on his words, frantic he might have offended you. 

But you laugh, and it soothes him instantly.

“Relax, I was just teasing you.” You look away, warmth pooling at your cheeks upon your failed attempt to be funny. “It’s true, by the way. I’m a child of neglect.” 

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips.

He doesn't pick up on your embarrassment — he’s much too focused on his own.

Despite the bitterness lacing your gentle voice, he can’t help himself from wanting to know more. It makes him anxious. Finding you attractive is besides the point. His mind is scrambling at any opportunity to get closer to you. He wants to keep talking. He wants to hear more about what worries you. He wants to stretch out the night and keep the conversation going — even if he’s caught off guard by your unpredictable teasing a few more times. He wants to know about your past. He wants to know you. But you kill off his chances when you suddenly change the course of the conversation. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You look up at him with concern contorting your features. It takes everything in him not to let his gaze drift to your bottom lip that’s caught between your teeth to keep your nerves at bay.

“Huh?”

You clear your throat before explaining and fiddle with your hands as you do. You focus on the moon instead of him.

It’s quite cute for Eren to see you fidget for once.

“It's just that during dinner you barely talked and whenever I looked at you, you would look away,” you explain bashfully. “And then when we were doing the dishes together, you just felt a little awkward. I mean, I don’t expect you to be all chummy with me, but it was kind of like you were forcing yourself to talk to me.” 

Eren wants to smack himself. He had no idea of the message he was sending all this time. All those averted gazes and suppressed smiles must have looked totally different from your end.

“I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with me around.”

Your voice is even softer than before. It might have to do with the people sleeping inside or maybe you're just feeling quieter than usual. Eren has no idea. But it's a nice sound, and his quickening heartbeat isn't lost on him.

The abrupt changes in his system are giving him whiplash. And it’s all because of you.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

A deep shade of red gradually tints his cheeks, openly defying the pale blue light from the moon. His gaze shies away from you and settles on his lap, where he nervously rubs his sweaty palms just to give himself something to do. When his eyes slowly drift back to your face, he swallows hard. 

It finally hits you.  

Oh, you think. 

Next chapter

Chapter guide  |  Masterlist  |  Navigation

[ryuichirou]

I love how you draw the tweels and Azul. They look so imposing in your art style! I know you love drawing Ignihyde, Octavinelle and Scarabia boys a lot, but I'm curious if you have drawings of the rest of the twst cast as well. I'd love to see everyone in your art style!

Anon! Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m glad you like how I draw the Octa-boys. I’m not even sure which dorm I draw most often, but it has to be either them or Ignihyde haha. But in all honesty, I really love drawing all the characters; even if we don’t care much about them, they are usually still quite pleasant to draw at least once.

Which is why I can actually compile my drawings of pretty much every character in this reply! It’s honestly surprising lol but also not really. I can’t believe it’s been a year since we started drawing and posting twst…

Alright, here we go!

Heartslabyul – wow, I can’t believe I don’t have any coloured Aces that are relatively new… We like Ace a lot, I should probably draw him. And Cater too, to be honest, this is my only coloured sketch with him. I never expected to enjoy drawing these boys as much as I do, to be honest.

Savanaclaw – Leona is the only character I don’t have a proper sketch that is not a commission with lol I’m sorry. But I actually quite like the comms of Leona that I got to draw, so here is one of them! I also really enjoyed drawing Ruggie, I should do it again… And Jack too…

Octavinelle – aw yis yakuza fishies babyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Come on, you know I love these guys lol Whenever I look at them I feel at home. It’s a shame I don’t draw them wearing fedoras (for some reason I’m still intimidated by fedoras), because I love everything about their dorm uniforms.

Scarabia – I also don’t feel like I draw these two often enough, but their uniform is probably the most difficult one to draw, simply because of all the details and prints and gold and accessories. But it’s so worth it!... I also think that Jamil is the prettiest snake in the world.

Pomefiore – it’s stupid how long it took me to find a Rook that doesn’t look creepy in my drawings lol I really love this side of him. I also really enjoy drawing Vil, but whenever I do, I feel intimidated. I just can’t mess him up..! But if the Vil that I drew ends up looking good, I get so emotional that I cry (not a 100% lie)

Ignihyde – picking an Idia and an Ortho out of hundreds of sketches of Idia and Ortho was more challenging that I thought it would be, so I picked these because I still really like their faces and think they’re cute! I also can’t get enough of them… to this day… Their hair, their teeth, everything.

Diasomnia – I feel like whenever I draw these guys we have an urge to make it into an art, this is why we have a lot of finished rendered artworks with them. Their aesthetic is just… super fitting for all kinds of dark and gothic stuff. I also adore drawing their eyes!!! All of them have such pretty eyes.

The teachers – if you feel the urge to laugh at Crowley for only getting a black and white sketch, I encourage you to also laugh at Vargas for not being here at all… I think he is the only character that I’m missing, huh.

Others – bonus round! I actually also have a sketch of Fellow Honest and Gidel but by the time I remembered them I got tired of making this thing lol, and we haven’t watched the event yet anyway, so they’ll get their chance to shine some other time (you can find it on my ko-fi though). Meleanor is also here, and I honestly I would be happy to draw every twst mom at some point… And other minor characters too…

But not the dwarves; screw them (just kidding I might draw them too at some point).

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 11: Right Beside You

prev | masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: Jungkook has you to thank, if only he knew how.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 5.7k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, swearing, past trauma (mentioned assault and torture), mentioned homelessness

a/n: the found family is strong with this one😌🥰 hi everyone, thank you for joining me for this next part of the journey! sorry for being super offline this week, it's been an exhausting one and I'm still a bit mentally checked out as I write this note, but all of the positive comments have been lovely to see🥰special note for the anon who wanted a sneak peek, I just couldn't find a good spot to post for this chapter and didn't have the energy to comb through for one either. I'll consider for future parts when I have more time to do so, but in the meantime I would love just to hear what you enjoyed so far💞enjoy the chapter!

Jungkook didn’t speak to you about that night. Barely even looked your way the next morning when you slunk in to have breakfast.

It was entirely unfair that he was there bright and early, looking completely put-together in that handsome way he always did – or maybe it was one of the perks of having a face like his. A lucky side effect of his stubbornly ignoring you was that he didn’t seem to notice, certainly not acknowledge, your envious staring at him, before you were able to catch yourself and rid your mind of these thoughts.

You, however, had only gone back upstairs when you felt your eyes drooping again, long after Jungkook had disappeared. Even then, it was to fitful sleep. All the midnight epiphanies in the world weren’t about to make you forget your guilt over Hoseok.

So now, it was safe to say you were tired.

Hunching over a plate, you said little, but at least tried to smile at Hope, who caught your gaze. Yoongi eyed between the two of you, and you shrank again, unable to stand the thought he was also wary of you. Maybe Jungkook was just the most open about it.

You wondered over your toast whether Jungkook had a similar reason for being awake last night. Whether he knew yours.

Did he realise that you had been up because of your guilt-ridden nightmares? Would that make him feel better, to know you were being punished for your actions by your own psyche?

You hadn’t thought to question his own presence in the training room at night until now, though. Not that it was a particularly pleasant train of thought. Did he have nightmares of his own? Worse still, were they the same as yours? Had your near miss caused him the same fear it had you, enough to invade his sleep?

At the end of the table, Jungkook spoke in a low voice to Jin. There was no chance for you to guess what they were talking about.

Yet you were still watching. You couldn’t look away, almost wondering if you could see inside his head if you looked hard enough. Puzzle him out.

A scraping sound and movement beneath your hand jerked your attention away.

Your eyes darted to your plate – or where it had been. They followed as it dragged itself swiftly across the table, stopping in front of a clasped pair of hands. And Jimin’s eyes, intent on you under raised brows, made you shift.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat it,” he smiled innocently.

With a pout, you made a swipe for the toast you had abandoned on your plate in your (rather long) moment of distraction. The plate, of course, swiftly darted away from your reach, then switched directions.

Huffing, you gave up, slouching back sulkily in your chair while Jimin laughed.

Another hand reached over to slide your breakfast back to you, this time met with no protest. Jimin was still laughing, glittering pink dying in his eyes, and you smiled gratefully to V, your food restorer.

Lesson learned, you did keep your attention to yourself this time as you finished without looking back up.

As such, you missed the sharp eyes that had finally turned towards you.

At a loss, and not keen as usual to head to training, you followed Jimin and V over to the couch and sunk into it after breakfast, ready to waste away some of the morning. The other two kept muttering between themselves, but you were happy to let them go on unbothered.

A weight dipping the cushion beside you made your head turn in surprise.

Hope flopped against the back of the sofa, looking up at you with a smile.

“Did I ever tell you how I got my powers?” he said, tone casual.

Meanwhile, you tried not to widen your eyes. While all the boys, for obvious reasons, knew about the cause of your powers’ arrival, you weren’t sure about theirs. It wasn’t something you could just… ask.

Or so you thought.

It had been one of the worst nights of your life, so you imagined it was similar for them. Why should they want to share that with someone they didn’t trust?

Maybe Hobi did trust you, though. Because when you shook your head, he shifted his elbows onto the back of the sofa, leaning forward to confide in you.

“I was a student,” he began the tale, “training for stunt work on the side. I had to work this shitty all-night convenience store to afford it… not exactly in the safest end of town.”

You could only imagine it all too well. You realised Jimin and V had stopped their chatter, lapsing into silent attention to the story, although they must know it already.

“One night, some random guy tried to rob the place. When he started attacking a customer, I vaulted the cash desk to stop him. He beat the shit out of me. Had a crowbar and everything. But then, when I was on the floor – couldn’t move anymore, not even stand – it’s like I suddenly woke up. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Watching his face carefully, you found no words. It was clear the experience had been terrifying, his expression clouding for a moment as he told you the worst of it. You had never seen him look so serious.

He shook himself lightly, meeting your eyes again, and the normally permanent smile returned to his face.

“Suddenly I got the energy to fight back. Since then, I’ve moved faster, been stronger, than I ever was before. It turned a few heads on the stunt team, which is how Namjoon got wind of me.”

“Wow, that’s… scary,” you settled for, though it didn’t do his story justice.

“Yeah,” he nodded, before turning fully to you, a look fixing you in place. “Nothing compared with a slip in training.”

You wilted at the painful reminder which blindsided you. So that’s what this was about?

Hope clapped you on the shoulder.

“I still trust you, yeah? That’s not up to Jungkook.”

Nodding, you finally managed a weak smile of your own.

“Thanks.”

Not knowing how to settle back into the sofa, you shifted and spied V whispering something to Jimin. Jimin shifted back to look him in the face, brow tilting in question. V nodded.

Then Jimin spun to you.

“Tae also wants me to tell you… how he got his powers.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Really,” you shifted your gaze to V, “don’t feel you have to. It must be tough-”

“It may be hard to talk about, but you should hear it,” Jimin assured you, “we want you to know.”

Your heart softened at this double show of trust. Giving a nod, you watched Jimin take a bracing breath.

“I was the one who found him,” he began, “Namjoon sent me. He heard about the place, wanted to investigate… it was a testing centre. They were keeping him there like a prisoner, seeing what stuff they could inject until he…”

Jimin choked off the sentence. You didn’t want to hear the end of it.

Jimin’s eyes were wide and betrayed such dazzling emotion you could hardly look. It was no wonder he was such a fierce protector of V, that they loved each other so strongly.

“In the end, they gave him fire. We’re not even sure if they meant to, if they knew what they were doing. But they were using him, and I had to get him out of there.”

Letting silence stretch for a moment, you waited until it was clear he wasn’t going on.

“Good,” you spoke quietly. Shifting your eyes to V, you found him looking at you calmly, though the darkness in his eyes was heavier than normal. “I’m glad you made it here.”

Jimin squeezed his hand.

Though you tried to swallow it down, you couldn’t help your next question. You wouldn’t ask what happened to Hope’s would-be killer, but this…

“What happened to the lab?” you whispered.

V’s gaze remained unblinking.

“Burned,” he said, in that rare, low voice.

Not leaving his gaze, you only nodded.

You may have been accepted by your friends. Their trust bolstered you, it did, only… Something didn’t sit right while you were still so perplexed at your precarious footing with Jungkook.

When he did show up, Jungkook seemed oddly distracted all morning. Weirdest of all was that his mood didn’t drive him away to the gym like usual. He sat at the end of the sofa until Yoongi arrived, fishing controllers from the dreaded Drawer of Cables. Playing a few rounds of video games was fun, but you still found yourself glancing a little too often at the detached Jungkook. When a controller got passed to him, he nearly won without breaking into a sweat, only to apparently zone out and fall off the map near the end.

The others laughed at him and yelled their own victories, the two of you the only ones not joining in. At least you cracked a grin, but Jungkook seemed to have drifted.

Maybe, with the others knowing him better than you did, their lack of notice was a good sign. Surely you couldn’t be the only one caught so off-guard by his silence? Or maybe it was because of last night. None of the others had heard your odd midnight conversation.

With Jungkook acting this way, you had wondered how training would play out. If he would even show. You wouldn’t blame him after yesterday with Hobi, and… whatever that had been last night.

No, you wouldn’t blame him, but strangely you found yourself hoping for the opposite in any case. Some sign from him about what last night meant… or at least that you should forget about it.

In the event, your wondering was never answered.

Namjoon marching into the room wasn’t what any of you had expected. Usually, that meant business. And today was no exception.

“Are you guys ready to head out?”

Which meant that if you weren’t, now was the time to prepare. All you needed to do was grab shoes, and then you were following Jin as he grabbed keys and headed down the front stairs to the garage.

Behind you, Hobi was desperately searching for a second shoe, only having found one in his room. Yoongi had been begrudgingly roped into helping, and his sighs filled the air at regular intervals as he found yet another spot empty.

Jimin was hopping around as he tried to run to the door before tying his laces.

Namjoon walked through the sudden chaos, unfazed, raising his voice slightly.

“Bosun’s just had to flee his place at the edge of town. Says there are people inside already. So we’d better move.”

The garage door slid open as you reached it. Jungkook was already waiting. He had been the first one to his feet when Namjoon entered with a battle plan, and you got it. Some good action would force unwanted distractions from your mind like nothing else.

He pushed away from the wall, squaring his shoulders as he stepped towards the waiting cars. And stumbled.

You bit down on your lip, but it was as if he could sense your instinctive laughter. Yours were the first place his eyes glowered as he recovered balance.

Ducking your eyes, they landed on a sneaker strewn on the ground.

“Oi, Hobi!” you called, launching his missing sneaker up the stairs past Namjoon, who was now descending.

“Thanks!” came his call, and then he was beside you in an instant, yellow light flashing in his eyes.

“Hey, only one of us has speed powers!” Yoongi complained, jogging down the stairs last.

Namjoon’s eyes flickered over the lot of you and then you were piling into cars. Jimin tugged you after him and V into Jin’s car, while the others took the neighbouring one.

With the unexpected attack already apparently underway, Jin cut all the corners he could as you sped across the city. You remembered seeing Bosun’s name in one of the various files Jin was sifting through as he and Namjoon desperately tried to strategise their way out of this game already in motion. Clearly, his wasn’t one of their top places of concern as he hadn’t been relocated yet.

You were beginning to see why. The streets you passed grew less and less maintained, cracks, weeds and broken signs whizzing past your window. This was more similar to the end of town you used to live in, before Bolt. And you would assume it to be way off his radar.

Apparently not.

Jin pulled up in some alley beside an unassuming and leaky-looking warehouse. Fumbling to open the glove box, he passed you each a small receiver along with instructions.

“Jimin, V, take that side. The back entrance is around there. With any luck they aren’t expecting us, but be ready for anything. Y/N, go the other way, check it’s clear. Then head to the front where you’ll meet the others.”

Nodding hastily, you all scrammed from the car. Jimin patted your shoulder and flashed you a grin – a nod from V and they were sprinting away to the left. You peeled off right instead, focus setting in the moment your feet were in motion.

Rounding a corner, you were faced with a near-identical alley, narrow and shadowy with puddles nestled in cracks in the concrete.

Eyes scanning, you first checked the windows in the long expanse of wall. There were few, high up and tiny. From here, you could see no one looking back out at you. Hopefully that meant the surprise factor was still on your side.

It was when your eyes returned to the street in front of you that your steps faltered. Closer now, a figure became clear in the shadows that you hadn’t made out before.

Slowing, you squinted at them, hands already twitching. But they hadn’t made any move, although they had clearly seen you. Crouched against the wall, they looked directly your way as you approached hesitantly. Maybe they just didn’t know who you were? But if they were guarding this place, surely any passerby could be classed as a threat?

So why weren’t they attacking?

You stopped fully, now only paces from them. You saw it was a young man, maybe even a teenager. His eyes were large as they looked at you from below unkempt hair, and while they had a hard edge of practised hostility, all you read there was wariness and fear.

Hands retreating under fraying sleeves, he shifted uncomfortably the longer you stood in front of him. Worn-out shoes with a hole in the side shifted near to a puddle.

Frowning, your eyes caught sight of a bag he was sheltering with his body.

Breath slowed uncomfortably in your throat as it dawned on you. He wasn’t with the people attacking the warehouse – he probably had no idea anything was even going on in the building behind the two of you.

“You should get out of here,” you met his eyes again.

He didn’t need telling twice. Since you had showed interest in him, his discomfort had been clear, and he finally shot to his feet, still clinging to the overstuffed backpack behind him.

Then your eyes were torn from his nervous ones by a blast from the end of the alley.

Whipping around, you were briefly dazzled by a burst of gold light. Inexplicably, it put you at ease – or the knowledge of who was behind it did.

What had you instantly back on edge were the two silhouetted figures that now ran across the entrance to the alleyway. The sight of weapons clutched to their chests had your fingers flexing, feeling your powers simmer defensively.

It had begun.

A second after the armed people emerged, one of them was sent to the floor by a human-sized bullet – Hope. Their gun skidded away, landing in a shallow puddle with a splash.

Starting forwards intently to aid your team, you spared one last glance back at the boy you had found in the alley.

Those same fearful eyes were now fixed past you at the violence unfolding as it spilled from the warehouse entrance. Rigid, he seemed frozen to the spot.

“Go!” you barked, “I mean it!”

And then you were running. If he had any sense, the kid would get moving.

Another sharp blade of gold light descended, nearly knocking over the remaining assailant ahead of you, but they ducked and staggered on, the blast clashing with the neighbouring wall. Tracing the source of the attack, you spied Jungkook’s vantage point on the roof, his head visible though only a brief blur as he raced after his target.

Fixing your eyes front, you charged head-on at the fleeing man.

And he spotted you too.

Whatever weapon you were facing now, you didn’t fancy finding out. He was aiming it, giving you a clear view down the barrel.

Your step never once faltered. You didn’t need to reach for a weapon.

You were one.

Blue fired from your fingertips before his could move on the trigger. It caught him, flinging him backwards, flipping before slamming against the ground.

Still hot-footing it to the heat of the action, you glanced to Jungkook, smirk already lifting your lips, ready to share the momentary victory.

But he hadn’t changed direction. Instead, he was flying towards you, descending from the rooftop on a pillar of gold, and his other arm was aiming behind you-

Turning, you caught sight of the fleeing boy, almost out of sight now.

Your heart dropped in slow motion, but your body acted without waiting for permission.

Well-aimed gold streaked down the alley. Hand raising, you threw an arrow of blue to meet it. Lightning collided in the air, your shot throwing his off, a missile of sparking blue and gold smashing against the warehouse.

Outrage painting his face, Jungkook hit the ground, already dashing towards you and the boy. Readied his arm again…

“Jungkook!” you cried.

Not stepping out of his path, the two of you practically crashed into each other. Your hand caught his shoulder, restraining him as you twisted to look behind you.

The boy was on the ground, metres from the impact. As you watched, he scrambled to his feet, hoisted his backpack over a shoulder and ran, finally disappearing into another street.

“He’s not with them,” you panted, “…he’s just a kid.”

Turning back to Jungkook, you expected rage, frustration… but not this. His eyes were fixed on the spot the boy had fled from. As his eyes tracked, slowly, back to your face, he inhaled softly. Held it. Slack-jawed horror washed over him.

Struck by the force of emotion surfacing so suddenly in his eyes, you lightened your grip and took a step back.

A heavy frown pressed on Jungkook's brows, gaze once again growing distant, drifting to the alley behind you.

“I didn’t think…” he mumbled, but his lips stilled again, parted in horror.

“You’re not supposed to expect it,” you whispered.

Eyes fixed on Jungkook’s intently, you caught the sharp flicker as they returned to you. Lucidity flooded back to him and his throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

As he looked at you, his frown eased imperceptibly, realisation widening his eyes instead.

“He would be dead.” Jungkook’s voice was brittle.

Your heart was only now slowing in your chest, the shock of adrenaline subsiding. All it took was another blow from somewhere behind the pair of you, ringing out through the confined space, to pull you away from Jungkook.

His head turned; you stepped to see around him. Dropping your arm fully at last, you broke into a sprint once more, knowing even before you heard his steps that Jungkook would be right beside you.

You eyed the warehouse and alleyway disappearing in the rear-view mirror. Soon they were eaten up by the maze of roads taking you back into the city that was none the wiser.

There hadn’t been many more attackers. No one of note, only bolstered by weapons of Bolt’s previous acquisition. In the end, the group of you had driven them out with relative ease.

Which was good. Bosun had shaken hands with Namjoon outside in relief as he found his work still intact.

But you wondered if you were the only one nagged by another win without sight of the orchestrator. Bolt seemed to follow you everywhere, without ever showing his face. You took your eyes from the cars around you to a news stand as you drove past. Blue splashed over the front cover, Bolt took his place in the glorious spotlight, right where he wanted.

Did the readers know what he had working behind the scenes?

The weapons these fighters were decked out with, you knew them. But you also knew Kuyang had never made so many of them as you were now encountering on each shout.

“Do you think Namjoon-hyung will mind if we skip training?” Jimin was nudging V with that playfully devilish grin of his, “we basically had a workout already!”

Glancing at the rear-view, you saw Jin raise a brow and shared a private smile with yourself. You didn’t think Namjoon was the one Jimin should be worrying about.

Then you sat up.

“Hey, Jin?” you spoke.

He hummed, glancing to you in the mirror, but your eyes had caught something else.

“The same car is still behind us.”

Jin’s hands tightened on the wheel and he shot a look to follow yours.

“You’re sure?”

He braked a little too sharply as a car pulled from a turning ahead of you.

“I’m sure. Not that red one, the black one behind it, do you see?”

Narrowed eyes scanning the mirror, he nodded.

“Since when?”

“A good few roads. Since the lights.”

Jimin had gone quiet, all three of you now watching Jin closely for an answer as he pursed his lips. Though you sincerely hoped it was simply a harmless coincidence, you had left the busiest roads and were nearing home. Best not to take chances.

“Let’s see what they’re about,” Jin said, voice low and calculated.

A challenge.

A turning approached, so he indicated and slipped into the right-turn lane. Tentatively, you turned your head, enough to eye the black car. It carried on behind the red one and you relaxed – for a moment.

Then, just before you were obscured by the corner, it, too, switched lanes.

Your car took a collective breath in.

Jin tilted his head.

“Interesting.”

Chewing your cheek, you glanced sideways. The same nerves were reflected back in Jimin and V’s eyes.

“Jimin, can you text Namjoon that we have a potential tail?” Jin asked, tone suddenly lighter, “might be late. And in the meantime-”

He turned again, taking you down a much smaller road. The opposite direction to your original destination.

Driving straight on, he waited until the black car showed itself behind you. There was almost no doubt in your mind now.

“Joon says he’ll see us back home,” Jimin said, lifting his phone up surreptitiously to snap some images of your stalker, “and that they’re all clear. Although maybe whoever’s following them is just more subtle about it.”

Jin chuckled with him, but it was brief.

“Well, without Y/N spotting it, I’m not sure I would be much the wiser,” he mused.

Another glance in the mirror, and the black vehicle was indicating, pulling between parked cars. Didn’t tuck itself all the way in, with what could be an effort to keep a view clear of your car heading further down the road.

“Oh, were heading this way after all, hm?” Jin asked dryly.

Looking back to the road with determination, he took a right. Not long after, another right, where he swung around and stopped, facing out onto the road you had just left.

It didn’t even take that long. Your lungs hadn’t even started straining from the breath you held.

The car drove in front of you.

Jimin was ready, taking another picture as the driver passed, but there was no double-take or visible glance your way. They had a hood up, mask and dark glasses on.

The car carried on, but this game wasn’t going to last. As Jin pulled out, they were already slowing down, turning onto the road parallel to yours.

A burst of speed had you pressed back in the seat.

“Jimin, can you stop this guy? I’ve seen about enough.”

Jimin hummed a casual agreement, but you saw the smirk that grew on his lips, the glint in his eyes before pink light bled into them.

Sure enough, at the next intersection, the black car was right there. Jimin held a hand up, splayed his fingers, and that was all it took. Your stalker hit an invisible wall. The tyres froze, car stuck fast on the road it had been speeding down.

Jin put his foot down.

Several turns and roads later, with no more signs of the same vehicle, or of any repeat followers, he finally turned on himself, resuming your intended route at last. Didn’t stop you all keeping lookout, even as you waited for the hidden wall to slip aside and let you home. Especially then.

It was a relief to spill up the stairs to the scents of cooking – tteokbokki, if you weren’t mistaken.

The second lot of relief came when you saw Yoongi was the one behind the stove. Bound to be a solid meal, trusting him.

While the group noticed your return, Hobi jumping to his feet and Namjoon striding forwards, checking on all of you, you paused on the top step. Just cast your eyes around, for a second. Sometimes these moments would hit you from nowhere. Some outdated part of you expecting to have to cook for yourself after getting back from an already exhausting day, only to find your team making things easier.

In the small ways, just as much as the big, your life had changed. In the small ways, it was definitely for the better.

Letting a fond, awed smile slip onto your face for a second, you breathed in.

Jimin’s laugh met your ears, and you turned back to the moment. He clapped a chuckling Jungkook on the shoulder, giving a playful shove before he moved on towards the table. You moved to follow, only to find Jungkook hadn’t budged.

Residual smile still on his face, eyes wide and cheerful, his gaze rested on you. There was a slight hesitation, his smile growing fainter, nervous as he appeared to stall in front of you.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. It would almost be conversational; if only you had had a casual conversation with the guy, you would know. “Glad you’re all back safe.”

At your stunned stare, he squeezed a hurried smile back in place, and fled to Yoongi’s side in the kitchen. Your mouth hung open, eyes following Jungkook’s back even as Jin marched past.

“Yah, trust me to take care of the kitchen hyung,” Yoongi complained to the back of Jin’s head as he bent to sample a spoonful of sauce.

“I’m just taste-testing,” Jin defended a second later with a cheeky grin on his face.

Yoongi didn’t bat an eye.

“Well if the inspector’s not happy, report me,” he harrumphed, “go sit down.”

Jin allowed himself to be shoved table-wards, self-satisfied smile permanently on his face.

Still hovering beside Yoongi, Jungkook finally looked back at you. It would have been subtle, too, if you had been able to tear your eyes from him yet. He gazed up from below his hair.

A small, startled expression flitted across his face – not so intimidating now, huh? – before your view was mercifully blocked by Namjoon.

“I heard you noticed the tail back there. Good spot.”

Smiling, you bobbed your head.

“Thanks,” you eyed the floor, “I don’t even know what made me look for it.”

“Whatever it was, I’m glad you did. It got us all back here. I’ll be working on finding out who they were, though, and what they were doing after us.”

Your eyes flicked back to his face, a flicker of unease shooting across your expression.

He sighed, his turn to drop his gaze this time.

“I’ll keep you all posted. For now, it’s done. And I believe dinner is in order.”

Stepping aside, he ushered you past, only somewhat assuaged. That hadn’t been some usual attack which you could put down all-guns-blazing. Someone following you… that was different. Someone playing a long game. And there was one person you could already think of who was running one of those.

In the time you had been speaking with Namjoon, Jin had somehow returned to the kitchen, though Yoongi was silent about it this time.

Yoongi passed dishes as Jin scooped food into them, Jungkook rooting through the cupboards for something too. Slipping into a seat, you watched them idly. Jin set the steaming plates on the side, which is when Jungkook leaned over to chop chives over the top. You sure were in for a luxurious meal. A decent reward, you thought.

Turning with the next plate, Jin paused. Didn’t set it down. He stared, frozen, at Jungkook.

Catching on a second later, the younger man looked up like a caught puppy. Even if he hadn’t been doing anything nefarious.

An amused smile stole over Jin’s face.

“Since when do you cook so fancy, Kook?” he grinned.

“F-fancy?” Jungkook blinked. “Isn’t this… how you make it?”

Jin shrugged, setting down the plate and turning to grab the one Yoongi proffered impatiently.

“Never thought to add them,” Jin mused, “looks nice though. Tell me, where did you pick up such cheffing tips?”

Jin was half-joking, still plating up, but something was dawning on the younger man.

Jungkook looked comically horrified, gaze darting between the green chives in one hand and the scissors in the other. He paused like that just a little too long to sound casual when he finally regained his voice to mutter:

“This is how Y/N likes it.”

Any hope of sounding nonchalant died as Jin’s eyes bulged from his face. Yoongi froze, eyebrows raising, before looking over his shoulder to you with a questioning smile.

Namjoon, mercifully, looked down to his lap with a private smile, but he was the only one. Hobi broke into a grin and Jimin spun to laugh openly at his younger brother, who looked thoroughly grumpy now. Jungkook’s mouth was fixed in a solid pout, his hard glare not helping in the slightest as the declarations of joyful surprise clearly got to him.

In the face of Yoongi’s now wiggling eyebrows, and a disconcertingly intense stare from V, you laughed weakly.

For a second, your eyes met with Jungkook’s. He snapped his gaze away an instant later, firmly hiding his flushed cheeks with his turned back, recommencing his chive-chopping rather more aggressively.

Jin clapped him on the back exaggeratedly, before scooping a dish up.

“I think this has the most,” he smirked, sliding it to rest right in front of you, “the Y/N speciality, made just for you.”

With a roll of your eyes and an exasperated laugh, you took the bowl.

“Yah, leave off! You brought this on yourself, you know. Why not teach Jungkook your way?”

“Wha-” Jin broke off, flicking a dish towel at Jungkook’s back, “how many times have I made tteokbokki with you, punk?”

Shoulders a little looser, Jungkook ducked out of the way.

“You mean made for me,” he defended.

Leaving Jin to splutter behind him, Jungkook marched over to the table with two more chive-topped bowls of food which he set down a little too hard, landing with loud clunks.

The others dutifully moved on to other things as the plates all reached the table and the lot of you dug in, grateful after an eventful day. When Jin made a comment about the added flavour of the dish, it was genuine and not a dig at their youngest.

Still, Jungkook picked quietly at his food. It may have been bold to claim he was avoiding your eye, as you couldn’t really remember a time he had sought it out, but though he was only a seat across from you, he didn’t once look at you. What was worse was that you couldn’t help but notice. Couldn’t stop your attention straying to him among the boys’ chatter which should have been distracting you.

At least he ate it all.

You made a point to collect his plate once you had all finished. Namjoon had already disappeared, Jimin gathering the rest of the dishes to wash.

Rounding the table, you lifted the empty dish from under his nose, making him look up.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you said, before he could look away. You didn’t smile, just returned his startled gaze with your own steady one.

He had to know you weren’t laughing at him. Even if a sprinkling of chives was nothing to be embarrassed about in the first place.

Ducking his gaze after a long second, he followed the others to flop down on the sofa.

Watching with amusement, you had to force yourself to move too. You placed the dishes on the pile and distractedly grabbed a towel since Jimin had started washing. It was funny… Not long ago, you wouldn’t have thought the abrasive, menacing Jungkook you knew then could ever look like a deer in the headlights.

“What are you smiling about?”

An elbow from Jimin brought you abruptly from your reflections. Yelping, you swatted him away.

“Nothing,” you insisted, grabbing desperately for a dish to dry.

Your response only encouraged the teasing smile spreading across your companion’s mouth. You didn’t like the way his eyebrow quirked. He fixed you with a scarily knowing look that had you gulping.

Then he shrugged and turned back to the dishwater.

THE CHIIIIVES😂Thank you for reading! How are you enjoying them all getting along?💜

<prev | masterlist | next>

taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities

@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy

@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13 @ssexsellls @ramicherie

@jk5t4r @purplebeebs @nanjeonlangakook @wifflepuff1344

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 1/24: Fanart!

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the current series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we begin, I would like to first direct your attention to the Ko-Fi page of @autistic-artistech , as they have a small assortment of Republic Commando fanart available alongside a few other items. So, if there's anyone out there who would like to help an artist, be sure to check it out.

Secondly, as you'll obviously notice as you scroll down...I may have gone a little overboard with the Mandalorians this time around, but given the state of the world these days, I kinda feel as though I needed a few extra pieces of armor for my mind, even if they are imaginary. So for the time being, I guess I'm wrapping myself in a beskaar forcefield in order to feel better protected outside. ^^;

Anyways! Before I get too distracted, lost, or hauled off for Imperial interrogation...here now are my picks of the week!

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @vikushat:

The Clone Wars Fanart--By @foxyaran:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @cookiebeatz:

The Bad Batch Fanart--By @zahmaddog:

STAR WARS REBELS

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @englishwerewolf:

Star Wars Rebels Fanart--By @universesstardust:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @discopartydruid:

The Mandalorian Fanart--By @muensterfucker:

THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT

Boba Fett Fanart--By @terroreignor:

Boba Fett Fanart--By @jbcrochetwizard:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and highlight those artists who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

If anybody likes what they see here AND would enjoy seeing more posts like this; please drop the rock star emoji (👩‍🎤) into the comments or reblogs, and I'll be sure to tag you when the next update comes.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you, stay safe, and I’ll see you in the next post!

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @the-osborn-way @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenathegreengirl @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @apocalyp-tech-a and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanart.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

New Life Shall Prosper, ch 4 (End)

Pairing: Halsin x Reader (as gender neutral as possible, given the context)

Rating: T? (not really smut, but there are some little spicy moments later on)

Warnings: Little spicy moments, but nothing extreme. Pregnancy complications, birthing process that isn't graphic, so much dialogue

Summary: Months after the fall of the Absolute, you and Halsin have carved a happy life for yourselves within Thaniel's Realm, making a safe haven for all. A life full of hope and prosperity, only enhanced once you discover the very real possibility that you are with child.

Word Count: 6.7K

an: Finally managed to get this chapter and story wrapped up. It's certainly been one of my favorites to write and I'll miss working on it! I have more Halsin stuff in the works coming up relatively soon along with some other fics focused on different characters. You can find the next piece of Halsin work here. Thank you so, so much to everyone that has left comments, likes, and reblog on this story!

Follow up to this post.

Read on AO3 here if you prefer!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Masterlist

Gentle rays of moonlight trickled in through the large window of your common room, illuminating your path just enough so you avoided bumping into furniture as you paced the room, hoping walking and rocking would be enough to soothe the crying newborn in your arms. You yawned deeply as you turned at the end of the room, softly running your hand along the back of the baby as you held them close to your chest, shushing and soothing as you walked. You’d been trying for the better part of an hour to coax your little one back to sleep and failing abysmally. A quick change of clothes and a late night feeding had worked temporarily when the cries first jolted you from your own sleep, but had soon started again until you found yourself in your current predicament. You weren’t sure what would calm the child, but you hoped and prayed you would find the solution soon enough so you could return to your own sleep. 

Life with a newborn had certainly taken some getting accustomed to, but you and Halsin had both quickly adapted to the change. It was easiest to take turns in seeing to the baby when they cried late at night or early in the morning so you both could get as much sleep and rest as possible. Not that either of you minded, of course. Despite the annoyance that came with being awake in the middle of the night, you both secretly enjoyed spending alone time with your little one. Tonight, however, was different. You were desperate to return to sleep and it seemed that your beloved child was doing everything they could to keep you from your bed.

Your latest turn from your pacing was suddenly interrupted by an unmovable wall blocking your path, making you come to a stop. Halsin stood before you, ready to pull the crying child from your arms and take over so you could have a rest. He looked at you with a gentle smile, seeing the exhaustion on your face as he cupped your cheek. You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing momentarily as his thumb lightly traced over your cheekbone.

“May I?” He asked in a low voice; his hands gesturing to the infant still wailing in your grasp.

“Please do.” You said as you loosened your grip enough to allow Halsin’s hands to slip between yours and pick up the baby. It took a moment, but soon enough the child was lifted from your arms and quickly placed against Halsin’s broad chest.

“Go rest, my heart,” he whispered, “I can take it from here.” You mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ before standing on the tips of your toes to peck the druid on the cheek before retiring for the night.

As much as you would have preferred crawling into your bed, your legs and body were too tired to make the short walk to the bedchambers. Instead, you found yourself almost collapsing onto the couch, flopping onto the cushions with a deep sigh and closed eyes. You felt a pleasant warmth on your cheeks and you opened your eyes briefly to see that Halsin had taken the time to light the fireplace before taking the child from you. You rolled to your side, facing the fire as you curled into yourself for a rest. It wasn’t long before you felt a light blanket be draped over your body and another soft caress to your cheek by Halsin’s gentle hand.

It was still the middle of the night when your eyes reopened from your quick nap. You weren’t sure how long you had managed to close your eyes, but you knew it wasn’t as long as you had wanted. The cries from your child had mostly quieted down by now and in your exhaustion you managed to catch a glimpse of Halsin making his way to the fireplace with the infant still pressed to his chest.  Halsin eased his way into the rocking chair by the softly crackling fireplace, holding the fussy newborn close to his chest. Once he had settled, he shifted the baby to be cradled in the crook of his arm, gently patting their backside with his unoccupied hand. With one leg outstretched, he slowly began to rock the chair, easing the child into a peaceful lull as the cries and whimpers steadily began to soften. You smiled as you watched him rock and admire the small infant in his arms, the hazy glow of the fire reflecting off the swell of tears forming in Halsin’s eyes.

“Nature has created the most perfect of creations with you, my little one,” he whispered, “and has allowed me to cradle your perfection in my arms.” He planted a feather light kiss to their full cheeks as he continued to rock and soothe his beloved child.

From the moment the child was born, Halsin was smitten; shamelessly enthralled with every tiny movement and noise the baby offered. The love and adoration that settled in his eyes each time he gazed upon their angelic face warmed your heart and filled you with flutters. You always knew that Halsin would be a loving father, but to see it with your own eyes was an entirely different feeling. It was something real and tangible, but mostly it was something that made you love him even more. Halsin was gentle giant, holding the infant carefully and with a light touch, but you also knew he would rip though anything that posed a threat to this small child that had him utterly wrapped around their tiny finger. 

Halsin held the infant in front of him, cradling their head and body in his hands as he simply marveled at the gift that had been bestowed upon him. Like he frequently did with you, he pressed his forehead to theirs, closing his eyes and he eased his rocking, simply sitting in silence and stillness as he savored the moment. His smile was wide as he heard more grunts and mewls pass through the lips of the infant he cradled, his eyes opening again to watch them as they did so. Once he pulled away from the baby, he left a long, lingering kiss to the soft skin where his forehead was previously resting. 

Halsin shifted the baby a final time, placing them at the height of his chest before reclining back and resting his own head along the top of the chair with his eyes closed as the rocking resumed. You heard him hum a slow tune softly, something you can’t recall having ever heard from the druid, even during your travels. He continued his song while using his thumb to run small, slow circles along the back of the baby finally sleeping on his chest; the vibrations in his chest seemingly being the thing that finally made them rest. When his humming finally came to an end, Halsin opened his eyes and glanced to you, still expecting you to be asleep. You met each other with wide smiles and you noticed the faintest hint of a blush creep across the druid’s cheeks when he realized he’d been caught in a precious moment. 

“You’re supposed to be resting, my heart.” Halsin whispered to you as he continued to rock. You offered a quick nod as you rolled onto your back. With a deep sigh, you shifted a bit until you were comfortable again, eventually drifting back to sleep to the sound of Halsin picking up the tune once more.

You awoke a final time some time later to the feeling of Halsin’s arms hooking underneath your knees and behind your back, gently lifting you from your spot on the couch to presumably be transferred to bed. He must have already put the child back to bed and was now coming to retrieve you to do the same. You didn’t protest as he lifted you and simply let him care for you in the moment.

“What was the song?” You asked sleepily, your eyes still closed and limbs completely limp in Halsin’s embrace. 

“A parting gift from my mother,” he said as he carried you to the bedchamber, “I can’t say I remember the words all too well, but the tune will suffice for now.”

“It’s lovely.” Your dangling legs swayed gently as Halsin walked the short distance to your bedchambers, noting that he was stepping as quietly as possible to avoid waking that baby that had kept you both awake for some time now.

“I’ll teach it to you one day,” Halsin murmured as he lowered you onto the soft sheets of your bed, “but right now you should sleep. Silvanus knows our little one will be up again in a few hours with a hungry belly.” You simply hummed in response as you drifted on the edge of a peaceful slumber. You reached up and took Halsin by the arm when you felt his weight shift from the bed, lazily pulling him towards you.

“Stay,” you said, “you need rest too, love.” You knew all too well that Halsin had a tendency to overwork himself when he felt an obligation towards something and the last thing either of you needed was for him to have a burnout. And, more selfishly, you found that you slept better with him by your side. Those months he was away while you were still with child were filled with nothing but sleepless nights and a worried mind. You had started sleeping on his side of the bed in his absence just to catch any lingering traces of his scent in the sheets. 

Without another word, you felt the druid slip into bed beside you and you quickly melted into his embrace. Your face was pressed lightly against his chest with your arms folded between your bodies. Halsin slowly rubbed the length of your back with his hand, not quite ready to sleep himself, but was never one to turn down your request for an embrace. Your eyelids became heavy and your breathing began to slow as you finally drifted off to a much needed sleep. You knew that Halsin was right and that your sleeping baby would soon wake and you’d once again be called upon, but for now you simply indulged in a long rest.

**********************************************************************************************************

“Hello, my darlings.” You said with a smile as you quickly were overwhelmed with swarming children, all reaching up for a hug of some sort. You watched where you stepped, being careful not to slip on the wet grass and the mud leading to the pond. Halsin stood from where he was crouched by the water, a soft smile greeting you as you made your way over to him. You greeted the remaining children that had stayed by the druid, offering hugs of your own and gentle head pats.

“And hello to you, my love.” You said as you met Halsin with a kiss to the cheek, “What lesson is on the books for today?” Despite Halsin doing his best to simply allow the children of the land to enjoy nature and fill their days with play and laughter, he found himself obligated to teach the children about nature and how to respect the land. Or, in this case, learn new ways to pass the time.

“Skipping stones,” he said as he stood, “the best practices and tricks for finding the perfect stones, of course.”

“Of course,” you repeated, leaning forward to peek inside the bundle strapped to his chest, “and how has your little helper fared?” You pulled back the edge of the cloth, revealing a small, beaming face within the fabric. You grinned widely, leaning in again to place a kiss to the cheek of your child. 

“I do believe they napped the entire time,” Halsin said as he patted the backside of the child, “they’ll have to return for the next lesson.” 

Once your newborn had grown a bit and were a few months old, Halsin started taking them along with him on his day to day activities, already eager to show them the wonders nature had to offer. You often found him surrounded by the other children, eagerly listening to one of his stories or paying close attention to the lesson he offered for the day. But since he started bringing the baby with him, you always found the little one secured to his chest by being wrapped in a sling. Although, by now, they could stand on their own and had even started walking, making them almost too big to be carried around. You knew that soon enough you would no longer wander into the forest and see your child secured to your lover and the thought saddened you, but was quickly replaced by the thrill of know you’d eventually see them toddling behind their father with the utmost enthusiasm. 

You took your child from the sling around Halsin, ready to give him a break and also sneak in your own time for baby snuggles. You were greeted with a hug from a tiny set of arms and you eagerly accepted the affections. With his chest now free, the children saw their opportunity to stop the lesson for the day and switch to playing. It wasn’t long before you heard the numerous pleas for the bear, the children of the land always excited to roughhouse with a looming bear and even sneak in a ride or two in the process. Halsin willfully agreed, quickly transforming into the large cave bear you so greatly adored after erupting from a ball of light. 

While the bear played with the children, you expected to spend a few quiet moments with your not-so-little baby, but you couldn’t help but notice the wide eyed expression on your child’s face. Despite spending a large portion of his time as a bear, Halsin had never been in wild shape while in the presence of the child, for fear that such a large beast would frighten such a tiny baby. But now as the bear stood only a few meters away, there was nothing but awe and a bit of curiosity behind their eyes. It wasn’t long before they became fussy in your arms, their desire to inspect the bear further becoming obvious. It took considerable effort on your part to keep the child seated to prevent from them toddling into the group.

When the children dispersed for the afternoon, thoroughly tired from both learning and play, you approached Halsin before he could wild shape back into his usual elven form. Given the excitement shown by your little one, you decided that now would probably be a good time to introduce them to the large cave bear. You knelt to one knee, setting your child on the other as the bear approached, crouching himself to give the child a better reach. There was a brief moment of hesitation, but soon enough the child had lunged forward and had taken fistfuls of fur.

“Gently now, little one,” you said as you held the child in your arms, “gentle hands with the bear.” You had to coax their small hand to release the clump of fur they’d latched onto. You were thankful that even in bear form, Halsin had nothing but patience for the child. Halsin released a low grunt, something you could only attribute to being his best attempt at a chuckle. You were still kicking yourself for not learning how to communicate with beasts without the aid of a potion.

The bear let out a large huff, the puff of air coming from their nostrils blowing against the child’s face. They erupted in giggles, evidently enjoying the sensation. You laughed with the child, relief washing over you as you soon realized that they weren’t fearful of the looming size of their cave bear of a father, although you made a note to keep an eye on them as they got older. The last thing you wanted was your little one to become too comfortable with the wild creatures surrounding the forest and winding up petting the wrong bear. That could wait for the moment, however. 

Tiny hands returned to the snout of the bear once again, this time with a much gentler grasp. They ran their fingers through the coarse fur, lightly scratching at the skin underneath. You sat the child to the ground when they began to bounce in your lap, more than ready to be let free and play with their new-found bear. They stood on slightly wobbly legs, finding it difficult to find footing on the uneven ground, but eventually managed to stand unassisted. You watched as they stared at the bear with curiosity and adoration, smiling as they observed the bear. Halsin brought his snout to the child’s head, taking in their scent while also tickling them with the movement of a cold, wet nose.

“Papa.” Tiny words spoken from an even tinier person stopped you and the bear in your spots, utterly surprised at the first word spoken by your child.

“What did you say, little one?” You asked, still surprised they had spoken at all.

“Papa.” They repeated, their smiling beaming up at the equally surprised bear. Halsin nuzzled his forehead against the child, the sheer size of his head almost being enough to push them over, but you supported them with a hand to their back. Your little one nuzzled back, forehead running along any bit of fur they could find. You were beginning to wonder if the frequent forehead bumps you shared with Halsin were more elven in nature or more ursine. Either way, you adored them and it appeared that your child would be doing them frequently as well.

“I do believe we’ve found your new name, my love.” You said as the child continued to rub their head against the bear. You found ‘Papa’ to be quite the fitting name for Halsin. ‘Father’ seemed to be too formal and the adopted children of the land already claimed ‘Daddy Halsin’. Now you were curious as to what your child would end up calling you.

A splash in the pond behind the bear caught the attention of the child, who toddled to the side as easily as they could to see what caused the disturbance. Moments later, a fish jumped from under the water to snap at a passing bug, flipping in the air before splashing back into the cool water. Before you could put together what was happening, the little one darted for the water line, fascinated by the display in front of them.

Their escape for short lived, however. Your bear of a druid caught them before they could even step a tiny foot on the shore, latching his teeth onto the back of their tunic and hoisting them into the air as he stood. Once again, the child erupted in a series of giggles as they were suspended in the air, letting their legs swing freely. The cave bear gave a grunt before walking from the shore, still carrying the child in his jaws as he meandered towards the shade of a large oak for a nap.

**********************************************************************************************************

Your eyes opened to the sound of small, bare feet quickly running towards your bed chamber. Moments later, the door to the room opened just slightly, wide enough for your little one to sneak their way inside. The sun had not yet risen, although dawn was fast approaching, and as usual, your child had managed to wake before you or even Halsin. You heard the faintest of giggles and shuffling of feet the child made their way to the foot of the bed, not so elegantly wiggling their way under the blankets of the bed before hoisting themselves onto the plush mattress. You watched silently as the lump that was still giggling at your feet blindly worked their way up, bumping between Halsin’s legs and your own.

After a short while, your little one poked their head out from the covers, hair full of static and a beaming smile on their face. Initially, their gaze settled on their father, but seeing that the druid was sleeping heavily, they turned their attention to you. Without a bit of hesitation, your child practically fell into you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a muffled giggle. You wrapped your arms around their wiggling body, finally getting them to settle into your embrace.

“Good morning, little one.” You whispered before giving them a soft kiss to the cheek. You smoothed their hair back along their head, revealing their pretty little face and pointed ears to your view.

“Outside?” They whispered excitedly, their eyes beaming with anticipation. You chuckled to yourself as you tucked a lock of hair behind their ear.

“Soon, my little love. Once the sun is up.” You had never imagined that you could meet someone more enthusiastic about nature and being in the outside world, but that person was now nestled securely in your arms. You couldn’t recall a single day that had passed where you little one wasn’t jumping at the idea of being out in nature; much like their father. You missed the days when they were a newborn and were content to simply sleep against your chest most of the day, but you couldn’t deny that you loved seeing their excitement and enthusiasm for each new day.

The child settled down once again, playing with the tassels to your sleep shirt as they impatiently waited for the first trickles of sunlight to come into the room. You silently admired your little one as they twisted and pulled at the tassels, simply taking in their features as you held them against you. They had certainly taken after their father in more ways than one. When you looked into your child’s eyes, you saw Halsin. They shared the same eye color, but also had the same tenderness and adoration for others that you found captivating. The same shade of chestnut brown hair sprouted for their head and had grown long enough to even have braids similar to Halsin’s. And of course the points to their ears, which happened to be your favorite feature, even held the same shape of the druid. 

It wasn’t long before the sun began to crest the horizon and illuminate your bedchamber in a soft glow. Halsin stirred beside you, a sound similar to a growl coming from his chest as he shifted. The arm that was tucked underneath his head emerged, reaching across the bed to blindly search for you. You heard a small, excited gasp come from the child in your arms when they realized that not only was the sun up, but Halsin was close to finally waking up for the day. Without a moment of hesitation, they quickly crawled out of your arms and towards their father, trying to suppress giggles in the process.

“Papa,” the child whispered as they tapped tiny fingers against his face in an attempt to wake him fully, “Papa!” Halsin’s eyes opened after a few abrupt smacks to his face, blinking away the surprise before his eyes finally settled on the overly excited toddler that was kneeling before him. 

“Yes, my heart?” He asked groggily. Halsin placed a large hand on the side of their small head, leaning forward slightly to bump his forehead against theirs before return back to his pillow

“Outside? Please?” They begged, practically vibrating in place as they eagerly awaited permission.

“Of course, love.” With an excited squeal, you watched as you child stood to bounce in place for a moment before crawling over Halsin, who grunted after receiving a few solid steps to the ribs. You heard small feet land on the wooden floors with a thud before excitedly scampering back towards the door.  The fast paced footsteps of the child running from the bedchamber towards their own quickly quieted down and you were allowed a quiet moment with your lover. 

“Were you so eager as a child?” You asked as you propped yourself up on your elbow, reaching over to run your hands through Halsin’s hair to work out the evidence of sleep.

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” Halsin said as he placed his hand over yours, kissing your palm as your hand trailed down his cheek, “Although, they’re much more polite about it than I was. I almost gave my poor mother a heart attack one morning when she found that I’d climbed the tallest tree in the region without a way down.”

“I can imagine why.” You leaned forward as you spoke, indulging in a good morning kiss with your love before getting started for the day. Halsin smiled against your lips, always happy to feel your lips against his. It wasn’t long before you felt him deepen the kiss, his teeth nibbling against your bottom lip and pulling you towards him with a satisfied growl. The union was short lived, however, when you heard the pitter-patter of footsteps coming back towards your bedchamber.

“Outside, Papa! Outside!” Your little one stomped into the room once again, clearly unsatisfied at the fact that neither of you had gotten out of bed yet. There was an entire world to explore outside the confines of your small home, and your wild spirited child was determined to make the most of it.

“We’re coming, my heart,” Halsin said with a chuckle, “we’re coming.” The druid rolled to his opposite side and eventually out of the bed, allowing himself a quick stretch before scooping the impatient child into his arms to carry them. 

You followed suit, flinging the blanket from your legs and sitting up on the edge of your warm bed. You hesitated briefly, stopping to take a slow breath in and out as you bit down the bile sitting high in your throat. You had been ill late into the evening; the remaining burn from your wrenching still caught in your windpipe. By the time you were finally well enough to get up and joined with Halsin in the doorway, you noticed the all too familiar look of concern beginning to settle on Halsin’s face, deepening the frown lines on his forehead in the process. He gently tilted your chin to meet his gaze with the side of his forefinger, giving you a quick glance over.

“Just a bit of indigestion, my love. Nothing to worry about.” You reassured him with a soft kiss to the finger holding your chin and a gentle squeeze of the hand. As hard as you tried to unburden your dear druid, you knew he would always fret over the smallest signs of something wrong or ill about you and your shared child. Although you weren’t sure if it was just the natural healer in him or if it was his natural need to keep those closest to him safe; perhaps it was both.

While Halsin busied himself with dressing both himself and his high energy child for the day, you took a moment to prepare a basket, the idea of a picnic sounding wonderful. In a small wicker basket, you gathered a blanket and a bit of water along with Halsin’s whittling knife and a book on knitting for yourself. Food could be picked up as you passed the market, but you had your mind set on plucking fresh fruit from a particular tree in the section of forest you’d be traveling to. With your supplies secured neatly under the blanket, you slung the basket onto your arm as your small family emerged dressed for the day, minus a pair of shoes for the child eagerly waiting at the door.  

You walked hand in hand with Halsin as you strolled town, your little one bounding ahead of you only to stop on occasion and wait for you to catch up. The child bounced in their spot, impatiently awaiting the moment they could step into the forest, but knew better than to run too fear ahead. As you strolled, you couldn’t help but admire the home that was flourishing before you. What as once nothing but shadows ridden lands only a handful of years ago was now a brightly illuminated beacon of hope and sanctuary where nature flourished while still yielding to the needs of a small community; the balance Halsin had always dreamed of achieving had come to fruition. It filled you with a warm comfort that you could raise a child in a place that was not only safe and thriving, but to raise them with someone so full of love for the child that it was almost overwhelming. You and the child you shared were everything to Halsin.

It wasn’t long before you finally reached the edge of town that led to a familiar patch of forest. With a quick glance to you and Halsin for a sign of approval, your child waited along the threshold of the forest, a wide smile spread across their lips. Halsin gave a simple nod and before you knew it, the little one was bounding full force into the grass. You could hear the symphony of giggles of laughs bounce around you, causing you chest to flutter at the wondrous sound of happiness from your little one.

“I don’t think I could name a sweeter sound.” You said softly, leaning into Halsin’s embrace as you stopped to watch the toddler dart across the field with their arms outstretched.

“Well, I’m not so sure about that, my heart.” Halsin said as he released the grip on your hand and slid his arm along your side before settling along your hip. You shot him a quizzical look, your eyebrow raising slightly as you watched a sly grin creep across his lips, “You certainly make many sweet, beautiful sounds when we’re alone.” 

Just as you turn to playfully scold Halsin for the remark, your child jumped from behind a nearby tree, small teeth bared with an even smaller growl and hands raised with curled fingers to imitate claws. Given that they weren’t quite old enough to wild shape into a bear themselves and adored their father even more when he was transfigured into ursine form, you often found the little one imitating a bear as they played. Halsin released his grip on you and joined in on the game, mimicking the child’s stance with a hunched back and a smile that kept breaking the appearance of bared teeth. You watched as he ever so slowly stalked towards the cub, flexing his fingers to signal he was ready to pounce. 

Before Halsin could make the first move, the child darted off with a laugh, running as fast as their little legs could carry them as Halsin followed in pursuit. You happily watched as your love chased your cub through the grass and flowers of the forest, listening to the laughs and growls coming from them both. As they made their way across the field, too engrossed in their game to notice your absence, you took the time to slink away to collect the fruit you’d had your mind on for days now. With your basket still in hand, you wandered among the trees until you found one that was all too familiar. 

The plum tree you’d almost picked clean the night you discovered you were with child stood before you, its limbs heavy with new fruit ripe for the plucking. You bit your lip in anticipation as you swiftly hoisted yourself onto the lower branches, selecting the ripest of plums from their stems and placed them in your basket. You could practically feel your mouth watering as you picked supple fruits from the tree; a low growl settling in your stomach as you chose which ones to take and which ones to leave. Once you’d nearly filled the basket with your prize fruit, you made your way back down and rejoined your small family across the way.

By the time you’d returned, Halsin had finally caught the little one, scooping them up mid stride and lifted them high above his head. Giddy laughs erupted from the child as they were caught, their face flushed from exertion. He tossed the child into the air just a bit, catching them in a firm grasp and being rewarded with a louder laugh each time they landed in their father’s hands. After a few tosses, Halsin held them in his grasp, holding them with one arm as he used his free hand to swipe stray hair from their eyes. 

“What have you got there, my love?” Halsin asked as he eyed your now full basket of fruit.

“Breakfast.” You replied simply, holding your basket on your arm once again. 

You removed your blanket from your basket, being careful not to spill the dozens of plums you’d plucked from the tree, and spread it out at the base of a shady oak nearby. Sometime between being picked up by Halsin and you having the blanket fully spread out, your little one had fallen asleep in Halsin’s arms, their head resting on his shoulder. From rising early to running to their hearts content, they had managed to tire out rather quickly. You and Halsin took turns placing a soft kiss to their small cheeks before the druid placed them gently on the blanket, making sure they were resting in the coolness shade instead of the direct spot of the sun. 

It wasn’t long before you were both settled on the blanket, your backs resting along the tree you sat under, your child sleeping peacefully by your feet. You dug through the remaining contents of the basket you brought, handing Halsin his whittling materials and you grabbed your book. You also picked up one of the plums you’d picked earlier, giving it a long sniff before sinking your teeth into the plump flesh. You gave a satisfied sigh as you cracked the book open to the beginning. As you began reading, you kept yourself supplied with your freshly picked fruit, reaching into your basket for a new one with each plum you finished. Before long, you’d quickly amassed a pile of plum pits by your side.

“You’ve decided to give knitting another try, have you?” Halsin asked as you settled against him, your eyes fixed on the book in your hand. After the disastrous sweater you’d attempted to make when you were still with child, you were discouraged enough to not pick up your set of knitting needles again and had simply asked a few of the older women in town to make you a few outfits for your newborn. But that was a few years past now and you had a new desire to try your hand at it again.

“May as well,” you said as you turned the page, “after all, what kind of savior would I be if I let a ball of yard be my undoing.” Halsin chuckled at your response, always finding your stubbornness peeking through. He managed to obtain a few plums from your pile, finding you almost hesitant to relinquish your find.

You sat in silence as your child napped by your feet in the morning sun, simply enjoying each others company and the calmness to the morning. Halsin whittled away at a branch he had found at the base of the tree, turning the piece over and over between his fingers as he worked out just what to carve. 

A light breeze swept across the field, lazily rolling across the pages of your book and obstructing your view as they fluttered in the wind. You had just smoothed them back and found your place in the wording when you felt Halsin’s fingers lightly grip your jaw, turning your head until you could no longer see the pages of your book, your head tilted away and upwards with the side of your neck exposed to him. You had expected languid kisses or even a few bites, but instead you were met with his nose pressed in the small dip behind your earlobe. You giggled and squirmed against his grasp, the feeling of air leaving his nostrils tickled the sensitive skin of your neck as he took in your scent. 

“Something on your mind?” You asked between laughs, being mindful not to nudge your sleeping child awake with a stray leg kick.

“I caught your scent in the wind,” he said as he pulled away from your neck, keeping his touch on your jaw, “it’s harder to smell when not in ursine form, but it’s…” His voice trailed off when his eyes caught your expression.

“Yes, my love?” You asked with a playful smile as Halsin’s eyes darted between you, your book, and your basket of plums. It was evident he had something on his mind, he just wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. The faintest traces of a smirk toyed with the corner of his lip, his mind turning over and over at it worked with the information now in his hands.

“It’s nothing,” he said eventually, “although, I can’t help but notice that you’ve regained your taste for plums, my heart.” After having more than your fill of plums with your pregnancy, you had hardly touched the fruit since. You’d indulge in the occasional one here and there, but you certainly hadn’t eaten an entire basket full in quite some time. Although that had changed as of late; your desire for the sweet fruit growing more and more persistent as each day passed.

“It seems I have.” You said playfully as you closed your book, rolling your head to the side to meet his gaze, “It’s quite a peculiar craving, is it not?”

“Would you go so far as to say its…an insatiable craving?” Halsin ran his thumb softly against your lower lip, eagerly awaiting your response. You could faintly see his heart beating in his neck, the steady thrum picking up speed the longer he waited for an answer. He was certainly excited for whatever game you were playing.

“I believe that’s an excellent way to word it. Insatiable.” Halsin huffed a laugh, his lips finally curling into a smile as he pulled your chin closer towards him.

“What other little oddities have you been keeping from me then, my love?” Halsin captured your lips with his, kissing you deeply before speaking again, “I’m beginning to think it wasn’t merely a bit of indigestion this morning.” You smiled against his lips, thoroughly enthused that the pieces were beginning to click into place for him.

“I was wondering when you’d catch on.” You murmured softly, your words echoing what Halsin himself had told you the night you first discovered you were with child.

“By Silvanus’ beard,” Halsin said breathlessly, “are you really?” You simply nodded in response, your smile beaming wider. 

You had suspected that you were with child for quite some time now, given that you had almost all of the symptoms from your previous pregnancy begin to pop up in the past few weeks, but you had wanted to wait for the passing of the most recent lunar cycle to be sure. And as you had expected, the full moon had come and gone and was on the verge of returning once again and you had yet to start a bleeding cycle. So, without a bit of doubt, you were in the beginning stages of a second pregnancy.

“How long have you known?” Halsin asked as took the book from your hands, tossing it to the side and out of the way.

“I’ve suspected for some time,” you said quietly, “I wanted to wait for this most recent moon cycle to pass to be sure.”

“You truly are extraordinary, my heart.” Halsin pulled you into his embrace, your head resting on his shoulder.

Your little one stirred at your feet, groggily waking up with a stretch. With messy hair and eyes still half closed, they quickly crawled towards you both, snuggling between you and Halsin with their head resting in your lap and legs thrown over Halsin’s. It wasn’t long before they were asleep again, evidently just wanting to be part of the embrace of their parents. You smoothed their hair with a soft smile as you settled in against Halsin. His large arms were wrapped securely around you, holding you close as you felt one of his hands drift to your belly and the familiar touch of his forehead to yours. You sat there in a happy silence, entangled in one another, listening to the sounds of the forest and in the warmth of the sun. 

Tag List: @incrediblethirst @reignydeys @thoughts-of-bear @im-eating-rn @beardedladyqueen @simplysaying @emorylovescats @distelsterncat @cryingoverpixelsetc @knightofmight01 @seawingqueenconch @moonlightdruid

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I was following your post about grim dark comics like The Boys. And sometimes I wonder if people think bad things are more real than good things. Yes, the world is filled with sorrow and pain and injustice and lies. But that doesn't negate the existence of love and joy and mercy and truth. One of my favorite writers has a quote "Don't be led away by those howls about realism. Remember-pine woods are just as real as pigsties and a darn sight pleasanter to be in." to be continued in a second ask

Pt. 2. I see all these progressive activists on tumblr and elsewhere and they all seem so miserable, just desperately unhappy. And I think they truly believe on some level that no one can or should be happy as long as one person is unhappy or miserable. As if it's a betrayal to enjoy a sunset or play with your dog or spend time with loved ones if there are people who can't enjoy that right now. And I hate that mindset, wanting everyone else to be miserable just because you are miserable is evil.

You hit the nail right on the head. You're basically seeing an intersection of two kinds of people. On one hand you have the people who worship at the altar of George RR Martin and think the highest form of art is miserable people being miserable in a world where goodness can't survive. On the other, you have the shirt rending "why won't someone do something" people who inject depressing news like it's heroin and base their entire sense of self-worth on how hard they fight for The Cause--or whatever The Cause is this week. They're the very real embodiment of this:

But all the whining about "realism" utterly ignores that goodness does exist. Misery isn't the default state of the world. At no other point in human history have so many people been lifted out of poverty. At no other point in human history have the poor of the western world had access to luxuries that kings of old would have sold their entire kingdoms just to experience for a day. Every day strangers go out of their way to do something kind for people they'll never meet again. Every day acts of kindness are performed that will go unrecognized and unrewarded. If the Shopping Cart Theory is true, then our society is pretty damn good because people always return the carts.

But you won't hear that on the news. Because the news both makes money and advances its social and political agenda by feeding us the worst of the world 24/7. So people who only consume the constant, never-ending newsfeed on TV and social media and in their schools actually think the world is, by default, what you see on CNN. And I don't know about you, but I'm very thankful that's not my world.