#this happens sometimes for no reason when two to three words are trapped repeating in my mind for days on end

[dungeonmalcontent]

Whenever I get around to writing The Chains We Break (sequel to The Chains That Join Us). I will force upon the narrative a young boy who desires above all else to be a wizard's apprentice and banish him to the background immediately. He will be the eighth son of a sixteenth son of a thirty-secondth son (via artificial insemination). He bears no magical abilities. His name will be Octavian Pile.

But he will be pretty decent at chemistry and make the first voltaic pile battery in the story's world.

[coffeetailor]

GTober Day Three: Candle

(A/N: Took some time off for my birthday. So that's why this is posting late.)

Sure, opposite day wasn't really a thing in Ancient China. Wasn't even really a thing in modern China unless you counted on the internet, but sometimes an author got bored or ran into writer's block and started researching random shit, okay? It kept the words going and that meant it kept his rent paid and food on the desk. (Because be realistic, he never actually ate at the sad excuse for a table he'd shoved into the corner of the 'kitchen' part of his apartment.) He'd had the idea of a silly little spell that could flip things around for a limited period of time, good for a rare reverse harem scene where Binghe had gotten a little taste of his own talents for once until the cursed necklace broke and the orgy reversed course. Not really a fan favorite, but there'd been a lot of fanart drawn of the scene.

Shang Qinghua hadn't counted on running into it while looking for an entirely different cursed necklace that his king wanted for some reason. And to be fair, nothing had happened when he'd picked it up and hauled it back to the northern palace. The one he'd been looking for was supposed to drink your blood if you wore it on the full moons, but in return would direct you to a treasure trove. Pretty light in terms of curse territory, really. And surprisingly non-sexy. And who would have guessed that... he might have re-used the same design on at least a dozen magical pieces of jewelry over the years he'd been writing the book.

His king had put on the necklace, Shang Qinghua ready to jump if it drank too much blood. But nothing happened.

At least, not until his king vanished between one heartbeat and the next, his empty clothes dropping to the ground without a body to support them.

He stared in horror at the place Mobei-Jun had stood. Had he just killed his king?! A curl of smoke rose up as if to drive in the point, and the author followed it down to the pile of royal silks and furs... Which had started to burn.

"No no no..." Shang Qinghua whimpered, diving forward. He slapped at the flames to put them out before they could engulf Mobei's clothes, but every time he put one part out it seemed like another would start to burn as he panicked. And then he felt a burning on his hand itself and jerked back with a yelp, tears coming to his eyes. "Noo..."

"Qinghua!"

He froze, still clutching his injured hand. "My king?" Did he become a ghost right away? Was he trapped in an alternate world? "Where are you?"

"Down. Here."

Shang Qinghua looked down, but all he saw were the still burning clothes.

"I don't see you, my king," he said with a hiccup, shaking his head. "Are you haunting me?"

A sudden flare of heat to his kneecap made the author let out another yelp and swat at his knees to put out what had to be the flames moving to his clothes. He didn't want to die too!

But when his hand landed, there was something small and solid between his palm and clothed knee. Small, solid, and moving. And strong, shoving his hand up before Shang Qinghua lifted it himself to face the angry blue eyes of his king.

"My- my king?" he whispered, forgetting the pain as disbelief and relief fought over his nervous system.

Mobei-Jun had been changed. Where the demon had been large and cold... he was now small and hot. So very small, and very hot. Standing in the middle of a little flame that burned around him kind of hot. Staring at him, the realization of what he'd just been trying to do sunk in and his eyes flew wide.

"Please, I beg your forgiveness my king! I didn't know it was you setting the fires! The necklace must have been switched with the cursed charm of opposites at some point, or I never would have presented it without warning. Please forgive your worthless servant for this oversite. I do happen to know that the effects should only be temporary and will wear off after a day or two."

"A day or two?" the demon repeated with a growl, staring up at him. Being surrounded by fire was... terrifying. No matter that he would never put such a thought to words. He was an ice demon. There were reasons why his servant's deception had worked so well against his uncle before. And then being so small on top of it. How was he going to rule his kingdom or protect his cultivator and future spouse like this?

"Yes, I'm sorry my lord, but of the ways to break the curse of opposites, that's the only one I can think of as viable! You'd burn anyone who tried to cure it physically," Shang Qinghua said. He started to wring his hands before flinching as he was reminded of the burn.

Seeing the flinch made Mobei feel a little guilty, even though the wound had been made trying to survive. He'd promised not to hurt him again. Taking a deep breath (that made the little flame flicker larger for a moment), he reached for the calm that usually served him well. "What do we need to do?"

"Well, you're a flame demon until it wears off it looks, so we have to keep your flames fed. Bigger the fire, bigger you. But if it wears off early, it wouldn't be safe to make a bonfire and have you return to your ice demon self in the middle!" Shang Qinghua said, talking them both through it at the same time. It kept him from panicking, which would not be useful for his king. "But rest assured, I have an idea that should keep you going for hours at a time."

A candle. His idea was a candle, bringing it to the little flame demon and tilting it down so the wick could be reached. Mobei-Jun studied it wearily before grabbing the wax-stiffened wick to pull himself up. The little flame around him flared as Shang Qinghua brought it back upright before settling into what would have been a normal, if maybe somewhat large, candle flame. Except for the demon in the middle of it, that was.

"I'll find you a better candle as soon as I can, my king," the author promised, cupping his hand around back of the candle as he climbed up to his feet, protecting it from any stray breezes that could risk blowing it out. He didn't want to find out how quickly a flame demon died when put out when said demon was Mobei-Jun! "This was just the first one I saw when I was looking, and this servant didn't want to make you wait too long."

Mobei scowled up at him. Which... wasn't quite as intimidating as it normally was. His king was smaller around than his fingers after all! And now that he had enough focus to actually study him... completely naked.

The realization made him blush and look away, telling himself the excuse that staring at fire too long was obviously bad for your eyes, and he had to watch where he was going as he slipped out of Mobei's study and headed right for his rooms. One of the few places in the northern palace that actually was built for heat and had a good supply of lamps and candles! And some of the best locks in the palace, which had been for his safety originally, but now Shang Qinghua activated them once they were inside to keep anyone from coming in and seeing his king in a vulnerable position.

Setting the candle down carefully, he hurried to start digging into his chest of supplies. "One moment, my king. This servant should have something with a longer burn time. Or even multiple wicks! Those have bigger flames so you won't have to stay so small. Though you're kind of cute like that..." The last part, of course, he muttered to himself as he continued to dig. "And a prettier holder!"

"Qinghua."

It was just too bad that he couldn't touch him without getting burnt, because he just bet that Mobei's skin would feel all soft like this, and he could poke and prod him without fear of being turned into a popsicle.

"Qinghua."

On the other hand, he couldn't give him any clothes either, because he didn't have anything fireproof and anything else would just burn off as soon as it was given over.

"Shang Qinghua!"

He jumped, hissing when the lid was jostled enough to bring it down on his head. Shang Qinghua turned around, rubbing what was sure to be a lump soon. "Yes, my king?"

The demon pointed across the room towards the bed piled high in furs. Or, more precisely, at the glass lantern that sat on the table beside it, a deep blue candle sitting inside. "That one."

Shang Qinghua blinked, looking between them. "That one, my king? But it's an old lantern and not even a fresh candle. Surely this servant can find something better for you."

Mobei-Jun shook his head. "It's the most suitable. I will rest on that candle. And no other. Will you deny this king?"

The author sighed. He'd liked that little lantern! It'd been one of the things he'd actually brought from his leisure house when Mobei had given him a room in the northern palace. Even if he didn't quite remember where he'd gotten it from. It wasn't exactly shiny and new, but there was a pretty frost and flower pattern in the metal and etched into the glass. And the glass sides had meant he didn't worry so much about falling asleep reading to its light. "Of course, my king."

He fetched the lantern from his side table and brought it over, opening the little glass door so Mobei could move from one candle to the other, watching to make sure he was settled before putting out the first candle. "Where would you like this servant to place you for the night, my king? Some privacy can be arranged if you'd like."

"Back where it was," Mobei-Jun said after a moment. He wouldn't say it, but he wanted the cultivator close. Even if he couldn't touch him without hurting him at the moment. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't hurt him again. "You should remain close until I return to my correct form."

Shang Qinghua felt a warmth climbing up into his cheeks, nodding his head as he picked up the lantern, king and all, to bring back to his bedside table. "Can this servant get you anything else, my king?"

"No. This king will meditate for now. You may rest."

"Thank you, my king." Permission given, he gathered together his sleeping robes, stepping behind a privacy curtain to change. Obviously he wouldn't be returning to his office to do any more work that night. Perhaps tomorrow he could carry Mobei with him? Or bring his paperwork in to work at his personal desk. Wrapping his hand before taking down his hair to comb out for bed, he felt eyes on him from across the room with the kind of intensity that made him squirm even without needing to look over his shoulder. Shang Qinghua quickly braided his hair and returned to the bed. "If you feel yourself growing, please wake this servant. I would hate for you to have to break out of the lantern. It's my favorite."

Mobei-Jun nodded his head, eyes closed as if he'd never been watching him. Ha. You aren't that subtle, my king. "This king will do so."

"And if you need anything else too! Especially if the candle gets low," he pressed on, pulling back the thick layer of furs so he could slid under. "Anything my king needs."

The small demon huffed, his flame flaring. "Sleep, Qinghua."

"Right, right, of course," the author said quickly. He automatically started to reach to blow the lantern out, jerking his hand back as his brain caught up. Right, can't do that. Instead, he laid down and turned his back to Mobei-Jun, closing his eyes to further block out the light. "Goodnight, my king."

Mobei didn't answer, watching the back of his servant's head, the only part he could see, until Shang Qinghua's breathing finally evened out. Despite the situation, he once again felt a little smugness. Clearly, he'd been wise in his choice. Both in giving the gift, and choosing his place to rest for the night. While it was a pity that he couldn't touch the human, the chance to watched him so close, and see him so unguarded...

Perhaps he would have to become cursed more often.

[ptergwen]

love is more than a word

w/c: a very ouch 3.6k

warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship

summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying

a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it’s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho

-

you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.

at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.

it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.

there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.

peter is boring.

you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?

you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.

the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.

“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.

you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.

you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.

no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.

he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.

tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.

but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.

“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.

“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”

the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.

“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.

“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.

he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.

“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”

your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.

“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”

your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.

the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.

he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.

“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.

“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.

“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”

peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.

“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”

no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.

peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.

it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.

peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.

the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.

you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.

“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.

“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.

you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.

that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.

for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.

he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.

even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.

seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.

the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.

“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.

“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.

peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.

there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.

instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.

“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.

you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.

your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.

peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.

he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.

your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.

you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.

the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.

-

you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.

your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.

for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.

betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.

peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.

he finds out today.

you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.

mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.

you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.

he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.

that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.

“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.

“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.

you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.

you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”

[iiraven]

Fool-Proof Plan

Pairing: Erwin x reader

Genre: fluff, comedy, smut, modern AU

Warnings: size kink, masturbation, squirting, fingering in front of a mirror, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, manhandling, degradation, praise, established relationship, slight dumbification, choking/ breath play 

Word count: 4.6K

Synopsis: Erwin’s business trip leads you to realise you’re not as sly as you think you are.

Masterlist

Erwin Smith is a man capable of absolutely everything. He’s an amazing cook, an amazing masseur, an amazing businessman, and, most of all, an amazing husband.

There’s only one small shortcoming to the person you consider to be perfect. And that’s his inability to use any form of technology. Texting is bad enough with him signing his name after every message, but it’s social media that’s your husband’s true sworn enemy. Erwin might only be a few years your senior, but somehow your grandfather can comprehend the concept of Instagram faster than him.

“So, you just take pictures?”

“Yes.”

“And people respond to it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright but why?”

The conversation is nothing new, but you find it incredibly unfortunate knowing how talented he is at photography. If you two ever go someplace Erwin knows he wants to capture, he slings his camera over his neck, leaves his phone at home (“I won’t be taking any calls today”) and makes his merry way out of the house. You often eye the phone left stray on the desk, half-expecting it to chase you out of the house for abandoning it. Sometimes, for good measure, you slip it into your own bag. Just in case.

It’s for this reason that Erwin’s business trip puts you on immediate edge.

“It’ll only be for ten days,” he had said. “Sina Corporations takes their summits really seriously…”

“Ten days?” You repeated and Erwin gave you a soft smile.

“I’ll call you every day.”

It’s not like you have an obsessive attachment to your husband (well, that’s debatable), but breaking the routine of returning home to his warm hugs, listening to his day and then complaining about your own- it’s uncomfortable. 

Erwin himself wasn’t looking forward to being away from you, away from home. Running Survey Corporations Ltd is no easy task; trying to balance the infuriating board and the long hours with his actual life is something only possible because of you. Time spent together is fine diamonds Erwin clutches onto and although he’d tried to reason with himself that it was only ten days, it wasn’t a trip he was looking forward to. He never said it out loud. But he didn’t need to. You can tell by the way Erwin’s lips linger on yours a little longer at the airport, as if to preserve your taste.

“Oi Erwin- hurry up.” Levi tries hard not to glare. But even the raven-haired man knows that being away from you puts Erwin on somewhat of an edge. You’re his rock, there to ground him when everything is chaotic, and a summit surrounded by the richest people in the world is as chaotic as it gets.

Despite it all, Erwin stays true to his promise. He calls you at least twice a day and although you could stay on the phone with him for hours, he’s often rushing between conferences and can only spare minutes of his time. Even when he does have an hour, talking to a disembodied voice (he still can’t figure out how to switch his camera back around) is not the same as having Erwin right beside you. It’s the way he squeezes your thigh when he’s focussing on what you’re saying or when he pulls you towards him so that you can lie on his hard chest which still makes you blush even after years of being together.

Because, yes, you miss his touch the most.

Not even five days in, you find yourself with your hands down your panties and a tall blond man on your mind. You’re soaked just thinking about him. His groans, the way he calls your name, the way he pounds into you as you lose your train of thought. Your fingers try to imitate his- their curve and how easily they find your soft spot- but it just feels uncomfortable. So, then you try rubbing your clit, and there’s temporary pleasure there, but not even close enough to tip you over the edge. Even your pink vibrator doesn’t cut it. You deny the fact that Erwin Smith has made you an incompetent masturbator, but you can’t keep up the lie for long and soon enough you give up.

It’s the next day that your ingenious idea kindles. It’s a fool-proof plan. A small flame that has you rushing to the bathroom for the best possible lighting. Erwin can still put his tongue to use at a distance- after all, it’s his voice you fell in love with first. To discretely push him in the right direction, you send him a few photos of yourself. Nothing too scandalous safe he’s in a meeting, but enough that he’ll gets the hint. Sure, Erwin has a couple of polaroid pictures hidden in his brown leather wallet, but he had shot those himself. You want to be a bit more spontaneous! And, honestly, at this point you’re desperate. You could swear you’re developing withdrawal symptoms: just the other day, you were actually temped to pick up a newspaper. It was terrifying.

This had to work. You can just imagine Erwin calling you, voice deep and gruff as he guides you through the process to make yourself cum as he showers you with praise. You feel giddy, eyes glued to the glowing screen, awaiting his response. Even your pink vibrator is out of the box.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t exactly go the way you had planned.

One hour after sending the photos you receive a panicked text from Hange. In the long paragraph, you understand that your poor husband couldn’t get the photos to load and decided to consult the vice president of his company who, upon simply clicking on them, saw you groping your soapy tits. Had it been anyone other than vice president Hange Zoe, Erwin may have broken his phone and quit right there. Thankfully, he only said, “I see” and then asked her where to find the smiley face Emoji.

“I’m so, so sorry Y/N!” Hange screams through the phone. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise! I could send you a picture of my boobs! I’ll go do it right now! I’m sorry! No- You don’t need to feel embarrassed! I won’t mind!”

“It’s alright Hange.” You laugh nervously. “You don’t need to send me anything, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

The whack Levi lands on her head is so hard you hear it through the phone. “Shut the fuck up four-eyes.��

So here you are now. Three days until Erwin returns, a vibrator you’ve given up on back in its box, and a husband who responds to your nudes with a smiley face.

But then Hange Zoe sends you something much better than a picture of her boobs.

The hotel that the trio were staying at- as most hotels do- has a spa. And if there’s one thing Erwin Smith adores it’s allowing himself to relax in a warm, steamy sauna. You’re not sure how Hange was allowed to join them, or how she was able to get her camera clear of fog, or how she was even able to take the picture without Erwin noticing. But you ask her no questions.

Followed by a winky-face is a picture of Erwin sat in the sauna, head tilted backwards, and eyes shut in the pure image of serenity. His arms are propped up on either side of him accentuating his biceps whilst still allowing a clear view of his sculpted body, the sweat running down his chest and abs, making him almost glisten. He’s completely naked except for the flimsy white towel across his lap which does absolutely nothing to hide his thick dick print. You shudder.

You feel like a teenager again, speechless at the sight of a quasi- naked man. Even though you’ve seen him like this thousands of times, you can’t help but fantasise about being trapped underneath him, hair falling onto his face as he loses himself inside of you. God, maybe you do have an unhealthy obsession. But it doesn’t matter. You feel even more like a teenager as you imagine scenarios of him returning home to recreate the picture before you. And with that, your mind is sedated for the next few days.

You have a fool-proof plan. Dress up in the shortest and tightest dress you own, cook your husband dinner, and then give him a blow job at the table so that he’ll never leave you again. It’s going to be just like in the movies and nothing will stop that from happening.

Something stops that from happening.

Just as you’re about to put the potatoes in the oven, Erwin calls. His flight is delayed. You whine through the phone and Erwin’s chuckle just about stops you from sulking like a child. You can be mature about this, right? He’s getting home eventually- complaining isn’t going to help at all. Patience is a virtue and yours has been tested many times before. This is, after all, nothing compared to the time Erwin tried to create an excel spreadsheet. So, you don’t press further. You simply tell Erwin that you miss him and then go find a pillow in which you scream for a good five minutes.

Erwin, on the other hand, is a lot less coveted with his annoyance. He wants nothing more than to strangle whatever and whoever is preventing him from returning to his lovely wife. In the hour journey, the entire plane can feel a crushing tension above their heads, so tense that even the child at the back seems to be holding in his tears. 

Usually, Erwin prefers to spend his flights with a book in his hands, but he’s incapable for picking up the paperback and instead stares out of the window somehow hoping it will go faster.

After what feels like hours, the tight dress has gotten too uncomfortable for you to wear and you resolve yourself to eating the potatoes alone. You still don’t take off your lingerie, though. A two-piece black set with lace detailing that makes you look like a present ready to be unwrapped. It had arrived yesterday, and you had taken your sweet time admiring the embroidered flowers and soft ribbon holding the fragile piece together because you had falsely assumed that you wouldn’t have it on for long. You had in fact contemplated stockings but by the time 11PM came by you simply wrapped Erwin’s favourite robe around your body and tried to take your mind off things. Maybe you should have opted for your own robe because as the sleeves hung from your arms and the soft material effused his smell, it managed to make you feel even worse.

Staying up late was not a foreign feeling but anticipation quickly turns into boredom and you find your eyelids getting heavy. You pause the anime you’re watching and are about to shut your eyes when you hear the faint rattle of keys.

You stumble getting out of bed, knocking your shoulder on the wall before skipping four steps at a time and tripping on the robe at least twice as you rush downstairs. Erwin is barely through the door as you call out his name and he drops his bags right there to let your rush into your arms. You feel so small, so safe, so familiar, within them, as if you’ve returned to the space where you belong. He lifts you up to let you wrap your legs around his waist, your ankles barely crossing. He smells divine, even after hours of being stuck in an airport and his hair is still soft between your fingers. You look at him and the smile that spreads across his face wipes out any hints of fatigue that might have been there just moments ago.

Erwin kisses you and it’s long, deep, and he holds you impossibly closer to him as his tongue dips into your mouth. You don’t want it to end, but Erwin pulls back and says softly, “I’m home, my love.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Welcome home.”

You return to the kiss with a hint of desperation. Tugging lightly on Erwin’s shirt, you know he notices how your core is already warm, but still, he takes his time closing the door with his foot before finally noticing your attire. You’re about to make a sarcastic comment about his obliviousness but the way he looks down at you, at the small flower of lace peeping out from under the heavy robe, the way he slowly wets his lips, he leaves you speechless.

“You’re a gift.” He smiles sweetly though his eyes darken.

“Well, you’ve been working really hard,” You mumble. “You deserve a treat.”

The effect this man has on you is unbelievable. All that anger and frustration you had pent up now crumbles at the light caress of his thumb on your hips.

“Let me unwrap you,” Erwin says. And he walks you to your room, climbing up the stairs with ease as you cling onto him. You attempt to rub yourself against his hard stomach, but one look of warning makes you stop. He’s going to be doing things on his watch, tonight.

Setting you on the floor beside your bed, Erwin undoes the ribbon and you let the fabric pool at your feet. He immediately latches onto your neck, and you gasp, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands begin to roam, fingering the delicate lace of your panties and the straps of your bra as his tongue leaves a trail over your chest. It’s only when Erwin suddenly grabs your breast that you moan, body involuntarily pushing towards him.

He looks up through thick eyelashes and his hands moves to cup your face. You’re about to beg him to touch you where you need it most, but he whispers, “you’re so beautiful.” And you’re speechless again.

You suddenly lean in to kiss him, hands wrapping around his neck and it’s messy and your breath is short. “Please, Erwin,” you say to him between kisses. “Touch me.” You can feel him smile against your lips. “Please”. And before you can stop yourself. “I can’t do it myself.”

Erwin stills and only then do you realise your mistake. He pulls back and stands up straight, towering over you and you recognises that look. It’s the one of a lion who has just found a wounded deer. 

“Oh?”

Fuck. He leans back and raises a brow expectantly and you try to look everywhere but at him. Maybe if you avoid eye contact, he’ll take it as a slip of the tongue. But your husband is not one to let things go. He’s intelligent, he knows exactly what you mean- you don’t need to speak for him to gather what happened, the image of you lying pathetically on the bed, hopeless and desperate. He smirks but stays quiet. Erwin likes it when you use your words.

“No-that’s not what I meant. I mean- you feel best and it’s just-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your scalp, pulling your hair back in one swift motion so that you have no choice but to look up at your husband dead in the eye.

“You were touching yourself whilst I was away, Y/N?”

“I-I mean...yeah…”

“I see.” His gaze is enough to make you gush. “And you weren’t able to make yourself cum.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s not a question, but you affirm it anyways. “No, no I couldn’t make myself cum.”

He’s silent for a moment and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s watching your worried face or because he’s wondering how he’s going to make that face look even more worried.

“I would feel sorry for you, but I suppose that’s what you deserve for touching my cunt without my permission.”

You gasp as he uses his grip on your hair to throw you on the bed. It’s effortless, the way his strength could so easily destroy you and yet he uses it to ruin destroy you in another way- just who you like it. Erwin undoes his tie and all you can do is gawk as he strips down to his boxers. He’s as hard as a rock and you tentatively reach out to touch him, but Erwin grabs your wrist. Without warning, you’re dragged to the other side of the bed where you’re placed to face your large floor length mirror. There’s only a moment of confusion before you understand why Erwin had been so keen on the somewhat awkward placement. He positions himself behind you and you withhold the urge to press your back against his throbbing cock.

“Don’t you take your eyes off the mirror,” Erwin commands, and you nod your head. “Use your words. Or do you need me to show you how to do that too?”

“Yes, sir,” You say quickly.

“Good girl.”

Erwin opens your legs, his hands gripping your thighs hard. You silently wish bruises bloom in their wake- it’s been too long since you’ve had your husband’s mark on you. A reminder of who you belong to. One hand stays on your thigh and the other moves to nudge your panties out of the way of your glistening cunt. 

“I’m going to show you how to touch yourself,” He says in a low, rumbling voice. “And you’re going to watch closely and learn. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”

His fingers don’t tease your folds for long. Erwin is feeling merciful, because he simply gathers the slick coating your cut before immediately rubbing your clit. The moan that leaves your mouth is pornographic. You buck your hips but the hand on your thigh moves to pin you down, your body flush against his so that you can almost feel his bearing heart. You’re engulfed by him so small as he easily manipulates your body.

Erwin is overwhelmed by the options. Look at his wife unravel below him or stare at the mirror, where you have no place to hide.

“I should be punishing you, you know.” He presses his fingers down hard on a particularly tenter spot and you moan loudly. “But I need to show my dumb little girl how to take care of herself.”

“I-I’m not- ahhh.” Your back arches and Erwin captures your neck again, sucking viciously.

As his thumb continues its assault on your clit, two fingers find your tight hole, dripping and clenching around nothing. He can see in the mirror how your body is practically begging to be filled up. And fill you up he will. But first Erwin inserts a finger and groans at the warmth that greets him. He begins moving it and although you try to understand how he is able to stroke your cunt so perfectly, your mind is fogged and all that’s on your mind is your impending release. This should be a learning experience, but it serves only as a reminder of Erwin’s miraculous hands. He slips his second finger in and your moans only get lounder.

“Erwin, Erwin- they feel so good. Your fingers feel so good!”

You can see his smirk in his reflection, just before he speeds up and you have to grab his wrist to steady yourself. His fingers slam back and forth into your velvety walls. They suck them in, and he is able to find your sweet spot every time. Every single time. Your eyes roll back, you press against Erwin’s chest and your legs shake as you cum. The mess you make, leaking all over Erwin’s hands, your bed, your thighs- you try to look away, but he grabs your face to prevent you from doing so.

“Don’t you dare look away.” His voice is low, threatening. “Look how good I make you feel. Look.”

Your cheeks are flushed and the set that had made you look like a femme fatale, just hours before, is now yet another set that has has you pliant and submissive. “It seems that I’m the only one who can take care of you,” Erwin says. And you know he’s right.

Erwin lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth and his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you. When he opens them, you swear they’ve gone a shade darker. Wordlessly, Erwin slips from behind you to kneel in front of the bed. He removes your panties and holds them up to his nose, giving them a slight inhale before tossing them to the side and lowering his mouth.

“Erwin wai-“

And before you can warn him that your too sensitive- you orgasm was too strong, it’s too soon- his mouth has latched onto your cunt and Erwin is eating you out like a starved man.

“Ah-fuck, fuck, fuck,” You practically scream.

He sucks on your clit, his tongue doing what it does best. You look down, his eyes bore into yours and you know he’s remembering every expression you make as he pushes you over the edge. Despite your trembling arms struggling to keep you upright, your hand goes to grip Erwin’s hair and all you can think about is how soft it is before you cum again. Your husband doesn’t stop this time. His fingers dig into your soft hips to make sure you don’t move, to make sure that he catches everything on his tongue. And he can feel it before you do. The steady build-up of a feeling slightly familiar, but foreign enough that you warn Erwin too late. Your back arches and you squirt in his mouth and before your eyes roll back, you catch a glimpse of what you know to be a smirk in your husband’s eyes.

You can feel the sheets soak below you so try to press your legs together in somewhat of an attempt to hide the mess, but Erwin doesn’t let you. “Don’t be ashamed now, darling.” His voice is solid, domineering. “This is just you perfect body, doing exactly what I tell it to,” He says.

He could be talking about fruits and you would still nod your head dumbly.

The power Erwin has over you is addictive, and your body seems to know it too. As he kisses your thighs, licking off whatever didn’t find its way into his mouth, you can still feel a distant ache at your core. This time, you don’t need to use your words. As you lie weak on the bed, Erwin crawls over, engulfing your form. The lion is ready for his meal. He leans down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. “I missed you,” He says. It’s the hundredth time, but you don’t tire of hearing it.

“I missed you too.”

Erwin shifts your legs, and you can feel the head of his large cock teasing your entrance.

“I missed all of you,” he repeats. “Your smile. Your voice. Your moans.” He pauses to place a kiss on your collarbone. “Your taste.”

He’s trying to be romantic, but you know why he stalls, and it makes you unable to graciously except the compliments. Erwin loves to hear you pine for him. And who are you to refuse your husband’s desires? So, you reach your hands out towards his shoulders, attempting to make him move if only a little bit. “Erwin!” You whine, and despite your weakness, you manage to push your hips forward, finding friction against his hard cock. “Please!”

Again, that smirk. He rubs against your clit. “My, my- you’ve come twice already and want more?”

Well, he missed your voice so you suppose you should let him hear it. “Let me be selfish, please sir?” You moan. “I need you inside of me.”

His cock twitches against you. And before you know it his hand is around your neck. “Such a good girl, using your words like that.”

He pushes inside you with a groan of relief, a low sound from his throat that causes his eyes to close momentarily. 

It seems you’ve forgotten how big he is because as he stretches you out like it’s your first time, your mouth drops open and a string of curses emerges. Erwin would usually reprimand you for the foul language, but he’s too lost in the feeling of your tight cunt pulling him in. Using your neck as leverage, he squeezes tight so that he can push forward and when your eyes blur, overwhelmed with the pleasure and pain and the lack of oxygen intensifying it all, Erwin loosens his grip only slightly, and your eyes find his again. You don’t notice your mouth hanging open, too focussed on the way your body is accommodating Erwin’s cock again.

“Really big, ‘s really big, sir,” You mumble and Erwin grunts in response, his teeth clenching because he too is reminded yet again of how tight- how perfect- your body is for him.

When Erwin bottoms out, he stills for a moment, basking in your warmth and taking a moment to kiss your cheek, a gentle gesture compared to the hand still grasping your neck. Your cunt gushes despite you wincing about the pain, about his size, and soon he can’t help but move his hips. Erwin pulls back and thrusts deep. You scream him name, as you feel his cock dragging against your walls. Any idea of taking you gently has evaporated from Erwin’s brain and instead his hips snap back and forth violently, his tip kissing your cervix as he buries himself inside of you again and again.

His grunts are laboured as Erwin’s free hand pushes your leg up to your chest to allow him to thrust deeps and deeper. “Just like that- just like that, good girl. My good girl.”

The new angle has him brushing against your g-spot and you won’t last long. You know you can’t- not with him quite literally rearranging your insides. You have one hand clawing at his forearm and the other grips the sheets and you repeat a mantra of “Thank you, sir, thank you” in between your desperate moans. The honorific coming from your lips is too sweet to his ears and he’s reminded of why phone calls bother him so much- nothing compares to hearing your voice like this.  

Erwin’s hand leaves your neck only to tug your bra down, letting your boobs bounce freely as he fucks you hard. You almost complain about the loss of contact but his tongue latches onto to your nipple and before you know it, you are coming all over your husband, screaming his name. Your nails dig into his arm as he nears his own release. Erwin’s hips stutter and he moans your name before throwing his head back in pure bliss as he cums inside of you. You wish you can capture that sight forever, but you don’t think any photo does your husband justice. It’s true- this is better than anything Hange could send.

Your breaths slowly find a slower rhythm in the post-orgasm silence. Erwin watches the way your fluids pool out of you as he pulls out, admiring the own mess on his lower stomach. You wince at the sore feeling and pull him towards you. This time, he follows your command. Breathless bodies mould into each other, finding their place after too long being apart. At the back of your mind, you know you should be making your way to the bathroom, but Erwin’s heavy body lying on your chest is enough to remind you to focus on the moment. For this is where you belong.

“You know, you should be flattered, Erwin.” You nudge his arm weakly as you lay together, bodies entangled in a random set of pyjamas you begrudgingly forced yourself to change into. “No one has better hands than you.”

He laughs. “I am flattered,” he says. “I just like teasing you.”

“No- you have a degradation kink.”

“Yes, that too.”

Even as you were taking a shower together, Erwin’s subtle attempts at having you admit you couldn’t make yourself cum did not go unnoticed. You suppose it’s an ego-thing, but then you realise it’s more. The power of being the only person able to bring you that much bliss is power Erwin thrives on. And despite the money wasted on your pink vibrator, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Still,” Erwin muses and a small smile plays across his lips. “I did expect the photo Hange took to at least help a little.”

Every muscle in your body stills and your eyes suddenly widen. Oh come on. You try to tell yourself that there’s simply nothing wrong with having a photo of your naked husband, but it’s more than that. You know it. Erwin knows it. And by the way he’s smiling, you also know that plastered on your face is the guiltiest of looks. In your poor attempt to escape his gaze by turning your back to him, Erwin chuckles and shakes his head, hugging you closer.

“That’s not fair!” You exclaim.

“It’s not?”

“No!”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but Erwin is made of steel. Why do you expect to get away with anything anymore? Erwin Smith is beyond two moves ahead- he’s finished the game before you’ve even started.

“Did you really think I didn’t notice?” 

“Shut up!” You whine. “Why do you have to be such a smartass about it? Let me think I win.”

“Alright, alright.” Erwin chuckles and places a kiss on your forehead. “You’re my winner. Always.”

[calliecat93]

Hi Callie! In your opinion, what are the top ten best Mccoy centric episodes in TOS? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, thanks for reading anyways! ❤️

Ooh, good question! This is a little hard because McCoy, compared to Kirk and Spock, didn’t get a lot of centric episodes. Actually I think he only really got like… two out of 79 episodes (depending on how you view it). But he DOES have a large prescence in others, so let me see here…

1. The Empath Technically it’s a Triumvirate episode, but this has McCoy’s best moment in the entire show. Like if you want to understand McCoy’s character, this is the episode that you turn to. I already blabbed about why once so I’ll let that go into it for me.

2. For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky: While some of the execution is a bit iffy, this is still a realy excellent episode. Mainly because DeForest Kelley plays McCoy here with everything that he has and just nails everything, McCoy’s sadness, loneliness, and invevat le fate of dying in a year, masterfully. The episode would be NOWHERE near as good if not for De Kelley.

3. The Man Trap: This and the last one are the only two McCoy-centric episodes, at least that I recall. This one often gets overlooked since it’s first so I think that the emotional impact gets lost. But God McCoy in this episode is just outright tragic. I wrote a whole post about it because it felt so unfair that it was overlooked because there is SO MUCH there. Also mrke amazing De Kelley acting

4. All Our Yesterdays: While McCoy does spend a good chunk of it passed out from hypothermia, he is freakin’ excellent in this episode. He’s not only hilarious (“He means it’s cold!”, De’s delivery made me burst out laughing) but when he’s finally awake, he’s just freakin’ awesome. He put himself at GREAT risk to snap Spock out of his mental state and then went ‘screw it’ and tried to find the portal home cause he wants his life back, with or without Spock (but preferably with Spock). He’s just great~!

5. Return to Tomorrow: This whole episode is super underrated. It’s the one where the alien beings posess Kirk, Spock, and Lady of the Week’s bodies. McCoy is the ONLY rational person in the episode and the one who has to deal with the majority of the problem. He has to both worry about everyone’s minds in the orbs and what the aliens do to their human bodies and is VERY concerned throughout. It also demonstrates how devkted to his profession and oath that he is. He even outright risks Kirk dying for good, as painful as it is for him, because it would mean allowing another to die and like Hell is he doing that. Seriously, this one is so freakin’ overlooked.

6. Bread and Circuses/The Immunity Syndrome/The Tholian Web: Yeah three way tie cause they all have one thing in common: they feature his complicated relationship with Spock. The first one I wrote a whole meta about already. It’s a Spones analysis, but it reflects why McCoy himself is great in this episode along with all hos geneal grumpy snark throughout. Oh and the ending with him throwing a mattess at a guy… and he wins IIRC. Best underrated comedy moment EVER. With the second, he’s not at all happy with Spock being picked over him to examine the amoeba and that Spock may die. Their whole interaction in the hangar, McCoy waiting until the doors close to wish Spock luck, Spock’s seeming final words, and of course “Shut up Spock! We’re rescuing you!”. The last one of course has Kirk gone and McCoy is angry, grieving, and stressed with everyone losing their minds and Spcok pressuring him to fix it all at the same time and he takes it out on Spock. Then they see Kirk’s final message and we all know what happens after. All three do such a great job showing how much McCoy cares about Spock and showcasing how great they really are together, and not even just the shippy sense. Only reason they’re at six is because of how closely tied to Spock he is in those episodes instead of being the central character, but he IS still central in them and showcase some of his best moments. So I hope I got my point across XD

7. A Private Little War: The episode’s message is kind of… questionable. But ignoring thay, McCoy is the real freakin’ hero of this story. It’s only because of him that Kirk survived and he’s more than willing to contront him on his questionable decision making. Which is the very thing that Kirk brought him for to begin with. It’s one of the best episode to show how much he cares about Kirk and the lengths he’ll go for him. Oh and he kept Spock from dying along with Chapel and M’Benga. Thank God he has competent medical staff who can do the job without him XD

8. Journey to Babel: Okay yes this is a Spock episode, but McCoy is VERY prominent throughout. He’s both hilarious in the cold opening and we all remember his reaction to Spock’s ‘teddy bear’ XD. But he managed to conduct a VERY risky surgery that put Spock and Sarek at great risk if he screwed up. A surgery he’s never really conducted. And during a battle that causes frequent rattling to boot. He succeeded and the episode appropriately rewards him by allowing him the final word. It’s not only oen of the best episodes showing why he’s the CMO, but he’s just freakin’ great the whole episode.

9. Amok Time: Again it’s a Spock episode, but I repeat what I said about Return to Tomorrow: McCoy is the real hero. He’s the one who recognizes that something is horribly wrong, puts up with zero excuses, actually usus logic to get Spock to comply, and of course it was him who saved both Kirk and Spock’s sorry butts. They’d both likely be dead had McCoy not been there. He may have had the least screentime of the three, but he damn wel made up for it.

10. Operation: Annahilate: It has one of the saddest but strongest McCoy scenes. Through the whole episode he’s super protectice of Spock, running various tests to get rid of the parasites and trying to keep Kirk’s kid nephew alive all at the same time. Then he gets made by Kirk and Spock to risk blinding the latter… and DOES blind him. Then his face when the test result revelaed that he didn’t need to use an jntense light and being outright unresponsive when Kirk calls him later… just ouch. It’s one of those moments I wish it had gone more in depth, but upseide is we have haply McCoy by the end. Want proof of how much he cares for Spock and others? Here you go

And he has really good scenes in other episodes despite varying levels of prominence (Miri, Space Seed, The Galileo Seven, This Side of Pradise, The City on the Edge of Forever, Mirror, Mirror, Friday’s Child, The Ultimate Computer, Spock’s Brain… no seriosuly he’s the biggest bright spot in that and for certain S3 episodes tbh). It’s a HUGE shame that he was treated like the third wheel both in series and the films, and even now gets the raw end of the deal in popular media. But I hope that this was a satisfactory list Anon. Sorry it got all wordy and long, I can’t help myself sometimes XD

(Image Source)

[xlonelysoulxx]

Being a Mermaid and Jacob’s Imprint Would Include... {2}

{gif isn’t mine}

xxxxx

You had disappeared for a whole month. You had only sent Leah a few messages after the incident, to give a sign of life and reassure the pack... which hadn’t helped matters when Jacob found out. "WHY didn't you tell me?!” “You acted like a f*cking jerk, why should I have?" The tension was so overwhelming, to the point where the other wolves must have come between them that day. Leah wanted to protect her friend, and Jacob wanted to get his imprint back. But he couldn't.

xxxxx

You hadn’t planned to come back, not so soon... this is what you had entrusted to the pretty wolf. You wanted to get some distance... away from Forks, from La Push... and from Jacob. You couldn't take it anymore. It was already hard that he treated you so coldly ‘cause he loved one another, but seeing him tear himself apart with his brothers... because of you? It was too much. It had gone way too far.

xxxxx

Grudge and worry kept growing among the wolves even when Jacob were gone, wandering god knows where near the Canadian border. Guilt and pain had kept twisting him from the inside ever since, and hearing the thoughts of his pack... especially when it came to you, had become torture. Even Jared, who had felt at fault at first, only felt annoyance now. Jacob was a ball of nerves ready to explode at any moment, while he was the one who had behaved badly in the first place. Fuck... he could have hurt you?! All because he had let himself be overcome by his emotions, emotions that he wasn’t yet ready to assume out loud.

xxxxx

The feeling of lack linked to the imprint was so strong that it sometimes prevented you from breathing, but that wasn't the worst. It was at that moment... that you realized how much you were in love with Jacob Black.

xxxxx

Even the pull of the bond wasn't as strong as the crack forged in your heart. A gash already wide open over the past few weeks (consciously or not) by the constant presence of Isabella Swan - hunted by Victoria - and now gaping as you left the Quileute... and Jacob, behind you. It was clear, the difference between these feelings - as if your heart and your guts were going in two distinct directions. How stupid you were... as if fate wasn't cruel enough like that.

xxxxx

You were quite surprised to see Alice and Jasper appear at your workplace one morning, a small neighborhood library near Port Angeles. It was brand new, no one knew about it. No one except Alice. Obviously... What were they doing there? You weren't particularly close to the Cullens, but you liked the lil’ brunette quite a bit. Did something happen? Did he... no, Leah would have warned you. Right..?

xxxxx

“He's stupidly stubborn, and guilty. But he's fine... for now.” You no longer understood anything, since when did Alice appreciate Jacob? She didn’t. But she couldn't control her visions. Time was running out. An army was approaching, Bella was once again the center of attention... and the future had darkened. The two clans who called themselves enemies had decided to unite reluctantly, to protect her - but what was your role in this story?

xxxxx

“Don't get me wrong, Alice... I don't wish Bella any harm.” You were boiling from the inside, but Bella wasn't the reason of your pain... Jacob was. You had no animosity towards the young girl, the shapeshifter was mature enough to make his own choices. It was between you and him, and yet. “But you came here for nothing.” You didn't look her in the eye anymore, busy sorting through the same books over and over in your hands. You couldn't believe she had come here just for this. She wanted you to come back to him, so he could come back to her... come back to Bella. To protect her.

xxxxx

Jasper hadn't moved from his place since their arrival, standing proudly straight behind his beloved. He could easily sense your anger, mixed with pain and incomprehension... and just like that, your eyes met his for a long second. “You should listen to her, Y/N.” You could feel a wave of appeasement sweep over you, immediately glaring at the vampire. "And you shouldn’t try to manipulate my emotions, Jasper."

xxxxx

“He won't survive it, Y/N... I saw it.” You could feel your blood running cold through your veins. What was she talking about?? Jacob was actually back in Forks, for more than a week now. But he was a freaking mess. He made sure to stay away from the pack, irritable... unpredictable, and more closed than ever. Quite the opposite of who he really was. You could feel your heart skipping a beat... Alice had glimpsed the impending confrontation, and the outcome had been fatal for the brown wolf.

xxxxx

No, no, no... it couldn't happen. It. Couldn't. The information was too much to handle as you began to hyperventilate like an idiot in the store, Jasper immediately moving to your side. You couldn't let him get killed all this because he was distracted by the whole "imprint thing”, no... you could never forgive yourself for it. You would leave your pride aside without any hesitation for him, everything for him... no matter the welcome you would receive in return.

xxxxx

The car ride was terribly quiet. The battle would take place in three days, so there was no time to waste. Your boss had been accommodating enough to give you your afternoon (he seemed to be pleased by your work, good for you) and this is where you were now... on the road back to Forks, sitting in the back of Alice's car. She had insisted on taking you there given your emotional state, and you were silently grateful for that. You could feel the anguish mounting as you approached the Quileute reserve, unconsciously wriggling in your seat.

xxxxx

“Stop the car.” The air was too thick to breathe, and you felt like you were drowning... there was only one way to fix it. You were close enough now, you could join the reserve on your own... but not right away. You quickly thanked the couple before slamming the door, taking the path to the forest under the worried gaze of the petite brunette. You ran, unable to stop before reaching the impressive cliff... not thinking twice before jumping.

xxxxx

You felt like you could finally breathe again as the icy water came in contact with your hot skin. You haven't been back to the ocean since the incident, and you had missed it - terribly. You could feel a pinch in your stomach as you rose to the surface, quickly looking up as your eyes instantly fell on the huge brown wolf that stood high on the rocks. Jacob. He was there... how?

xxxxx

You dived again after an endless exchange of glances, taking longer than necessary to reach the shore. A part of you feared your reunion, while the other was just relieved and excited to see him again. Jacob had reached the beach at an impressive speed, the shapeshifter dressed warmer than usual while a large jacket and boots complemented the usual shorts specific to all Quileutes. His heart was pounding as he observed the surface, impatiently waiting to see you reappear. Were you even going to do it..? He couldn't believe you were really there.

xxxxx

And you did. Your feet sank into the wet sand as you left the sweet comfort offered by the waves, your long hair sticking to your skin like a second skin. You were completely exposed as the cold wind whipped through your entire body, Jacob's eyes never leaving yours as he took off his jacket… wasting no time wrapping it around you. The distance between you was ridiculously thin now, the silence heavy and comfortable at the same time. There was no room for shyness here, it was Jacob. And despite everything that had happened you had full confidence in him.

xxxxx

None of you dared to speak first... almost like it's going to shatter the present moment, and bring bad memories to the surface. “I was afraid I had hurt you.” He finally confessed, almost shamefully. Start at the beginning, yeah... it was good. “I'm sorry I disappeared... I just panicked.” You answered briefly, but he cut you off almost immediately.“You don't have to feel sorry for anything, Y/N. I should. For everything.”  He really was. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, how much he had missed you... and how much he loved you. But he didn't have the right. Not now, and maybe never. But repeating it to you, showing you how sorry he was and how much he regretted the way he had treated you... seemed like a good start. He wanted to be the best imprint for you... a friend, a protector. If you wanted him to be. He didn't want to be separated from you like that anymore. Never again.

xxxxx

You could hear the sincerity in his voice, the erratic changes in his breathing… and the heat radiating from his body which was enveloping you like a soft blanket. He meant every word. You were sure of it. And it was, indeed, a good start... yes. It was like a silent acceptance, like a secret language between the two of you... your throat tightening a bit before you wrapped your arms around him.

xxxxx

Jacob automatically tightens his embrace around you, selfishly accepting the gesture of affection you both needed so badly. He trapped your body against his, resting his chin against the top of your head as you stood on your tiptoes... inhaling his scent. There he was, alive and safe in your arms... and that was all that mattered right now. And you were going to make sure that it stays that way, no matter what.

xxxxx

But fate wasn't so lenient, you should have known that... it didn't rest only in your hands. Cruel reality exploded in your face that day, Jacob's scream echoing through the entire clearing at the same time as the sound of his ribs being broken by the newborn vampire. It all happened so fast. Leah had found herself trapped in the deadly embrace of one of them, Jacob had intervened... and now he was writhing in pain on the ground.

xxxxx

You had joined him in a few strides, stumbling alongside him as your heartbeat echoed through your ears. Carlisle stood by your side, examining the extent of the damage before the other members of the pack arrived in turn. His voice was twisted in pain as he tried to pronounce your name, squeezing your hand in his before the other wolves surrounded him to pick him up - Paul reluctantly pulling you away from your imprint. Tears filled your eyes, so much so that you hadn't even seen Bella arrive… the obvious horror on her face. How could this have happened? You thought you could change Alice's vision, you really believed you could... but you obviously failed. Literally.

[just-come-baek]

out to lunch

Pairing: cooking show chef!xiaojun x personal assistant!reader

Themes: smut

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: You come over to the kitchen set of Xiaojun’s cooking show to tell him you managed to get him what he had always dreamed of. However, once you reveal the big news, you discover his priorities have changed, and right now, the only thing he wants to do is you.

Warnings: dirty talk | fingering | kitchen set sex | unprotected sex | creampie | Xiaojun’s inner diva is showing | 

A/N support WayV lol | writing this for neosmutcollective mini wayv event

Xiaojun was utterly immersed in his world. Though it was already late at night, he was still behind the kitchen counter, chopping ingredients with his favorite knife. Right now, Xiaojun was in his element, oozing precision and determination to perfect his new recipe, and it somewhat felt like a sin to interrupt him.

You had big news to deliver, though. Having heard you out, Xiaojun would surely forgive you for your disruption. He had to. After all, you just managed to get him that cooking book contract he had always dreamed of.

Ever since you two had started working together, it was your goal to make Xiaojun a published author. Though he already owned three restaurants and starred in his own cooking show, Xiaojun was insatiable. The more fame and recognition he got, it was never enough.

You cleared your throat to obtain his attention, but it didn’t quite pull him out of his trance, so you decided to give him an extra minute.

Xiaojun looked incredibly attractive in his own habitat. In his white uniform and ridiculously big chef hat, Xiaojun looked like a whole damn Michelin three-star dish. No wonder he kept beating his viewing records with each new episode. People all across the country swooned over his culinary talent, incredible charisma, and breathtaking looks.

Having approached the kitchen counter, you knocked on the marble surface in hopes of obtaining his attention.

“Earth to Xiaojun,” you softly spoke, looking at his face. Apparently, the timing couldn’t have been worse as Xiaojun dropped his knife on the cutting board and swung it onto the floor, making a huge mess.

“What do you want!? Don’t you see I’m busy!?” Xiaojun barked before he turned around to get a clean set of kitchen utensils. “Get lost. I don’t want to talk to you,” he added, waving his hand at you, trying to chase you out of the kitchen space.

“Ugh, for the love of God, Xiaojun! How many times have we had this conversation? That diva tone doesn’t work on me,” you answered firmly, staring into his eyes, challenging him. His gaze was intense, his jaw was tensed, but you just smiled at him, ignoring his shenanigans altogether. It wasn’t the first time he lashed out at you, and you knew how to handle him.

“Okay, fine. What is it?” Xiaojun huffed, giving in. With his arms folded across his chest, he tapped his foot against the floor, impatiently waiting for the news.

“I got you that book offer. You’re gonna be a published author,” you exclaimed, ready to jump up and down in joy. However, Xiaojun didn’t seem to be particularly excited. “What’s the matter? Isn’t it what you’ve always wanted? I don’t get it,” you spoke, creasing your eyebrow in confusion, trying to read his bizarre expression.

Xiaojun seemed indifferent at best.

“Cancel it. Undo it. I won’t write it,” Xiaojun replied before he proceeded back to his previous task. It wasn’t wise to disturb him now, so you waited until all vegetables were neatly cubed and thrown into a bowl.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? I don’t understand. I thought you’ve always wanted it,” you inquired, trying a much calmer approach. Xiaojun didn’t use his knife now, but he was still holding it, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone earned a cut during a heated argument in the kitchen.

“I have,” Xiaojun replied with a deep sigh as he poured the chicken broth over the vegetables. “But it gets tiring, you know…” he added, as he took off his chef hat and threw it on the countertop, running his hand through his hair. “Everything is happening too fast. I thought I wanted it, but now, when I actually live that life, I realized I am not cut out for this.”

It was heart-breaking to listen to it. You two had been working very hard to get Xiaojun where he is right now, only to come to a conclusion it’s all wrong. Fame was a heavy cross to bear, and Xiaojun was slowly stumbling under its weight.

“Don’t tell me you want to quit,” you whispered, anxious to know the answer. Xiaojun’s eyes were trained on you, and you could see how tired he was. “How about you take it easy from now on instead of quitting it all together? It would be a shame to quit right at the finishing line,” you reasoned, hoping Xiaojun would consider it.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s talk about it, okay?” you interjected before Xiaojun would impulsively ruin his career. “We’ve got only three more episodes to shoot. I could put you on hiatus until you decide you want to continue with another season. In the meantime, you could work on the cooking book at your own pace. Probably, I will make you record some cooking content on social media to keep you circulating on the web, so people won’t forget you. Except for that, your schedule would be clear to focus on whatever you need to focus on.”

Silence.

Xiaojun was staring at his chef hat, pondering your damn good points. When you put it like that, it was hard to say no. Besides, he had a feeling you would talk back instantly if he found faults in your argumentation.

Seconds passed without Xiaojun’s response. You were his voice of reason; he had to listen to you. Besides, not only was his career on the line. If he actually quitted, your superior would murder you. Xiaojun was the cash cow of the company; they couldn’t afford to lose him. He was at their rising star.

“Why do you always know what to say?” Xiaojun rhetorically asked, and you beamed, ready to grace him with an answer.

“I’m really good at my job,” you pointed out proudly. Thanks to your impeccable management and problem-solving capabilities, you managed to help Xiaojun rise to the top. “And also, I care about you. Sometimes, you’re a pain in the ass, but after all, you’re a good person. You are my friend, and I want you to be happy.”

“Fine, let’s do it your way. But we’re not shooting another season until I say so,” Xiaojun caved, smiling brightly at you. “You know what I really want to do, though?” He challenged as he rested his elbow on the counter, straightening his back, trying to appear taller and overall more confident.

His voice was quiet, and it suspiciously sounded as if he told “you.”

Shaking your head, you asked, “what?”

Xiaojun felt a sudden wave of confidence rush through him before he repeated himself clearly. No, there was no shred of doubt. You heard him loud and clear. Confidently, Xiaojun admitted that he really want to do was you.

“You seriously think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” Xiaojun spoke in a somewhat accusing tone, eyeing you from head to toe before he took a cautious step toward you. Intimidated, you took a step backward, and that timid action made Xiaojun smirk.

He knew exactly what type of effect he had on you. All memories of lingering glances you had stolen of him when you had believed he hadn’t been looking came back rushing to you. You weren’t as sly and discreet as you thought you were.

“It really flatters me,” Xiaojun teased with a smug smile. “Don’t deny it, and come here,” he urged, spreading his arms, waiting for you to run into him.

At first, you were sure Xiaojun was just messing with your head. You believed he was teasing you. You imagined him flick your forehead if you walked into his personal space. It was obvious he was mocking you. There was no way in hell that he wanted you the way you wanted him. You must’ve been seeing things.

“Jesus, woman! Hurry the fuck up,” Xiaojun warned you, losing his patience. “If you’re not coming here, I am coming there,” he added, giving you one last chance for a change of heart. “Screw it,” he cursed, surging forward, trapping you in his tight embrace.

His actions spoke louder than words. All your previous thoughts were gone; Xiaojun wouldn’t have bothered this much to pull a prank on you. He was genuine. Xiaojun held you still in his arms, waiting for you to make a move. He would never try anything without your permission, regardless of how delicious your lips looked.

“Kiss me,” he ordered, and you rushed, smashing your lips against his in a passionate kiss. It was everything you imagined it to be, but tenfold better. You had fantasized about his moment plenty of times, and weirdly enough, Xiaojun’s mouth somehow felt both soft and rough at the same time. “Now, we’re talking.”

You two completely lost it. Hands were running on your bodies as you engaged in a heated moment, relieving your much maddening frustration. It felt amazing, and you wished you could carry on until you both lose all your energy.

“Let’s go to my place,” you mumbled once you pulled away. Xiaojun still held you pressed against him as he waited for you to elaborate, being painfully clueless to your ulterior motive. “It’s much closer from here than yours,” you added, and Xiaojun only smiled dumbly, waiting for you to word your request in an even more ridiculous way.

“Why bother going anywhere when I can have you here?” Xiaojun playfully announced, giggling as his gaze shifted from your gorgeous eyes to the countertop. Almost instantly you realized what his crazy proposition was. Did you really want your first time with him to be on the kitchen island inside the cooking show set? It would be a blatant lie if you said you had never considered this.

“Fuck me then,” you urged, giving Xiaojun permission to ruin you right there.

Xiaojun didn’t waste any time. In an instant, he wrapped his arms around your thighs as he picked you up and gently sat down on the countertop. Except for your pencil skirt, your legs were bare, so you let out a slight hiss once you felt the cold marble against your skin.

Biting your lips, you spread your legs, letting Xiaojun stand right between them.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about fucking you here,” Xiaojun confessed before he leaned forward, stealing another desperate kiss. “You remember that time when we fought over the Oreo cake? I was so hard back then. I wanted to bend you over the counter so bad. I almost didn’t hold myself back.”

“You should’ve gone for it,” you whispered as you remembered that quarrel. That night Xiaojun had been the star of your fantasies when you used your vibrating friend to get yourself off. “I was so horny then. Almost as horny as right now,” you added, pulling him by his funny black tie, melting into yet another kiss.

Xiaojun was getting impatient. It was nice, but it wasn’t enough for him. Having untangled the knot of his apron, he yanked it off his hips, throwing it over his shoulder.

“I want to feel you so bad,” he murmured as he slid his fingers under your skirt, pulling your panties down your legs. “Let me prep you up,” Xiaojun uttered when his digits gently fondled your folds, gliding his knuckle inside of you. The moment you felt him, you let out a quiet moan, enjoying his little ministrations.

Xiaojun knew how to please a woman. He curled his fingers inside of you, stretching you out for his length. With your eyes shut closed, you focused on your pleasure, letting Xiaojun spoil you rotten. Though it was just mere petting, it felt nice as hell. He was getting you ready for his cock, and you basked in simple delight.

“Enough of that; I want you to fuck me now,” you kindly spoke, wrapping your palm around his wrist. “Please,” you added when you noticed how hesitant Xiaojun was of letting go. He planned on making you come first before properly fucking you with his cock, but since you asked him nicely, he decided to give you exactly what you wanted. Though he’d love to tease you some more, your pleading tone seemed to do the thing.

Swiftly, he yanked down his pants, revealing his member. It was standing proud, and you looked down at it, admiring it. Without any doubt, Xiaojun was to make your day.

As much as you wanted to return the favor, Xiaojun didn’t let you. Impatiently, he gave himself a few strokes before he aligned his cock with your entrance, rubbing its tip against your folds. Slowly, he pushed his hard length inside of you, making you groan.

Your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened as Xiaojun filled you up with his erection. At first, Xiaojun maintained a slow and steady rhythm. However, as you kept moaning his name and encouraging him to go faster, his thrusts became more rapid. Quickly, Xiaojun snapped his hips, finding your sweet spot in record time.

“Holy shit,” you exclaimed, feeling the knot inside of you tighten. You were moments away from your peak. Xiaojun’s cock stroked all the right places, pushing you off the edge. “Fuck, I am coming,” you shouted, kicking your head backward, welcoming the bliss that ripped through you.

When you were slowly descending back on Earth, Xiaojun kept chasing his release.

You could feel him throb inside of you. Then, an idea crossed your mind. Until now, it was Xiaojun who did all the work, so the least you could do was to encourage him to fill you up, to talk him through his orgasm.

“You fill me up so well. I came on your cock, and you’re still rock-hard. Do you want me to come again?” You complimented him, spilling filth. Though you weren’t sure if Xiaojun would be into dirty talk, you were certain he was eating it all up. Xiaojun was moaning your name as he snapped his hips, falling out of his even rhythm.

Xiaojun was near. His grip on your thighs tightened as he pounded inside of you, being only a few strokes away from his sweet bliss.

“Come inside of me,” you urged him. It was all it took to make him reach his peak. With a choked grunt, Xiaojun came, buckling his hips as he painted your walls with his release.

You remained silent as Xiaojun breathed heavily, trying to come back to his senses.

“If we’re ever doing it, here, again, I want you to spank me with this,” you commented as you reached for the spatula that sat on the other side of the counter. Xiaojun smirked upon seeing the kitchen utensil, tempted to try it out soon.

However, on second thought, tonight was just good as any other day.

“How about we take it with us over to your place,” Xiaojun proposed, and you cocked your eyebrow, excited to hear his suggestion. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he added as he bent down to pick up his apron. His release was dripping down your thighs, so he wiped it off with the fabric, looking rather pleased by the fact that you let him come inside of you.

“That sounds like a plan.”

[cakesunflower]

a court of golden shadows: elain archeron and azriel endgame

so this is like an 11 page paper i wrote on why i think Elain Archeron and Azriel from Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses are endgame. i made a joke on twitter that i’d write a proper MLA format styled paper on them because i love them so much and a bunch of my moots convinced me to do it so here i am.

this is for the Elriel lovers like myself. if you read it, which you don’t have to, please refrain from commenting anything negative. everyone is entitled to their own opinions, and this whole essay is just my opinion on it. so if you read, i hope you enjoy!!

keep in mind, it’s LONG.

         A Court of Golden Shadows: Elain Archeron and Azriel Endgame

Sarah J. Maas’s fantasy series A Court of Thorns and Roses displays epic, world-shattering love stories among the thrilling action and fantastical elements present throughout the novels, as seen in the romance between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and, most recently, Nesta Archeron and Cassian. Two sisters have already accepted and embraced the (so-called) rare mating bond with their respective counterparts, yet the question remains on what is to happen with the middle sister, Elain Archeron, who apparently has a mating bond of her own with Lucien Vanserra, but has not, for two books and a novella, made any indication of accepting it. However, Elain, in her quiet, gentle way, has shown to be more attentive towards the Night Court’s resident Shadowsinger and Spymaster, Azriel. Who, in turn, has notably started to move on from a five-century long love harbored for another female and gravitating towards the last remaining Archeron sister.

It can be said that the concept of the three Archeron sisters all ending up with the three Illyrian males is a cliché, but if done right, they can capture the reader in their grasp—one that no one would want to get out of. Taking a look at the novels, particularly starting from the second book, A Court of Mist and Fury, since this is where Azriel’s character is introduced, it is difficult to ignore the fact that Maas has been laying the groundwork for Elain and Azriel—or Elriel, as I will refer to them throughout this paper—to be a couple from the moment they met, whether these hints are subtle or obvious. In chapter 24 of ACOMAF where Feyre, the Illyrian faes, and her sisters have dinner together, we see tentative interactions between Elain and Azriel, despite the two of them having just met and Elain, as a mortal who grew up with stories of the terrors of faeries, seems to look towards the spymaster more. The first glimpse of their interaction, no matter how small, is shown on pages 253-254 when “a faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork”. Though this moment can be overlooked, it is only the first of many oncoming moments of Azriel noticing Elain and her actions, a subtle hint of the spymaster’s attention towards Elain. The focus of attention is returned when Elain then turns to Azriel a few pages later, wanting to know more about their ability to fly, even so far as going to say “That’s very beautiful” when Azriel describes Illyrians as being “born hearing the song of the wind” (256-257). Additionally, there are two moments in this particular chapter where Elain, in some semblance, looks towards Azriel as a way of relaxing herself. The first is noted when Azriel’s attention is said to be on Elain, and he offers her a “polite, bland smile”, and Feyre notices how Elain’s “shoulders loosened a bit” in response to it (256). Rather than looking towards Feyre for indicators during an unexpected dinner with faeries, Elain seems to be more drawn to looking at Azriel, which is shown once again in the following passage: “Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well” (258). Elain tends to check everyone’s reactions to the circumstances to determine the levels of tension in the atmosphere, but she truly seems to be put at ease when she notices Azriel’s own relaxed state, once again indicating the attention she pays to him from the moment they met.

The first three books in Maas’s series are told through Feyre’s perspective, so it can be said that our perception of and desire for Elain and Azriel getting together is skewed because of the point of view we are given. I, however, consider this to be a moot point because Feyre’s character is the type to notice everything around her. She comes to grow close to both Azriel and Cassian, and with Elain being her sister, the reader can depend on Feyre as being as much of a reliable narrator to tell us exactly what she sees and how she sees it. With this in mind, some of the examples given will be from Feyre’s own musings, but it is important to note that she, more than once, groups Elain and Azriel together. This is shown when, in chapter 49, Feyre is distracting Rhysand as she tries to take care of his wounds and muses about her sisters visiting Velaris. There, Feyre mentions to Rhysand, “I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet”, before proceeding to think to herself—and the reader, “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together” (487). Of course, this observation is followed by the acknowledgement of Azriel quietly loving Mor, as he has for centuries, yet what we don’t know, during this, that this wouldn’t remain an issue for long.

Moving on to focus on the third installment of the series, A Court of Wings and Ruin, there is a solemnity surrounding Elain, who, at the end of the second novel, was forcefully turned into fae against her will. After the transformation, Elain has become a shell of who she used to be, trapped in a state of deep mourning of the humanity she lost, of the love of her fiancé she inevitably lost, too. She doesn’t eat nor does she speak to anyone, an empty yet no less beautiful version of herself as her Cauldron given powers, unbeknownst to everyone else, manifest. But even in her state, in her indifference towards her mate Lucien and yearning for her human fiancé Graysen, Elain managed to acknowledge Azriel. He is gentle with her, much like everyone else, as he carries her into the townhouse, smiles, inquires if she’d like for him to show her the garden. And although he stands tall, intimidating in his fighting leathers and large wings, Elain does not recoil from him in fear or shyness. Instead, she takes the arm he offers her and, although it is unsure if she is looking at his Siphon or his scarred hands, she still utters “Beautiful” in response to him (254). Even when life has unexpectedly turned bleak for Elain, even when the world loses its color in the aftermath of the trauma she suffered, in that moment, there was a glimpse of who she used to be as she found beauty in nothing but Azriel.

This same chapter is followed by an insightful conversation between Feyre and Rhysand, triggered by Feyre watching her sister and Azriel. Feyre notes how at odds Azriel looks sitting in the garden next to Elain in his armor, yet she still questions, “Why not make them mates?” (257). This spurs a significant conversation between the High Lord and High Lady, where readers are given some more history on mating bonds and introduced to the prevailing concept of rejected bonds. Rhys provides examples of ill-chosen bonds, such as his parents, who were mates yet their relationship was not ideal in the least. Here, we are told that sometimes fate, the Mother, whatever chooses two mates can be wrong in its pairings, and it is rare for the bond to bring together “true, paired souls” (258) like Feyre and Rhysand. It has been established that the female can reject the bond, and while the male may feel the tug of it, it’s their burden to push through it. Maas spends an entire page or so talking about the concept of ill-chosen or rejected bonds, so it would be naive to look over these details if they weren’t placed in the storyline for a reason. Elain and Lucien may be mates, and Azriel (at least currently within the book) may be in love with Mor, but the idea of free will is not something to be so easily dismissed. Elain already had the choice of her humanity, her mortality, ripped away from her—it’s doubtful she would let this pattern continue.

In chapter 24 of A Court of Wings and Ruin, when Elain is having her first conversation with Lucien, she states, “No one ever looked—not really” (252), and although here she is referencing Graysen, this statement comes around a few chapters later. In chapter 27, Elain walks in on a conversation amongst the Inner Circle, and Azriel was the first to step forward as he noticed something amiss. His observations and questions when he says to her, “[But] you heard something else” and “What did you see” indicate that he, unlike Feyre and Nesta, believes that Elain’s riddled musings have a deeper meaning and need to be heard. The scene ends with Feyre looking to Azriel, noticing that his “hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away” (287). Azriel didn’t brush off what Elain said, because while her sisters thought Elain had gone mad, Azriel listened to her—he looked. He looked past her “too-thin body” and read between the lines of what she said, and knew there was more than what meets the eye. He looked, which was exactly what Elain had wanted.

This is repeated in chapter 32, when Elain brings up another queen and no one is quite sure what she’s talking about, except for Azriel, who steps forward and gently prods Elain to elaborate. Even Lucien watches Elain warily, questioning if they need to help her, yet Azriel is firm in his assessment that Elain doesn’t need help, that they need to be the ones who need to listen, before ultimately determining that she does, in fact, have powers and is established to be a seer. So while Lucien “stared and stared at [Elain], as if he’d never seen her before”, it was Azriel who actually looked at her and saw what no one else was seeing, whose acknowledgment of her gift and the attention he brought to it from everyone else “freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in” (336).

The idea of Azriel truly looking at Elain transitions into him looking for her, too. But first, another example of the former is seen in chapter 63, when Feyre, Nesta, and Amren hear the call of the cauldron in the middle of the night. They wonder about it, question why they three heard it because they were Made, not noticing that another who was Made was missing from their group. That is, until, Azriel asks, “What about Elain?” (560), and he is moving alongside the sisters to inspect Elain’s tent, only to find her missing. Azriel notices Elain—whether she is present or not. And so the concept of Azriel looking for Elain is introduced when they are discussing Elain’s rescue from Hybern in the following scene:

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”” (563).

There was no hesitation on Azriel’s part in being the one to get Elain back, but there was obvious rage, as noted, in his gaze at the very idea of Elain having been kidnapped. A silent, lethal aura surrounds the shadowsinger that can be so clearly picked out within that scene, showcasing Azriel’s unwavering determination in returning Elain, even if it meant slipping into the heart of enemy camps—especially if it meant that. And throughout the dangers and urgency of this particular mission, when they do reach Elain, Azriel takes a moment to be tender towards her as he “gently removed the gag from her mouth” (573) and asks if she’s hurt. Elain, in turn, is shown to be “devouring the sight of him, as if not quite believing it” before she says “You came for me” (573). Elain looks at Azriel in wonder and disbelief, and this reaction hints towards how she feels drawn towards him. In their very first meeting during the dinner in the Archeron house, Elain looks to Azriel for reassurance, for judgement of the situation, and in the event of her rescue, she finds that same kind of comfort on a far more intense level. Because here, he truly is her rescuer, appearing in front of her to save her from the dangerous hands of their enemies and bring her to safety. And Azriel, in this sense, is devoted to her, holding up his fierce promising of getting her back. Even when he was injured, Azriel held onto Elain, refusing to let her go even while getting shot at and chased, and when they landed in their own camps, the first thing he claimed was for someone to get the chains off of her, rather than even mentioning his own injuries. This just reminds us of ACOMAF when Elain was being dragged to the cauldron and Azriel wasn’t even conscious to witness it—there is no doubt that if he was awake—and uninjured—he would’ve done all he could to save her. Maas robbed us of that type of scene.

Furthermore, evolving from the concept of Azriel rescuing Elain, we get another significant scene between the two of them that displays the kind of trust these two characters smoothly and effortlessly developed. On top of Elain accepting Azriel’s offers of taking her to the garden, a silent indicator that his company was one she enjoyed, Azriel shows a great act of trust to Elain as well when, in chapter 69, he offered her the use of his beloved knife, Truth-Teller. This blade is Azriel’s most prized possession, and to offer it to Elain to bring her the same kind of comfort and safety that we have seen she finds in Azriel himself portrays the trust he has in her—and his desire to protect her. This is emphasized when Rhys tells Feyre, “Never. . . I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife” (610). Even Cassian was stunned that Azriel would let someone else use Truth-Teller, which is significant to note given that he has not let even Cassian nor Rhys—his brothers he has known for centuries—even touch it. And Elain, who had refused to take the knife Cassian had offered her, ends up accepting Truth-Teller—because it’s Azriel’s, and because through the short time she’s known him, he is someone she has poured her trust into and understands he wouldn’t lead her astray. And he didn’t, for it was Elain who “stepped out of a shadow” (653) and used that very same blade to kill the King of Hybern. A temporary gift, given from Azriel, that she used to put an end to one of the greatest threats to both the human and faerie realms.

In the post-war novella A Court of Frost and Starlight, Maas furthers the Elriel endgame agenda by continuing both subtle and blatant hints in their favor—and not just through actual interactions between the two. The concept of Azriel avoiding Lucien because of his mating bond with Elain is important to remember, for it will come back around later. But in this novella, we see it when Rhysand asks Azriel if he keeps an eye on Lucien, given that he is the spymaster. Azriel, in turn, informs him that he does not track his movements, because “He is Elain’s mate” and “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him”, which Rhysand, since this is shown from his perspective, notes is because Azriel does not want to be aware of if and when Lucien seeks out Elain, and what they do together—if they do anything at all, given Elain’s tendencies to utterly ignore Lucien (70). Rhysand questions Azriel’s motives on this, but doesn’t get a response, but there is an understanding of Azriel’s intentions behind it. Not only does he want to remain ignorant of the forced bond between Elain and Lucien, but a big motivator for him is also Elain’s privacy, which he doesn’t want to intrude on—ironic, given that he is a spy, and it’s his job to know of others’ movements and thoughts.

Another example of Azriel very subtly showing his blossoming feelings towards Elain is when he unforgivingly states that if Lucien were to kill Elain’s ex-fiancé, then “good riddance” (71). He was well aware of how Graysen treated Elain after finding out she was fae, is the one who sits with her in the gardens because he is a comforting presence for her in the face of mourning, so he understands her. This idea is repeated in Azriel’s bonus chapter in A Court of Silver Flames, when Rhysand catches Azriel almost about to kiss Elain—that is definitely to be unpacked later—and warns him that Lucien has the right to invoke a Blood Duel to defend the mating bond, and Azriel does not hesitate, is confident, when he retorts that he would easily defeat Lucien, would have no problem in pulling Elain out of a bond she doesn’t even want.

The novella also includes some more obvious, sweet moments between Elain and Azriel, ones that show Elain’s own growing interest and feelings towards Azriel. Like in chapter 12, when Feyre notes that when Azriel enters the room, she feels Elain freeze at the sight of him, and then Elain proceeds to be almost in a trance when Azriel, after she greets him, moves towards her and takes the heavy dish of potatoes from her hands and says he’ll take care of it for her (105). This scene then continues when Elain hurries off to make herself more presentable, and rather than letting others dive into the food, Azriel stops Cassian from putting food on his plate and all but commands him to “wait until everyone is seated before eating” (106). Rhysand informs Feyre that this sudden reaction from Azriel stemmed from the treatment his mother received as a near servant, but it can also be tied to how Azriel keeps aware of Elain and the recurring theme of looking after her in any way. He notices her, just as she notices him, a subtle way of this being present in Elain’s solstice gift to Azriel. She doesn’t get a gift for Lucien, her mate, but does get one for Azriel, one that makes him laugh in a way that, Feyre notes, she’s never heard before. A genuine sort of joy breaking the cold, indifferent mask of the shadowsinger as he accepts and cherishes the gift Elain gave him—the extent of which we see in his bonus chapter, where it is revealed that he looks at the small vial every night before going to sleep, a not-so-subtle showing that Elain is the last thought on his mind before he descends into slumber.

This notion of the two of them looking after one another in their own ways is again repeated in A Court of Silver Flames in the following passage on page 221:

Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.”

“Because of the shit with Elain?”

Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.

Throughout the friendship they have formed, Azriel becomes a kind of protector of Elain’s, deriving from her being a part of their Inner Circle as well as the notion of Azriel’s own personal feelings for her. He is so obviously shown as going on the defense at the news of Elain getting into any kind of fight, of Elain potentially being hurt. It’s repeated on page 233 when Elain and Nesta are arguing, and after Nesta utters a nasty comment that lands on Elain like a blow, there is an acknowledgement of the “shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike”. The shadows, of course, are Azriel’s, ready to jump between the sisters and defend Elain from Nesta’s verbal attack, to once again be her protector.

Of course, we can’t forget that Elain has a mate in Lucien, and how it seems to offer the enticing forbidden love trope between her and Azriel. We see a hint of it in A Court of Wings and Ruin, when in chapter 24, Lucien can scent where Elain had gone off to and who she’d gone with, in this case having it be Azriel, and he’d nearly snarled until Rhysand assured him that Azriel wasn’t the “ravishing type” (254)—although I think we can all agree that he most likely is, but wouldn’t even dream of it in terms of the state Elain was in at the time. Maybe it is the mating bond or maybe it’s both Elain and Azriel’s quiet personalities—or perhaps a combination of the two—but the shyness that has them looking at each other and then looking away continues. On page 467 of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian notes how Elain nods shyly towards Azriel, who in turn offers her a small smile that she quickly looked away from, prompting Cassian to be puzzled as he wondered, “Lucien was certainly not here to snarl at any male who looked at her for too long”. Elain doesn’t look away from Azriel because of the bond, but perhaps because she is well aware of her feelings for him and, for the moment, is too shy for them to be known, especially by Azriel.

The mating bond between Elain and Lucien does serve as a barrier between her and Azriel, though. This is particularly present during the Winter Solstice, when a layer of Azriel’s character specifically has been peeled back to show his feelings for Elain. Like on page 597, when Elain is laughing at Nesta, the older Archeron sister notes that “Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it”. And if that wasn’t enough, Nesta watches as Azriel’s “gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting”. This is perhaps the most prominent moment of both of their feelings being reciprocated by the other, because Nesta notices the way they look at one another, as if they both see past the person they put in front of everyone else and truly see the other. And even Nesta understands that there is something deeper between the two, even if they themselves haven’t figured it out yet, when she approaches Azriel where he stands by the doorway and, when asked why he doesn’t sit, responds with a “pretty lie” of his shadows not liking the fire. But Nesta looks to where Elain is the one sitting by the fire, and why Azriel chooses to stand as far as he can, because it is “his secret to tell. Never hers” (600). Just like that, Nesta is aware of Azriel’s feelings for her sister and, perhaps, her subtle way of comforting him was her showing her approval.

We get a deeper insight of this scene in Azriel’s bonus chapter—an entire chapter that allows readers to see exactly how he feels about Elain, and that she returns those feelings, too. It is confirmed that Azriel stands by the doorway, away from Elain, because Lucien is in the same room, and the sight and scent of their mating bond is one that Azriel cannot stand. Because the female he feels deeply for, according to fate, “belongs” to another male and he needs to put distance between himself and the two of them when they’re in the same room. Yet, the mating bond doesn’t prevent Azriel from thinking of Elain, from fantasizing about her every night. He goes from being shown as relieved when Rhys tells him he doesn’t have to buy the sisters presents for the Winter Solstice in A Court of Frost and Starlight, to actively buying her a beautiful flower necklace that she would no doubt love. Their secret exchanging of gifts leads to an epic, steamy, full-of-yearning almost first kiss that shows so clearly that Azriel’s feelings for Elain aren’t unrequited, that she, just like him, is desperate to give into what’s been brewing between them for so long. Yet it’s all cut short when Rhys interrupts Azriel, reminding him of a mating bond that Azriel’s painfully aware of—and confidently willing to pull Elain away from if Lucien decides to invoke the Blood Duel. Azriel’s questioning of the cauldron, wondering why it picked three sisters and had two of them end up with his brothers while the last remaining one was mated to another, is not him declaring that he has a right to Elain. This is him questioning the powers and forces that no one truly understands, this is him questioning from a place of heartbreak, wondering why, yet again, he was the one left behind. It happened when his father imprisoned him, forcing Azriel to delay in his training as an Illyrian, it happened when the female he spent centuries loving never once returned the same kind of love, and now it’s happening again. Azriel does not believe he deserves Elain—it goes against his character, because he is self-deprecating, does not think he truly deserves anything good and worthy. He is simply questioning why his choice doesn’t ever seem to matter, and why Elain is yet again left having her decisions being taken away from her.

Because the matter of choice is a prevalent, significant theme for the two of them. For Elain, she was never allowed to truly make a choice in her life. Her mother’s death, her family falling into poverty, turning into High Fae, losing Graysen, the mating bond, her father’s death—these were all huge, significant life changing moments that she had no say in and was forced to endure, completely upending who she was and how she lived. But there is one choice Elain can make, and that is to reject the mating bond with Lucien. There are so many examples throughout the books where Elain turns away from Lucien; she doesn’t express any interest in him—it’s like he doesn’t even exist to her. There is utter indifference on her end, despite any effort made by Lucien, and that in itself is Elain choosing to all but formally reject the bond, however that may come about. There is a moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin in chapter 54 when Elain, while pleading with Graysen, claims, “I belong to no one. My heart belongs to you” (498). Of course, Azriel has nothing to do with what Elain was saying at the time, but her declaration of this speaks to her character and how dearly she holds onto the idea of being with someone of her own choosing, with someone she loves. This can further be developed into the idea that although fate, the cauldron, the Mother may have chosen Lucien for Elain—a pairing that can, ultimately, be ill-chosen—Elain would not give it the time of day unless it’s what her heart wants. And from what we have seen so far, her heart wants Azriel. She chooses Azriel over Lucien, and that holds significant weight to her and, I imagine eventually, to Azriel as well.

Azriel, who has not been other people’s choice. Azriel, who was imprisoned by his own father, who was rejected by the Illyrians. Azriel, who has spent five centuries loving Mor, who will never love him the way he did her. And it’s saying something, isn’t it, that he has finally stopped yearning for her, and that it was Elain who he is enraptured by? Even Cassian noted that the way Azriel used to look at Mor have become few and far in between, telling the audience that the spymaster has finally begun to move on, or already has, from Mor. And Elain wanting to kiss Azriel confirms to him, in particular, that he is her choice as well. And she is his, as further confirmed when Azriel tells Rhys he has no problem engaging in the Blood Duel with Lucien if it means freeing Elain from a bond she doesn’t want, and allowing them both to dive into the choices they clearly want to make.

Truthfully, there are many examples throughout the books where I can talk about Elain rejecting Lucien. She cringed away from the very first time he touches her in ACOMAF—though, granted, it happens right after she comes out of the cauldron. She is unsettled when Lucien tugs on their bond, saying that it felt as though he pulled on a thread connecting to a rib, which sounds painful and nothing like the comforting bond readers have seen between Feyre and Rhys. Elain doesn’t buy Lucien any presents for solstice, and the first present he got her, gardening gloves to prevent her hands from tearing, are ones she doesn’t use. Because she would much rather feel her hands get torn up while she’s working in her garden, uncaring if they scar, which in turn is a reminder of Azriel’s scarred hands and how she found them beautiful. And for those who wonder about Azriel giving the necklace he got for Elain to Gwyn, it is important to note that he tells Clotho to give it to any priestess who would want it, and merely mentions Gwyn by name because he trained her, because he was the one who rescued her after an attack, and she is the one he knows most familiarly by name because of it. At the end of it, Azriel only wanted the necklace gone because he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember that the female he wants, wants him back just as much, but he was all but forbidden to pursue her. Once again, a choice that was taken away from him, and giving the necklace away is far easier than keeping it and remembering how he couldn’t be with Elain. At least for now.

Throughout the novels, there are many symbols that hint towards Elain and Azriel being together, but that is a paper for another day. This one’s goal was to simply point out the many physical and emotional indicators of the way the two of them are drawn to one another, despite the obstacles that are thrown their way—the biggest one being the mating bond no one asked for. There is comfort in the relationship they have, an ease you wouldn’t expect someone with Elain’s light to find in Azriel’s darkness. He offers her comfort in shy smiles and soft looks, and Elain does the same for him, which we see in the act of his shadows disappearing around her. These very shadows provided him comfort when he needed them, were his friends in his prison, and them leaving him when Elain is around is a sign of the contentment Azriel feels, because he doesn’t have to protect himself in her presence. Azriel loved Mor, and it has been noted that he lights up when she is around, and Elain is the only other person he reacts similarly to—because Elain is who he wants now that he has moved on from Mor. It’s important, isn’t it, that Elain is who pulls Azriel away from the centuries-long love he’d been lost in? That she is who he looks for, thinks about, wonders after?

Elain has found comfort in Azriel’s darkness, and he has found peace in her light, and so how could they not defy what’s been expected of them and rewrite fate to fit the choices they make themselves?

[lepusrufus]

Teeny little drabble because writing angry Mia is always such a joy. Ft a very messy sketch bc I'm slightly burnt out and can't be bothered with more detailed things.

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Miranda was extremely close to making a comment on how Mia's pacing back and forth would tear a hole through her living room carpet. The fact that it was mildly amusing kept her mouth shut, for the time being.

The woman was angrily muttering at herself while occasionally checking her phone, and who could blame her, really. She packed her things and all but ran away with her daughter the day prior, only to wake up exhausted and with a plethora of missing calls and vaguely threatening messages from the BSAA. Miranda wasn't going to go back on her word, she did mean it when she told her that she was welcomed to come to the Village would the need for a safe place arise, but the situation had to be dealt with. Having armed agents at her doorstep and threatening the deal she carefully crafted not even six months ago was not an option.

She sighed when Mia stopped pacing only to narrow her eyes at a window, set off by the rustling of branches outside. "Nobody can cross the border if I don't allow it, calm down."

"Then there's no reason to deal with them," Mia snapped back.

Another sigh and a slight eye roll. "They can't come in but that means we're also trapped in here, Mia. This has to be solved."

"You do it then."

The phone that flew in Miranda's direction was caught without much effort, almost letting out a snort at the childish retaliation. Mia was notoriously good at avoiding anything that had to do with "bureaucratic bullshit", as she liked to put it, even back in their days at The Connections. She knew her way through it, just well enough to be able to duck her head, dodge some files that would then be left in her partner's care, and move on to the more hands-on tasks. Miranda would've called it idiocy in the past, but now she could recognise it as sheer stubbornness.

"Fine," she replied, already looking through the contacts and pressing on the name Chris.

Mia widened her eyes almost comically at the abrupt compliance. She almost expected the phone to be thrown back at her face. She almost hoped that'd happen instead.

It took a total of five seconds to get a reply, the dial tone barely having time to repeat itself twice. "Mia? Where are you are you-"

"It's me."

A long pause, that dragged on for entirely too much.

"Miranda?! Where's Mia and why the fuck do you have her?!"

" 'Have her' is barely the description I would use really," she replied, an amused smirk pulling at her lips. How some people could be so dense was beyond her.

"If you touch a single hair on her or Rose's-"

Miranda took the phone away from her ear, a muffled rant going on that she had grown bored of. She pushed the small device in Mia's hands with an eye roll. "Here, take it. Try not to make them drop a nuclear bomb on us."

And with that, she stepped past her, going to sit on the couch not too far behind them where both Eva and Rose were playing with a small mountain of plushies. She didn't quite feel like getting screaming in her ear first thing in the morning. Besides, no matter what was said here, she knew a meeting with the BSAA to discuss this would be in order soon, so this phone call was nothing but a pesky personal issue between the two of them.

"Yes?" Mia's voice was almost shaky, though most of it could be blamed on those who were meant to protect them getting on each and every single one of her nerves.

"Mia, why on earth are you there?"

"I really like not having a gun pointed at my daughter 24/7, you know," she replied, eyes narrowing.

"You know that's not true, it's just part of our protocol. Nobody wants to shoot Rose."

"Yeah well tell that to the fucking idiot that almost put a bullet through the both of us because she was a normal. Fussy. Baby." Her words were now coming through gritted teeth, probably in an attempt to not scare the two infants in her vicinity by yelling.

"... I'm sorry about that. We shouldn't have assigned a rookie to you two." A deep sigh could be heard through the phone, but it did little to placate Mia's anger.

"I don't care Chris! The BSAA fucked up and your little rebel parade is not gonna fix shit!" Then, three years of frustration just washed over her and crammed themselves into her thoughts and words, coming to drip out like acid. "We moved all the way here, we did everything you asked, even went through your stupid military training that you knew was useless. You owe me."

Chris paused for a moment. He was taking the anger thrown at him rather gracefully, all things considered. "Fine, whatever you like."

"What I like is not being a goddamn prisoner Chris. You can't do shit about Rose, you're not equipped for that whether you want to admit it or not. You know who is though? Miranda!" Her words were accompanied by an angry gesture towards the other woman, who simply chuckled. She was right. "I'm not going back."

"Mia you can't stay there-"

"Book a meeting with the BSAA." She looked at a calendar hanging on the wall. "Thursday. At the southern edge of the border. I'm not coming back with you and god help you if you fucking try anything."

And then she hung up before any reply could come. She was exhausted and mad beyond belief, having spent almost six months under constant surveillance and surrounded by people that were ready to shoot both of them at the drop of a pin. Not to mention the plethora of medication meant to suppress the effects of the Mold.

She blinked in confusion when a mug was pushed in her field of vision. Apparently Miranda had gotten up sometime during the heated phone call and made tea, the sweet fruity aroma calming her nerves just a little.

She accepted the beverage and heard the other woman chuckle. "You have almost a week to prepare your speech, better make it a good one. Now come sit, I'm assuming you didn't get much sleep last night."

[bratkook]

one chance. (m) knj. teaser.

pairing. flash!namjoon x reader genre. fluff, angst, smut, superhero!au word count. approx 20k warnings. light hearted, some fighting (not graphic), mentions of character death (also not graphic...or permanent), mutual pining, namjoon is an adorably sweet dork !! smut: tbd as i write! but ofc filthy summary. namjoon knows he only has one chance to go back and make things right, but is he prepared to live with the potential consequences that his actions could cause? note. this was going to be part of a bts super hero collab that fell through (& i hope the author’s involved still post their fics) i’m about halfway through writing it and hope this will give me the motivation to finish it lmao. i might do a tag list if anyone is interested?? lmk muah.

The searing pain is felt before Namjoon even hits the floor, shooting down his fingertips when he attempts to move them, making his shoulder ache with each breath he takes. The plastic drums he had just collided into—an impact at a speed they weren’t designed to withhold—lay tattered in bits and chunks all around him, cold water that would typically be held inside them now spilled out and soaking into his suit. 

A hiss escapes his lips as he remains on the wet floor, already hearing the rushing footsteps approaching him. “It’s broken!” he shouts out, wincing when he once again attempts to move his arm. “Why isn’t it healing if it’s broken?”

When you and Hoseok finally reach him, you breathe a sigh of relief. From the absolute chaos his crash had caused, you were expecting to see him a lot more battered and bruised. Instead he lay on his side, hand gently cradling his aching shoulder with a grimace on his face. 

“Holy shit, that was awesome.” Hoseok barely spares a glance at Namjoon, overstepping him to assess the damage caused, tapping away at the screen of his tablet as he does so, checking the speed data he had captured. 

“You told me these would hold,” Namjoon grumbles, foot kicking a nearby scrap of plastic, another groan leaving him when his shoulder throbs. 

“That was just a guess.” Hoseok brushes him off, continuing to type away as he circles the crash scene. He only approaches Namjoon to pluck the Go-pro off his head, pocketing it with a sheepish smile on his face. 

With a subtle eye roll, you’re crouching down to meet Namjoon’s body, hands gently reaching out to see what the problem was. He lets his hand fall from it’s protective position, eyes squeezing shut as he waits for the burst of pain to come, jaw clenching when your fingers press along his shoulder, clearly feeling the way it had popped out of place. 

“It’s not healing because it’s not broken.” Namjoon finally opens his eyes now, peering up at you and gulping when he realizes just how close you are. He can clearly see the worry in your eyes as you try to see just how bad it is, a crease between your brows that he wants to rub out with the pad of his thumb, small frown on your lips that only makes him feel worse for going against your warning of this being a bad idea. 

A small huff spills from your lips once you realize you won’t be able to help him until you’re back at the lab without this suit—a suit that Hoseok calls his pride and joy—covering him up. “It’s dislocated. You probably tore some ligaments and tendons, but those will heal up just fine once we pop it back into place.”

“Wait, is that gonna hurt?” he whines out, huffing out the strands of his brown hair that had fallen over his face and gasping in pain when you purposely prod at the swollen joint with a small glare. 

“I’ll make sure it does so you remember to never go against my warnings.”

“Oh god, you’re doing this on purpose!” Namjoon yells, sat on the cold chair, knees pulled up as he braces for the pain. 

“I told you I was,” you smirk, extending his arm out, hands placed against his palm with the other on his trap muscle to get a good grip. The loose threads of his suit tickle his skin, a product of you cutting the fabric to double check that the only thing wrong was in fact his dislocated shoulder. 

Did you actually have to cut it? No. This was just your childish way of getting back at Hoseok for convincing Namjoon to do this. 

The grimace never leaves his face as you stretch the limb out, twisting it slowly to the right angle before pulling back with a slight pop once it settles back into its rightful spot. 

He feels the relief instantly, tense muscles relaxing as he sags back into the chair, face no longer contorted in pain when you gently lower his arm. Namjoon swears he’s never felt better, already able to lift his arms as if nothing ever happened, the torn tendons quickly repaired and back to normal thanks to his regenerative ability.  

“Good to go. If you pop it out of place again you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”

“Yeah right. I’ll just have Hoseok do it for me.”

Right on cue, a crash sounds out behind you, followed by a shout and an apology as Hoseok picks up whatever gadget he was currently working on. 

“You sure about that?” you question with a smug smile, crossing your arms under your chest as you step back. As smart and helpful as Hoseok was, his mind was far too focused on the technology surrounding him. If Namjoon seriously injured himself, the only person who would know what to do, was you. 

He knew this, and sometimes he liked that fact, not opposed to the way you’d constantly worry about him—totally choosing to ignore the reason why you did so was because it was your job. That tiny factor in the equation was tucked into the back of his mind. His small crush was innocent, and if looking forward to seeing what color lipstick you’d wear that day helped him deal with getting poked, questioned, and forced to run on a treadmill to document his speed, then that's fine by him. 

“I won’t dislocate my shoulder again. I promise.” 

Something about the smile on his face does nothing to ease your worry, and as Hoseok emerges from his room with a giddy laugh, you feel the need to pry. 

“What the hell were you trying to do anyway?”

“I think we’re close!” Hoseok announces, your question being brushed aside as he thrusts his tablet into Namjoon’s now fully mobile arms. The only thing lighting up the screen is a skew of numbers along with a diagram and some fancy looking animated figure that slightly resembled himself. It meant nothing to Namjoon so he doesn’t bother trying to decipher it, looking back up at Hoseok with a confused expression. 

“I don’t think me making those plastic drums explode got us any closer.” A small shiver courses through him as he recalls the pain from his shoulder once more. 

“Oh yeah, that was pointless. But I think I figured out another way.” Hoseok grabs the tablet once more, tapping a few more times before another animation fills the screen. Peering over his shoulder you spot what it is, a golden animation of what looks to be a treadmill, swirls flowing on either side of them that you believe to represent wind. 

“Another way for what?” You question again, not liking the sly look on Hoseok’s face. 

“Time travel.” He says it so casually, not even sparing you a glance as he flips the tablet over to show Namjoon. 

That wasn’t what you were expecting. When you had walked in on Hoseok pitching the idea to Namjoon, wanting to document his full speed, push it further to see what more he was capable of, you thought it was just to gather information to help when it came to figuring out a plan of action the next time a meta-human decided to torment the city. 

“Time travel?” you repeat, a displeased look on your face that Namjoon spots instantly. The small wrinkle between your brows is back and he can’t even allow himself to find it adorable because the small glare you were giving Hoseok changes course and stares directly at him. 

“Yeah,” he quietly admits, pressing his lips together gently. His saving grace comes in the form of his phone ringing loudly, cutting through the tense silence and making him jolt in his seat, hands fumbling for the device.

He has never been more thankful to get a call from work, your scolding being directed at Hoseok now, but Namjoon can hear it through his current conversation. The worried tone in your voice is clear as you question Hoseok’s sanity, stating how dangerous time travel could be in the grand scheme of things. Hoseok can only stumble over his words, flustered at being on the receiving end of your lecture. 

Namjoon ends the phone call right on time to hear you shout, “Are you trying to start World War three?!”

“I gotta go…” he whispers, slowly sliding off the chair trying to be as quiet as possible, hoping he wouldn’t be detected. But before he can flash out of there, you’re looking at him again. 

“Not so fast.” He freezes instantly, hands lifted up in front of him. “We’re not done talking about this—“

“I know, but I gotta go. I do have an actual job after all.”

Hoseok glares at Namjoon, “So you’re gonna leave me here to get yelled at...alone?”

Namjoon gives him a guilty smile, shrugging and mumbling out a quick apology before bolting out of there—literally. Your hair flows up at the speed, Hoseok’s shirt flapping wildly, and nearby documents scatter around from the gust of air he had caused. The only thing left behind is the red suit draped across the chair he had been sitting on, flashing out of it and into his regular clothes before leaving to work. 

“What was the Gopro for?” you question. As much as you didn’t like the idea of time travel, you were slightly curious about the entire situation. 

“Just thought it’d be sick to film it. Like imagine if it actually works and we have solid proof?” Hoseok’s eyes glimmer at the prospect of it all, tapping at the screen to replay the footage captured earlier. The two of you have front row seats of Namjoon’s earlier crash, and seeing the chaos along with hearing Namjoon’s grunts of pain a second time makes you glare at Hoseok once again. 

You reach forward and grab the discarded red suit from the chair, balling it up and tossing it at Hoseok’s face. “Patch it up. I had to rip the sleeve to properly see his shoulder.”

He whines loudly as he peels the material off of his face, fingers clutching the precious suit and gasping when he spots the torn area. “You monster!”

[beskarhearts]

Scars (Din Djarin x reader)

Connection series pt. 4

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, mention of family members passing away, scars, torture from empire, some sexual tension

Word count: A little over 4.8K

Summary: The Mandalorian sees a part of you that you’ve been hiding and comforts you.

Notes:  Did I listen to drivers license by olivia rodrigo on repeat while writing this and tear up at least two times? Yes. Is this possibly the saddest thing I’ve written yet? Yes.

Last Part ____ Next Part

__________________________________________________________

“If you don’t take off your jacket and sweater, I will.”

And that is when you realized that everything the Mandalorian says sounds 20x more sexual than it ever should.

________________________________

You’ve said it once. And you will say it a hundred more times.

The Razor Crest was a hunk of junk. A total piece of trash. It may as well had been space garbage, just floating through the atmosphere. You swore it was a metal death trap that could just happen to fly through light speed. You told Din to get a new ship and he had very sassily remarked about how she was perfectly fine (yes, he referred to his stupid ship as a ‘she’ and you couldn’t stop laughing about it for five minutes straight).

Regardless of Din’s arguing, you knew deep down the ship was junk. And that is why you had to stop (again). You had rushed to fix the wing on the planet where you had been attacked and it’s been a couple days since then. It held up okay but you knew you were going to have to stop on a planet for probably a whole day, so you could fix the wing, as well as the heater which had broken down in the last day.

So you and Din had planned to stop on a remote planet. One without a lot of humans or any big civilizations near by, that way you wouldn’t have another surprise visitor like last time. One where you could fix the ship and where Din could take a day to relax, to sit back and not worry about the safety of you and the kid. To be honest, it sounded like a great day to you. You would keep busy with the ship, but Din would watch over the kid and talk to you. It would be like how life used to be almost. A taste of normalcy in an otherwise hectic world.

And then Din landed you in the middle of the damn desert.

“Din Djarin, when I said land on a planet, you couldn’t have chosen one with water or plants or nice, cool temperatures?” Din had just stepped back into the ship after checking the surroundings of where you had landed. His armored head faced you and the kid you had held in your arms. The child gurgled endlessly, his tiny fingers clutching onto the zipper of your jacket as you rocked him back and forth. 

“I’ve been to this planet before. There aren’t a lot of people. Worse there is are some Jawas. And Mudhorns, but they stick to the caves.”

“Mudhorns? Where are we?”

“Arvala-7. This is one of the first places the kid and I went together.” The Mandalorian walked towards the two of you, stopping right in front of you. One of his gloved hands reached out to pat at the kids head. The child’s attention drifted from your zipper to his father, a hand reaching out. Din wiggled one of his fingers at the kid, something you don’t even think he realized he did, and watched as the three green digits wrapped around his finger. You smiled at the sight before you, looking at Mando’s helmet which was tilted down, aimed towards the child. The moment felt so domestic, like you three were just a little family. You and Din parenting the kid, living life traveling through the galaxy, not because you had to run but because you wanted to. You could’ve easily let yourself drift into the daydream but shook it away. That was a reality a person like you could never have. A reality that Din deserved and maybe could have one day, but with someone else. Someone who was worthy of a man like him. 

“Well, I am so glad you and the kid are going to take a trip down memory lane here but I am going to die from the heat.” You heard the Mandalorian chuckle as his hands reached out to grab the child. You handed him over to his dad’s arms, which the kid seemed to very pleased about. You could tell that the kid liked his father’s embrace, even though most of his body was covered in beskar. He liked to be held by Din and lately you had been wondering what that would feel like. For his strong arms to wrap around you. 

Lately you had been thinking a lot of things about the Mandalorian that you shouldn’t have.

“Didn’t you grow up on Jakku? That place is even hotter than here.” The words were said with a hint of sarcasm, as his helmet turned as if to said ‘duh’. 

“Yes but that was different.”

“How? Just take off some layers and you’ll be fine.” 

He said it very matter-of-factly and you supposed that was a reasonable thing for most people to do. Most of the time when you were on Jakku, outside working, you would only wear a pair of cargo shorts and a tank top with a work vest. Light layers that kept you cool and allowed your skin to be kissed by the sun as you worked away on a ship. You remembered spending hours upon hours outsides, never being bothered once by the heat and desert environment. 

But things were different. You had lived on Yungbrii for so long now that you were used to the cold. And you always wore your sweater, with a jacket over it. Taking those off weren’t an option anymore. Wearing just the tank top underneath them wasn’t an luxury you could afford anymore. 

“I have a shirt you can borrow if you need to.” Din broke your train of thought with the offer.

An offer that nearly made you lose it. You had never once thought of wearing a piece of Din’s clothing. Hadn’t ever crossed your mind or been mentioned. And you knew he was only offering it because the temperature outside, no other reason. Not because he wanted to see you in his clothing or anything like that. Just to be kind.  But, the thought of you wearing a shirt of Dins, something his skin had touched and probably smelled like him and would probably swallow you... made you feel some things. And a part of you really, really wanted to take him up on the offer. But that would show too much skin.

“No!” You had inadvertently yelled it out, watching as Mando’s helmet whipped up from the kid to you. “I mean... uh, yeah. No thanks. I’m good.”

“Uh, okay. Yeah.” 

An awkward silence filled the room until the kid let out a loud giggle. You swear the little womp rat could tell when you had just done some dumb shit and always thought it was the funniest thing in the whole damn galaxy. You scrunched up your nose as the kids big black eyes looked up at you and you turned to look away from him and Din. 

You needed to ease the tension. “Don’t you get hot in the giant tin can of yours?” 

You couldn’t tell if Din found the tin can jokes funny or insulting, but every-time you made them he let out a little huff, one you couldn’t decipher as a laugh or a sigh. It was one of those times you wished you could see him face. You had gotten pretty used to reading him, despite the helmet and his quiet demeanor. But times like these you wish you could see an expression, an eyebrow raise, a smile, anything. “Sometimes.”

“I’d imagine you are sweating buckets under there.” You walked towards the bag you had stuffed in a corner of Din’s ship, reaching into it to grab your father’s box of tools. The cool touch of the metal against your fingers made a pain spread throughout your whole body. The tools were the only thing you had left of him. The only reminder that he had existed and that he had been there for you every day. The only reminder of the hours he spent teaching you about ships and how to fix them, ever since you were only a tiny little girl. Your mother thought you would be preoccupied with more feminine things. But even at a young age, you loved the feel of metal against your fingers, the sweat that would collect on your brow from the sun, the ache of your muscles from a hard days work. It gave you purpose, meaning. It was a way to help and to contribute. And all you had ever wanted to do was help your family, even in the end. 

But you had failed to do that.

You heard the clanking of Din’s boots behind you and he stopped behind you, bending down at the knees. If he didn’t have his helmet on, you probably could have felt his breath on the back of your neck, but now you only heard the sound of his breathing through the modulator. It was faint but it was there. “You okay?”

You could of broke down sobbing at the moment. At your father’s tools in your hand and Din’s worry about you. But, instead you shook your head and stood up, looking down at him still bent down. “I’m getting there.”

And it was true. For the first time in years, you felt like maybe one day you would be okay. That the pain wouldn’t be so gut-wrenching every day.

And that was only because of Din.

“I should probably get started on fixing the ship.” You gave the Mandalorian, your Mandalorian, a small smile and walked past him, outside of the ship.

_____________________________________

It was so hot.

You weren’t used to the heat anymore. You weren’t used to the way your sweat would seep out of every pore, drenching your clothes. You weren’t used to the fatigue that came along with a hard day’s work in the sun. And the sweater and jacket probably weren’t helping. But no way in hell were you going to take them off. No one was even around but Din kept walking back outside to check on you, probably cause your stupid ass was dying of heat exhaustion. 

Your sweater clung to your skin, the jacket slightly more durable but still trapping your body heat. You bent over a panel on the Razor Crest’s side, a tool tightly grasped in your hand as you worked away. The other hand reached up to wipe away at your forehead continuously. 

“You are going to kill yourself out here.”

Something you hated about the Mandalorian was that he could be so quiet sometimes and sneak up on you. The man was always covered in metal and you would think you would hear him from a mile away, but he could come up behind you without letting out a peep. Which made sense considering his job but it was so unnerving.

You jumped, turning to look at Din, who stood with his hands on his hips and his helmet tilted. “You look like shit.” The words were said gruffly, with an air of annoyance.

“Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.” You were almost too tired and hot to let the joke out, but you didn’t want Din to know how horrible you felt. Which was probably useless because you couldn’t even see yourself and knew Din was in fact correct: you did look like shit. Your skin was flushed red, your hair pulled into a ponytail but tiny wisps of hair clung to your head, wet from perspiration. 

“You need to take off some layers. You are overheating.”

“How do you know, sir?”

“My helmet can tell your internal body temperature.”

Of course it can. “Well that feels invasive.”

Din let out a loud sigh at that, one that was loud and clear through the modulator. You were driving him crazy but he didn’t understand. “You need to take them off.”

“Nope.” You let your lips pop out the word, going to turn away when you felt Din’s hand reach out and grab your arm. He turned you back to face him, stepping even closer.

“If you don’t take off your jacket and sweater, I will.”

And that is when you realized that everything the Mandalorian says sounds 20x more sexual than it ever should.

You thanked the Maker that your face was already a bright red from the sun and tried your best to not start choking on your own saliva from the words. On the list of things you thought Din Djarin would say to you, you never would have put ‘threatening to take your clothes off’. 

You blamed the modulator. Something about the modulator made his deep, raspy words sound sexier than they had any right to (not that you frequently thought that Din’s voice sounded sexy, because that would be weird and inappropriate).  And Din was saying this to try to convince you to stop killing yourself in this unbearable heat, but your stomach still clenched at the threat. 

Damn you, Din Djarin. You had to come up with a good come back. Something so he knew his words hadn’t effected you. 

“Well, Din, if you wanted to see me undressed this badly, you should of asked sooner.”

You expected Din to step back, mumbling some lame apology and leaving you be but your Mandalorian was much more determined than you realized. “Sweet girl, no snarky response is going to make me leave this be. You are gonna die out here.”

Oh boy. Of course he said sweet girl. He had said it once last night while you had a conversation (the same conversation where you had told him a little about your family) and you had lamely teased him about flirting. Maybe because you were secretly hoping he was flirting. And you were afraid you had scared him away from ever calling you that again, because you honestly loved the way it sounded. Sweet girl. It was such a sweet thing, made so much sense that Din would call you that. It made you feel special and made your hands tremble. 

Oh, now you had to come up with something really good. Because not only was Din trying to get your to take your sweater off, but now you swear the man was teasing you. There was no way he had no clue what he was doing. And you were the only one allowed to tease people here. So you had to come back with something really snarky, really teasing, that way he’d leave you alone and let you breathe.

But he didn’t give you time to do that because his gloved fingers started reaching for the shoulders of your jacket, so he could take it off of you. And while you were sure in any other situation, if you were any other person with any other life, you maybe just might of let Din continue, you had to stop it.

“I’ll take it off!” you yelled out.

Din ripped his hands away from you, looking down at them for a split second before dropping them down to his sides. He stepped back slowly, like he was unsure what to say or what to do with the tension in the environment. 

“I’ll take them off. But you can’t be out here. You need to stay in the ship.” You said the words slowly and watched as the Mandalorian nodded his head in response, before turning away without another word. 

You were confused. You didn’t know what had just happened. You didn’t know if the Mandalorian was angry with you or if he was reeling from what had just happened like you were. But you didn’t give yourself much more time to think before you took the jacket off, letting it drop to the ground. Your fingers reached for the hem of your sweater and with a shakey breath and one more look around your surroundings, you lifted the fabric over your head. Leaving you only in a jankily cut tank top, with the scars littered on your back and arms exposed. The very scars you had avoided looking at were out for the world to see for the first time since you got them.

________________________________________

The child was most definitely a womp rat. 

It was like he knew when it was not the time to mess around, and decided to mess around. You had been bent down, working away at a panel mindlessly, not paying much attention to your surroundings. You were so close to being done and were consumed in the final bits of work. And the child had made his way out of the ship, waddling up behind you, reaching for you without you being aware of it. You were lost in the gruel of work, in the warm feeling of the sun on your skin. You didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. Until you head the footsteps. 

You flipped around, looking over to the child and then hearing the Mandalorians boots pound on the ramp leading outside. The child let out a squeak at the sight of his dad and it was too late. Din’s head whipped to look over right as your turned around, desperately reaching for your jacket or sweater to cover your skin. You knew it wasn’t on purpose. You knew the kid had probably escaped and Din was just worried about him leaving the ship. You knew he was just worried about the kids whereabouts. It wasn’t malicious or an excuse to look. It was just happenstance but it was still too late. 

“I’m sorry. The kid was napping and I turned around and then he disappeared and-” You heard the abrupt pause in his babbling and knew he saw. Knew he saw the dozens of marks on your back and arms that faced him. Saw the scars that were an almost white color but still very apparent. Saw the scars you so desperately tried to cover. 

You slowly turned around, feeling your chest cave as this part of you was exposed. Tears pricked at your eyes as you saw Din look at you. The child cooed with curiosity, not quite understanding the gravity of the moment. “Who did this to you?”

You heard the tone of his voice loud and clear. He was angry and sounded like a man ready to kill. You knew he wouldn’t like seeing it but even you didn’t understand how much this hurt Din to see. To see his sweet one so hurt and scarred. To see that someone did something so awful to you, something you would always keep as a reminder. “Din-”

“Tell me who.” He wasn’t messing around. He didn’t want to hear you try to calm him or change the conversation. He wanted to know who was responsible for your pain.

You let out a sigh. “Let’s go inside.” 

You picked up the kid, cursing him mentally for being so curious, and your other hand reached for your box of tools until you saw the Mandalorian reach for them. He followed you as you walked up the ramp, into the Razor Crest. You set the child into his little hammock, handing him one of his small toys to keep him preoccupied as the Mandalorian closed the hatch, locking out the outside world. The world that had caused you and him so much pain. You were back in your ship, your bubble where there was joy and love.

“Who did that to you?” He repeated, more evenly but you still heard the rage dripping off his words. His fists were clenched tightly and his helmet was aimed right towards you. You couldn’t see his eyes but you felt like they were burning into your skin.

“This Imperial leader...” You took a deep breath in and out before continuing. “When they found my family, my grandmother wasn’t anywhere around. And they wanted her most. So, they tortured me, hoping I would give up her location. But, I didn’t know and now... I’ve got this ugly, horrible reminder.”

The air was heavy around you as a single tear slipped out. Din didn’t say anything or move. Even the child sat quietly in his hammock, big eyes staring at the two of you. You went to finally put your sweater on when Din finally interrupted with a small “Wait.”

You looked up at the man in front of you. Din brought his hands together, slowing taking off one of his gloves finger by finger until he switched to take the other off. “Do you trust me?” 

You didn’t have to think about it. You just responded with a nod of the head and watched as Din dropped the gloves and slowly stepped towards you, like you were an injured animal he didn’t want to scare away. You still held the sleeve of your sweater limply in one hand, the rest of the fabric resting on the floor of the ship. Part of you still wanted to crawl into it, hide yourself, and pretend Din hadn’t seen a thing. But it was too late for that and in all honesty, you trusted Din Djarin so much. It had only been a matter of maybe a few months since you had joined him and the kid. But it felt so much longer. It had been the first time in so long that you felt safe and cared about, and you didn’t know how Din felt but you hope he shared the same feelings.

You almost gasped when Din’s hand reached out to grab your arm. It was surprisingly gentle, his fingers felt like they were just barely holding on to you. His fingertips were calloused but not rough. They gently traced the bare skin of your arm, one hand holding your wrist and the other beginning to dance along your skin. Din raised his helmet to look at you quickly and you nodded, letting him know what he was doing was okay. Not just okay, but welcomed. Din’s helmet turned back down to your arm as he watched his fingers trace the warm, sun kissed flesh.

Din’s fingers ran up the length of your arm, going from the forearm to your bicep. He moved your wrist slowly in the opposite direction, wanting you to turn around. You slowly turned, no longer facing the Mandalorian. His hands dropped from your arms and part of you wanted to whine at the lost of contact. But then Din moved your hair gently in front of your shoulders and you knew he now had a complete view of your back, besides the flimsy fabric of your tank top. His fingers returned to your skin, this time each one  to each of your shoulders. You closed your eyes, trying to hold back tears, as you felt one of Din’s fingers trace one of your scars. It sent a spark through your body. His touch was so gentle and so kind and it was like he was purifying the marks, no longer making them something so ugly and twisted. The skin to skin contact was minimal, but so electrifying and warm. It made your whole chest feel warm and you realized you had never had someone do something for this like you. You never had someone take your broken pieces and try to make you whole. Nobody had ever treated you so gently because you didn’t let this part of you show. 

But with Din it was so easy to. And so safe. 

“Sweet girl...” He barely whispered the words, but you heard them as he continued to work all over your back. 

A tear slipped down your cheek at the name, the name he made for you. A name you didn’t have to ask for and didn’t expect. But one he gave you, to make you feel cared for because that you deserved. And Din knew that. 

“Din...” You didn’t really have anything to say but you just wanted to feel his name slip from your lips. It was so comforting.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?”

___________________________________

Din sat in the cockpit with the child in the seat beside him, bundled up and asleep, as she took a shower. His hands were still shaking and his gloves were back on but his fingers felt like they were burning. He had stood there, probably for a good hour, just touching her skin. He didn’t even know why he had done it. Why that had seemed like a good idea for him to do. For all he knew, the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to touch him. But, as soon as he grabbed onto her skin with his bare hands, he felt himself melt into and felt like maybe she had too. 

The moment had been so vulnerable. She stood there, scars and all, and let herself be consoled by him. And he was vulnerable too. He exposed himself a little bit to her, letting himself delve into every part of her. She was so soft but so strong. He never doubted once her ability to protect herself and the kid. He didn’t think she was fragile. He just saw she was a human being, one who needed to be shown how perfect they were. How beautiful they were.

Because, Maker, she was so beautiful to him. Every part of her was perfect to him. And all he wanted was to show her that.

His train of thought was broken as he turned his head, listening as she made her way up the ladder to the cockpit. She stepped in and Din swore he could have stayed in this moment forever.

"I, uh, hope you don’t mind. I borrowed one of your shirts.”

Din didn’t mind at all. The sight of her in one of his shirts nearly gave him a heart attack but he still didn’t mind. The shirt was slightly too big on her, swallowing most of her midsection but fell by her thighs. Her hair was still damp from her shower and he was used to it being up in a pony tail. But now it fell down her shoulders and back. 

He realized he was staring at her and cleared his throat quickly. “No. Not at all.” He gave her a small smile without even thinking about the helmet blocking his face and felt silly. She couldn’t see his face but he could look at her whenever he wanted, bask in her beauty and warmth. 

“So, where are we going now?”

When she had been showering, Din had left Arvala-7 and put the Crest into hyperdrive. He had something that he wanted to do. Something he felt he needed to do. “Navarro.”

Her eyebrows scrunched up a little, in a way that Din adored. “Why Navarro?”

“I have something I have to do there. It will just be a quick stop.” He hoped his answer left little room for questions or further conversation and was content when she nodded and walked closer to him. 

“Okay.” She paused, looking over at the sleeping child and smiled at the sight. Din loved seeing her with the kid. She was tough but with the kid, she was so maternal. He could see how much they loved each other. It made him so happy that the kid had someone else beside him, someone who he could look at as a mother. “I should probably get him to bed.”

“Yeah. You need some sleep too. You worked hard today.”

“It was honestly kind of nice, working on the ship. Felt like the old days a little.” Her gaze drifted back to him, a warm smile still on her face. “Din, I just wanted to say-” She paused, seeming to fumble for words but he stopped her.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Din saw her turn, arms reaching out for the child when she suddenly dropped them and turned around. She stood in front of Din, looking down at his helmet which was tilted up at her. She paused before slowly lowering her head down, laying her forehead against his helmet with eyes closed. Din could tell she was shaking a little but he just reached forward and grabbed her wrist. His thumb drew small circles.

Din was pretty certain that she didn’t know what a keldabe kiss was or the importance of it. As far as he was aware, she had a very limited knowledge of Mandalorians and was always willing to learn. But her not being aware of how monumental this moment was for Din was almost even better. The fact that she was making him feel so cherished without realizing showed how good of a person she truly was.

She eventually pulled away with a shy smile and Din dropped her wrist lightly. She turned around, grabbing the bundle the child was in, and turned towards him one last time. “Goodnight, Din.”

“Goodnight, sweet one.”

Din watched as she walked away with the kid in her arms, going down to the hull of the Crest. And that was when he realized something.

This must be what falling in love feels like. 

[murderdaddymayhem]

Trapped - Mark Hoffman x Reader [NSFW]

Hoffman has feelings for Strahm's fiance. Now that Strahm is dead, you struggle with returning those feelings just for the night.

Set in between Saw V and VI. Please visit the ao3 link for full tags.

“Hey. You left something by the coffee machine.”

You look up, and see Detective Hoffman holding your engagement ring. “Oh,” you smile. “How do you know it’s mine?”

“I guess I look at your fingers a lot,” he jokes, tossing it to you. You slide it back on.

“Do you? How’s this one look?” You playfully flip him off, and he manages as much of a chuckle as the stoic man ever could.

“I’ve sure seen that one more than the others.”

You return the ring to your finger, sliding it on and sitting back down at your desk.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Hoffman mentions, “Wanna come?” You normally wouldn’t join the rest of the officers after hours, but you had been making more of a solid effort to go out and enjoy yourself now that the initial sting of Peter’s death had subsided for you. You tilt your head. 

“Is Lindsey gonna be there? Matthews?”

“Yeah. Sing, Tapp. Everyone’s going.”

“Sure. I’ll be there,” you nod.

“Great.” He looks like he wants to say something else, and eventually closes with, “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

You look down to the paperwork on your desk, and back up to return with a quip, but Hoffman’s gone. You spend longer than you should looking out your door, mindlessly counting the number of steps it takes him to get back to his own office as if you hadn’t already memorized it.  

Mark sits down at his desk. He’d always had a thing for you. He’d been jealous of Strahm, not only in his stellar reputation with the guys, but of his pretty wife and his perfect life. Mark may have seemed like the handsome hero everyone dreamed of, but in reality, he was a pitiable alcoholic whose sole personality trait was mourning.

If you ever did return his feelings, it would probably be because you pitied him for the loss of his sister, which hurt more than the bindings John had put him in that first day of initiation. He only wanted one thing, really. Maybe two, the first being justice. True justice. As for the second, it's not viable to have you in the position he's in, but his tendency to run from his emotions is being put to the test by your acceptance of his invitation. 

 When you get to the bar you and everyone at the station frequent after work, Hoffman’s sitting there. Within a half an hour, it’s become apparent the others aren’t coming... and were never coming.

“You invited me out under false pretences,” you say, accepting your drink of choice from the bartender with a nod. “Why?”

“I told you, the others didn’t show.”

“I work for the FBI, and you’re a detective. You’re honestly trying to lie to me?”

Hoffman considers this, purses his lips. “Not very well thought out on my part, I guess.”

“What, did you want to talk to me about a case?” you ask. “Something about today’s paperwork?”

“You know I don’t want to talk about that crap. I wanted to ask you how you were,” he corrects you, taking another generous sip of his second double vodka of the night. “All these months later. Treat you to a night off.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Right.” You’re quiet for a moment. “I’m okay. I haven’t really said it out loud yet, but I think I am.” You debate opening up, but you know he’s also lost someone, so you take a chance. “I feel bad when I forget him.”

“Yeah. I know how it feels to forget. My sister was a huge part of my life, and I never thought I could. And I can’t. Difference is, I try to forget.” You stay quiet, ruminating on the reminder of Mark’s dead sister. He didn’t talk about her often for that reason you suppose, but everyone who knew Hoffman knew he was the way he was because of her death. “You’re not wearing your wedding band,” he mutters, starting in on his third drink.

“I lost it,” you whisper.

“Like you lost it by the coffee machine today?”  

You avert your eyes down to your lap. “Maybe you’re not the only one who tries to forget.” Silence passes between you as you explain. “Looking at it opens up old wounds. Keeping the past in the past is my way of dealing with it. He’s gone. If I think about how awfully he died, how scary his last seconds were, it’ll be like it happened yesterday... and I’ll have to start the process again.” You shove your hand down into your pocket, unwilling to study your bare ring finger any longer. “The past is as tangible as the future, detective. If I can’t feel it, it’s not there.”

“You think denying it’s gonna help you in the long run?”

You frown, looking up at him. “Nobody’s denying anything.” Blinking as if in slow motion, Mark gets up and tosses money down for the two of you. He takes your arm and leads you out of the bar, into the cool night air. Confused and more than a little angry, you jerk your arm away. “Why did you invite me for drinks?”

“I wanted to offer my condolences. Again.”

“Bullshit. It’s been 4 months and you haven’t once said you’re sorry he died in one of John Kramer’s sick traps. I know you two weren’t close, but why wait this long? What do you really want?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Look me in the face and tell me one thing tonight that isn’t a lie,” you demand. Mark turns to you fully.

“Okay. I want to fuckin’ kiss you.”

You hesitate. That was the opposite of what you were expecting. You try and find words as Mark stares at you with that dark gaze, those eyes that seemed to linger in your mind now that you were lonely and no longer trapped under the weight of a lacklustre partnership.

“So? What’s stopping you?” You can never tell what’s going on behind those eyes; he guards his feelings and he guards his secrets. You know he has more secrets than the average man, but he’s a detective. How bad can they be?

“You want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.” He advances, walking you back against the brick wall of the alley no doubt filled with the scum John had him abduct for his games. “Huh? You want me to kiss you how you’re used to? Kiss you like it’s an obligation? Like it’s what people expect me to do?” Your eyes start to prick with tears as Hoffman brushes your hair out of your face. “You want me to tell you I love you like a man who’s only true obsession is a serial killer he couldn’t begin to understand?”

“Hoffman, Peter—”

“Don’t say his name,” he mutters, “You’ll cut the wound wide open again, sweetheart.” He presses his lips against yours, and you feel your body release all of its tension. He kisses like Strahm’s antithesis—like he knows what he’s doing. He’s rough and he’s present, nothing like how you’d imagined the cold detective would. Peter had tried, but as much as he wanted to be, he hadn’t loved you as much as that damn case. Hoffman adversely seemed to care about anything but, even though he was in charge of it. You used to think everything was a façade for Hoffman, that appearances were everything. Façades have to crumble sometime.

  By the time you had arrived at his apartment with him in the passenger’s seat, the full effects of the detective’s four double vodkas had set in. He tries to maintain his sense of self until the elevator, then down the hall and into his place.

“Shit,” Mark grunts, sliding your jacket off, “I want you.”

“No you don’t.”

He licks his lips. “Wanna bet?”

“You’re drunk, and we’re colleagues,” you mutter. “You’re gonna walk into work tomorrow morning and you’re not going to be able to look me in the eye.”

“What, after taking you on every surface of my apartment?” he mutters, lips dipping dangerously close to your neck. “Your pussy isn’t gonna shock me. Yours isn’t the first I’ve seen, but it’s sure as hell on my list.” You try once more to push him off, and he tries to stand wearily. His brown eyes blink a few times, and he shakes his head. “Fuck. Sorry.” He lets go of you, backs off. You realize your mistake, and take him by his lapels.

“Are you?”

He looks back up at you, and through your shared gaze, he sees his own arousal reflected in your eyes. His lips are back on you, finally touching your skin, and his hands roam under your top, up to cup your breasts and paw for the hooks of your bra.

“Around the back,” you whisper against his lips. In his drunken state, Hoffman misinterprets this to mean you want to be turned around, and you find yourself pressed against the wall as his hands massage your ass. A moan slips from you as you try to reach back. “I meant the bra.”

“Fuck,” he repeats again, slightly slurred, and reaches up to take it off of you. It drops down one arm, and Mark turns you around again to take your top off and release the garment from your sleeve. “This is what I’ve been fuckin’ missing?” he mutters, half to himself. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Tell me more?” you ask coyly, wrapping arms around his neck. He growls, picking you up by the ass so your legs can wrap around his hips.

“You don’t even wanna know the shit I fantasize about with you,” he mumbles, grinding himself between your legs.

“Wanna bet?” you volley back his line with a grin, and he scoffs, working down your panties as you reach a hand forward to tease him through his business casual pants. The feeling of his bulge grounds you in the reality that yes, Mark Hoffman does want you back. He wants to fuck you in his apartment, and he wants to do it now.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to tell you that, honey.” He presses a soft kiss to the curve of your jaw and slides your panties off, dropping them and rubbing his fingers back up your thighs and beneath the plush seat of your ass. His fingertips are oddly rough, for a detective who hasn’t seen field work in three months.

“What’s your secret, Hoffman?” you ask, and he uses one hand to stroke up the column of your neck.

“Gonna have to fuck me to find out.”

The two of you move over to his couch, Hoffman attempting to lift you over. His state tells you this is a bad idea, so you just pull him by his tie over, and push him down on the couch. He seems to like your show of control, eyes roaming up and down your body as you stand over him. “This feels a little unfair,” you whisper, lifting a hand up to squeeze your breast. Hoffman tears his eyes away from the action.

“What does?”

“Look at you,” you gesture to his fully clothed form, “And look at me.”

“Oh, I’m looking,” he nods, reaching down to squeeze himself. You get between his legs on the couch with a huff, and take over, unzipping his pants and giving him a better squeeze through his boxers. You can feel how hard he is, how large his bulge has grown. He grinds up into your hand, makes no move to undress himself any further.

“You’re selfish,” you mutter.

“I never said I was a nice guy,” he replies.

“You’re a detective.”

“Gray area.”

“For what?”

“My hobbies.”

“Which are?” You sit back on your heels for a moment. Hoffman seems to realize he was about to let something big slip, and your curiosity only grows as he cuts himself off.

“Shut up, will you? And kiss me.”

“That’s my line,” you groan, unbuckling his belt and sliding it out.

“I stole it.”

“You steal a lot?” you probe, hoping to uncover that elusive secret.

“Like I said,” he mutters, face still stone cold. “I’m not a nice guy.” You moan as he pulls you down against him, and moves his hand down to uncover his cock in a smooth movement of his hand. He groans as it grazes against your thigh and up to your pussy, and you lean down to kiss him again. His large hands reach up to your smooth naked back, clutching your body to his as he deepens the kiss. Your breath mingles as you pull away, vodka in his and the mint of chewing gum in yours.

“Condoms?” Mark reaches beside him to the coffee table, and pulls open a packet. Reaching between you two and keeping you held up with the ease of a strong bicep, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he rolls one onto his shaft—the feeling alone of his own hand on himself is enough to make him moan, but he keeps it together. You lift up to position yourself.  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

 “I’m ridiculously hard for you,” he replies, eyes half lidded and lips parted. “I think if you left me now, it would be the first time in my life I’ve cried.” You roll your eyes, and he sits you down on his cock. Your eyes roll back. He looked big when he first took himself out, but it was nothing compared to the feeling. He’s stretching you all the way to the base, hands tightening on your arms. He rocks up once, and you whine his name softly. “Can you move?” he whispers, slurring his words.

“Yeah.” You start to rock down, and his breath hitches. After a moment, he reaches his hands further back, feeling your ass and groping it before sliding them up to your lower back to guide your movements.

“So good,” he mumbles, “Never knew I wanted you... this fucking bad.”

“When did you figure it out?” you smirk, gasping as he hits deep.

“Today, at the office.” His eyes slip shut. “I looked at you sitting there, and wished your picture was on my shelf instead of all the bullshit awards I don’t fucking deserve. One thing that means something to me, that I don’t have to tempt fate to get. That’s all I want. That’s all I need. Just someone else. Just someone else.”

You can’t think of a response. To save him embarrassment in the morning if he, by some miracle, remembers this conversation, you don’t reply. You’re afraid you’ll scare him off if you reciprocate the sentiment, and you’re terrified you’ll offend him if you coddle him. Then again, he could mistake your silence for apathy. Even in his impaired state of mind, Mark seems to realize what’s running through your head. He pulls you down against his broad chest again to put all these thoughts you had no business thinking while getting fucked to bed.  

Still, he offers no tender explanation of his confession, no further apologies or bashful take-backs. He only increases his pace, grunting as you start to feel your climax build.

“I wanna feel you cum all over me,” he growls, “Fuck. Fuck, let me feel it.”

“Hoffman.”

“Use my name. Use my fucking name—”

“Mark.”

“Ah,” he hisses, trying to make himself last. “Good girl. Good girl...” You squeeze around him, riding him back and forth, your clit grinding against his pelvis and your ass slamming down into his thighs. He lets out sharp puffs of air, wrapping one arm around you and tightening it. You feel as though you’re as close to the distant man as you’ve ever been as he breathes your name into your hair, burying himself in it as he buries his cock the deepest it will go inside of you and stills.

You’re both almost there, and the formality between you dies.

“Mark—I’m gonna cum,” you breathe desperately, “Don’t stop!”

True to character, Hoffman doesn’t offer any verbal encouragement, but his body language is worth a thousand words. He bites your earlobe, reaching down to rub your clit in circles. The action makes you gasp, and you brace yourself on his chest as your orgasm finally hits in waves. His hips convulse inside of you as he finally lets himself finish with you, and your grunts and groans meld together into a harsh symphony of panted out breaths.

“You moan so pretty, babygirl,” he sighs. A warm flush rushes through your body at that, and you’re not sure why. This needs to stay a one night’s stand, not some workplace romance the two of you can giggle about behind closed doors. It would only be a liability to both of your careers in the force,  and you know Mark will agree once he sobers up in the morning.

“Stop thinking,” he groans. His voice is gravelly, sated. “Hey. Stop. More importantly, stop guessing what I’m thinking.”

You stare down at him, eyes dancing between his. Your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. “What are you thinking?”

“Absolutely nothing. Which is what you should be thinking of too, after we both fell into bed together.”

He seems to grow uncomfortable with the close eye contact, feels as though you’re reading him like a book. He moves your head down, where you lay there on his softly rising and falling chest. His steady breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep, but his eyes are wide open. He stares up at the ceiling as if he was staring up at Peter Strahm again, watching the walls close in on the agent and crush his bones as he himself sunk into the ground safely entombed in glass. He swallows, imagining how your bones must have crunched in on themselves as you crumpled to the floor receiving news of your husband’s death.

His fault.

John’s fault. Jigsaw's fault.

No.

His fault.

He thought acting on his feelings and sleeping with you would make him forget Strahm ever existed. Instead, it felt like Strahm was the one in that box, watching the walls close in on Hoffman as every shitty thing he’d done in his life came closing in on him. Hoffman feels his heartbeat pick up desperately, but talks himself down as he did every night. He listens to the rhythm of your breath, tries to meditate to it.

You don’t have the problem of hyperactive thought at the moment—you had taken Mark’s advice, and calmed down. It’s okay that you had moved on. It’s okay you had found comfort in someone else’s arms, and it’s okay that it’s Hoffman. Despite this, one singular question seems to bounce back and forth in your head as curiosity digs its nails back in.  

 Your finger traces a pattern in the rug below the couch... the pattern of a puzzle piece.

[pickalilywrites]

Halu! I love reading your rivetra fics especially the heart skips a beat <3 you're such a great writer! was hoping if you can try to write rivetra modern au during the pandemic? :D

here you go~ ah, i always take a long time to write now, but at least it was out before the pandemic is over ^^" (as much as i would like it to be over ...) i hope you like it ~

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

Love in the Time of COVID-19

Rivetra. COVID-19 Pandemic AU.

9543 words.

Read on Ao3!

Levi Ackerman is hugely germaphobic and antisocial. For him, the COVID-19 global pandemic is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened. People have finally begun to wash their filthy hands, cover their mouths with the crook of their elbows when they sneeze, and wear masks over their mouths to slow the spread of airborne contamination. All non-essential workers have stopped going outdoors, which makes Levi look less like a recluse and more like a normal person.

Of course, even these basic precautions couldn’t stop the coronavirus outbreak from growing into a full-blown pandemic. Maybe if everyone were more like Levi — washing their hands for a full five minutes rather than the CDC’s recommendation of a measly twenty seconds, bringing around a pack of disinfecting wipes and wiping down everything he touches, and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer at least three times after he touches anything — the world wouldn’t be in this mess.

The worst thing about this pandemic, however, isn’t the fact that people are taking the bare minimum precautions, but the people who aren’t taking any precautions at all. For every person wearing a mask, there are at least ten people outside not wearing a mask. Hell, there are even people dying in the hospital of COVID that are convinced this whole pandemic is a hoax rather than a mess of their own making because they refuse to wash their own hands. It’s because of these people that Levi has to be especially careful on the few occasions he leaves his apartment, stripping off all his clothes as soon as he walks through his door and tossing them in the laundry basket before he takes a shower with scalding hot water to kill off all the germs he may have brought home with him.

For the most part though, Levi doesn’t mind pandemic life. It’s a lot like his life pre-pandemic, but he disinfects everything twice as much as he normally did before COVID. As a data analyst, he hardly went into the office anyway and he didn’t bat an eyelash when his company declared that everyone would be working from home until further notice. With delivery services becoming more popular, Levi found it was easier to get things delivered to his apartment. Even his neighbors are bearable. People are too busy working to be a bother during work hours and by the end of the day they’re too tired to do anything except turn on Netflix until they fall asleep on the couch. Really, Levi doesn’t have a problem with anyone except the woman living in the unit next to him.

Prior to COVID, Levi wasn’t even aware of her existence. He sometimes heard about her from the chatty woman in the unit across from him. The nosy woman somehow miraculously knew when Levi (or anyone, really) would be coming out of their apartments, popping out and ensnaring them in a conversation that always seemed fifteen minutes too long.

The gossipy woman loved the person who occupied the unit next to Levi’s. Levi’s next-door neighbor had moved in a few months before the pandemic started and was never at home, the talkative neighbor explained, because she was an actress.

“An actress in the theater. Musical theater, darling,” the woman emphasized, her eyes as wide as saucers like being in theater was the most magnificent thing anyone could ever do. “Poor dear is never home though. If she’s not rehearsing or on a show, she’s working part-time jobs at the diner downtown.”

Levi didn’t think very much of it after hearing about the woman next door for the first hundred times. It wasn’t his business what other people did. Anyway, if the woman was hardly ever home, that was even better. Except now that there’s a pandemic and everyone is required to stay home, the woman is home almost all the time and if Levi hadn’t believed the woman had a career in theater, he certainly does now.

The woman likes to sing on the balcony after work hours. It’s considerate of her but somehow also very infuriating to Levi because he can’t complain that he’s working. She also stops at an appropriate time (usually 8 or 9 at the latest), so it’s not as if Levi can send in a noise complaint without feeling like a dick. He just has to grit his teeth and listen to his neighbor belt out “If I Loved You” from Carousel while he cooks dinner.

She doesn’t have a bad voice either. It’s just that it’s incredibly loud. He supposes if she were any quieter, she wouldn’t be any good for musical theater. Maybe his other apartment neighbors are elated to have a living Disney princess sing for them for free every night, but it’s grating to the ears if you’re living right next door.

He probably should have said something when she started singing more dramatic songs, songs that crescendoed and built into a climax that Levi could probably hear if he were living on the other side of the apartment. It’s those goddamn musical ballads that Levi hates the most. If it’s upbeat, at least Levi knows what’s coming but those ballads always have to build and build until the woman is belting out to the heavens.

Levi thought he could bear it. Surely, the pandemic would only last for a few more weeks or even another month or two, but new coronavirus cases kept climbing and Levi knew he’d be listening to entire one-woman musicals for the next year if he didn’t say anything. One night when the woman begins yet another musical ballad, Levi finally throws open the sliding door to his balcony and is surprised when he sees his next-door neighbor sitting cross-legged on her balcony, a pink floral mask on her face, and a guitar in her lap.

The woman stops strumming her guitar and looks up, her amber eyes wide with surprise. “Hi,” she says, voice slightly muffled through her mask. She waves awkwardly at Levi even though he’s frozen in place on his balcony and hasn’t made any move to greet her.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he asks her as if he’s not wearing one too. It makes sense that he’s wearing one. He always wears a mask when he steps outside even if there’s nobody around. He knows most people don’t because they don’t see the point if nobody else is around, so why is she wearing one?

The woman’s nose scrunches up from under her mask while her eyebrows are knit in confusion. “We’re in a pandemic. Isn’t that why you’re wearing one, too?” the woman asks, gesturing towards Levi and then her own mask. She pauses for a moment as if thinking about whether or not she should continue. “Also, I heard you’re a huge germaphobe.”

“Who told you that?” Levi snaps.

“The lady who lives across from you,” the woman replies.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“But I don’t even come out here that regularly,” Levi points out.

The woman shrugs. “Just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry anyway,” the woman says. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal to wear a mask.”

Levi’s not sure if it’s because he’s been stuck in his house for months, but he’s just fallen a little bit in love with this woman and it’s all because she said wearing a mask isn’t that much of an inconvenience. He doesn’t even know her name. After meeting for five seconds and realizing that she’s considerate for wearing a mask on the off chance that Levi might go out on the balcony, Levi’s starting to feel like a dick for coming out here to yell at her for singing too loud. She’s a lovely singer, really, and he should probably be thankful she’s not a part of a screamo metal rock band or something.

Levi fights the urge to disappear in his apartment. He slides the glass door behind him, trapping himself outside on the balcony and forcing himself to speak more with the woman. He’s not exactly sure what he should say. Should he ask her name? Compliment her singing? Ask her about how she’s handling quarantine? He sits down cross-legged facing her.

“What song were you singing?” he ends up asking the woman.

“Oh,” the woman says as if she’s surprised Levi’s still speaking with her. She looks skyward, trying to recall the name. “‘Please Don’t Make Me Love You.’ It’s from the Dracula musical.”

“Oh.” Levi hadn’t been aware that there was even a musical adaptation of the Bram Stoker gothic novel.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says with another nose scrunch, her mask shifting upward from the movement. “There’s a musical for everything nowadays.” She hums a few notes and strums a few chords across her guitar. “But what about you? How are you spending your quarantine?”

“Me?” Levi repeats. “I just … am hanging in there.”

“That’s good,” the woman says. Levi can’t see her smile behind her mask, but he does see the edge of her eyes crinkle. She sets her guitar beside her and leans back on her palms. Her head tilts to the side and her ginger hair falls away from her lithe neck. “I’m Petra, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

That’s probably because Levi has never made the effort to be neighborly. In fact, the only reason they’re meeting right now is because Levi was going out here to complain about her singing, but he won’t mention that. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Levi.” It’s a lame introduction. Even he cringes at it, but Petra doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never seen you out here, but maybe because I’m only on the balcony in the evenings,” Petra says. She picks idly at the guitar strings, letting their sound reverberate with every twang before she moves onto the next string. She stops suddenly and looks at Levi, eyebrow raised. “Oh, you didn’t come out here because it was too loud, did you? I know my voice is pretty … resonant, especially in a small space like this.” She winces apologetically.

Levi is thankful that his mask is able to cover the blush that is surely rising in his cheeks. “N-no,” he stammers. He sits up a little straighter as if this will somehow make him a less obvious liar. “I just … wanted some fresh air.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Petra hums. Her eyes crinkle again and Levi’s heart does something weird in his chest. “Good to get some fresh air circulating in the apartment. I always have my air filter on nowadays too.”

Levi realizes with horror that she’s absolutely right. He usually keeps his apartment windows closed, opening them only in the early morning and the late evening for the fresh air. He hadn’t accounted for the lack of fresh air in the entire apartment complex. There’s no telling whose dirty air he’s been breathing these past months. Sure, he has at least one air filter in every room, but he can’t count on these machines to filter out every germ flying around the air. Why hadn’t he accounted for the poor air circulation through the building before this? He should have been keeping his windows open this entire time. The air outside is filled with germs as well, but the concentration of germs from other people who may or may not be spreading COVID within this apartment complex is much higher here than it is inside.

Levi stands up, grabbing the railing of his balcony for support. He feels a little dizzy right now and has the frantic urge to clean his entire apartment again even though he had cleaned it this morning. This time, he’ll be sure to deep clean the carpet.

“I have to go,” he tells Petra, but he doesn’t give her the reason. He doesn’t want her to think he’s an idiot for not thinking about air circulation sooner.

Petra raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised and perhaps a little bit sorry to see him go. “Alright then,” she says. She picks up her guitar once more, strumming a few pleasant chords. “Have a good evening, Levi. It was nice meeting you.”

Levi pauses at the door. “You, too,” he says finally before he slips inside. He makes sure to leave the door open. The lack of barrier makes it easier for Petra’s voice to carry into his apartment. That’s not why he leaves his door open, of course. It's purely for the fresh air to come in, or at least that’s what Levi tells himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does not know why the news of the woman next door intrigues his friends so much. He had casually mentioned her once on a video call with them and now they won’t stop asking him about her, constantly requesting updates on little tedious things like the songs she had sung the night before and if she still wears her mask. Even more surprising, Levi finds he can’t ignore their questions and answers each and every one. He tells himself it’s because he knows their curiosity will never be quenched until he answers their inquiries and it’s better to respond than to be bombarded with the same question a half dozen more times.

“So you guys talk to each other every night?” Isabel asks. She sits closer to her laptop and her face fills the little square with her name in the right-hand corner. Her hands sit in her hands and she has a thoughtful pout on her lips. “That’s a lot, Levi.”

“We talk to each other every night,” Levi points out.

“And you complained that it was a lot!” Isabel says, which is true. He would have been satisfied with weekly Zoom calls or even fortnightly, but Isabel had insisted that going so long without seeing Levi and Farlan onscreen would drive her mad. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case with this mysterious next-door neighbor.”

“She’s hardly mysterious,” Levi snorts.

“She’s right, though,” Farlan comments. He isn’t perched at the tip of his seat. Unlike Isabel, he’s less intrigued about Levi’s new relationship with his neighbor and more amused about the whole thing. “You’ve never been interested in people enough to have regular meetups with them even if it’s a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the balcony every night.” Levi despises the way Farlan uses air quotes.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Isabel says with a nod. There’s a silence at the other end and Isabel adds, “Because of the balcony. Except this time there are two balconies and nobody is dying. Hopefully.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I just bump into her more often now that I go out to get fresh air now,” Levi explains. It’s a part of his routine now. Better to breathe good, clean (or at least cleaner) air than continue to breathe in apartment air that has been god knows where. “Which, by the way, you two should really consider as well. Who knows what germs are floating around in your apartment complexes?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “If that were a problem, I would have gotten COVID by now,” she points out, and Levi wants to groan. He doesn’t want to explain to her once more that, after exposure to the virus, contracting COVID is a game of chance and she’s just been lucky. There’s no telling how much luckier she can get as the pandemic continues.

“I’ll consider it,” Farlan says, and Levi is at least grateful for that. He taps his fingers on his desk. Farlan’s microphone is so sensitive that Levi can hear the tap, tap, tapping noise on the other end. “But that neighbor of yours … what do you guys even talk about every night?”

“I don’t know just … stuff, I guess,” Levi mumbles. He rubs at the back of his neck. He can’t quite recall what he and Petra talked about yesterday on their balconies. Their conversations always start out similarly with her asking Levi about his day and Petra asking about his, and by the time Levi retreats into his apartment he finds that an hour has already passed. After a moment, he says, “Well, she told me about how she was sewing face masks in her free time so that she could donate them.”

“Oooh,” Isabel coos. Her head is in her hands again and she looks starry-eyed. “This girl sure has everything, doesn’t she? Not only is she cute, but she takes COVID safety precautions seriously and she cares about other people? No wonder you’re so interested in her, Levi.”

Levi’s mind stutters for a moment. “When did I say she was cute?” he stammers.

“Is she not cute?” Farlan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Levi’s knee-jerk response is to say “no” just because he knows a “yes” will elicit more teasing from Isabel, but the question Farlan asks makes Levi realize that he’s never seen Petra without her mask off. Prior to this realization, Levi has never minded seeing Petra with a mask on. After all, they’re both still in a pandemic and, even if neither of them show visible symptoms of COVID, it’s possible that they could still transmit the virus from their minimal outings for groceries or other daily tasks that require them to leave the apartment. Now that he’s realized it though, he’s overcome with this strange desire to see Petra’s face behind the mask.

There’s only so much one can see of a person when they’re wearing a mask. Levi knows the top half of Petra’s face quite well: slender, expressive eyebrows, large eyes the color of amber, and even the dip of the bridge of her nose. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him, hidden behind the cloth of Petra’s mask. He doesn’t know what kind of nose she has, if it’s grand and shapely or sweet and button-shaped or adorably upturned. He doesn’t know the curve of her lips, if she has a well-defined cupid’s bow or thick, full lips the color of petals. Judging by the state of the pandemic right now, it’s unlikely that he’ll find out anytime soon and he can’t fathom requesting Petra take off her mask just to satisfy his newfound curiosity.

“I don’t know what she looks like,” Levi finally says.

Farlan snorts and Isabel erupts into peals of laughter.

“You’ve been talking to her for how long and you don’t know what she looks like?” Isabel titters. She’s even wiping tears from her eyes, although Levi doesn’t think the situation is that humorous. “It’s not like you guys are wearing hazmat suits when you sit on the balcony.”

“It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like at all,” Levi grumbles. “But we’ve been wearing masks this whole time whenever we’ve gone out on the balcony to talk to each other.”

“Aren’t your balconies, like, more than six feet apart? You guys could probably take your masks off and it’d be fine,” Isabel points out. She sees Levi open his mouth to speak and she rolls her eyes, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, fine, just wear your masks like the hypochondriacs you are! If it’ll make you feel better about the ‘sick game of roulette viruses play when infecting us,’ go right ahead!”

Levi scowls. He wishes he could kick Isabel out of the Zoom chat, but Farlan has forbidden Levi to do that after Levi cut short the first Zoom call he hosted and Farlan has been the host of their Zoom calls ever since. Thus, Levi has had to sit through various Zoom calls with Isabel mocking his informative lectures on infections and diseases. On the bright side, at least she remembers Levi’s lectures well enough to recite them back to him even if it is in a sarcastic tone.

In a tiny square on Levi’s screen, Farlan watches with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” Levi asks.

“You could ask her if she’s comfortable with taking her mask off,” Farlan suggests.

“I can’t just ask her that!” Levi splutters. He gets embarrassed at the idea of it — just outright asking Petra as if it’s as simple as asking her about the weather or what her favorite color is.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take off her shirt or something,” she says.

If Levi’s face wasn’t red yet, it certainly is now.

“Ignore her,” Farlan says. “But, you know, it is just a mask and you keep yourself extremely safe and she adheres to the CDC guidelines pretty well from what you tell us. If you two are both comfortable with it, why not just ask?”

Because it’s exactly as they’re saying: it’s not like asking her to take off her shirt. In a way, asking her to take off her mask is infinitely more dangerous and intimate than asking her to take off any other article of clothing. COVID-19 is a virus that is spread through aerosol droplets from infected persons. By asking Petra to remove her mask, Levi would ultimately be asking Petra to lower her defenses to these droplets and increase her chances of getting infected. If Petra were to ask him to remove his mask, Levi isn’t sure he would be able to say ‘yes’ for these very same reasons.

It’s something Levi mulls over even after the call ends and Isabel and Farlan bid him adieu for the night. He thinks about it in bed, imagining a different COVID-infected universe in which he musters up the courage to ask Petra to lower her mask for him and she says yes, revealing a beaming smile behind her mask when she lowers it for the first time. For some reason, just thinking about her smile and how it might look — if she has bunny teeth that stick out, if she has a cute underbite, if her teeth are just a little bit crooked, if she bothers to put on lip balm under her mask or if she forgets and leaves her lips chapped — makes it difficult for Levi to sleep. He spends his night tossing and turning in bed, haunted by a smile he’s never seen.

The thought of Petra’s smile follows him into the morning and well into the day. It’s all he thinks about as he cleans his apartment in the morning, he writes line after line of code at work, and as he cleans it once more in the afternoon. It’s all he thinks about as he opens the door to his balcony for his evening chat with Petra. It’s all he’s thinking about as he sits across from her and she tells him about his day.

He’s not brave enough to ask her to take off her mask, but he keeps thinking of it. He watches the movement of Petra’s mask as her lips move beneath it. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can see the trace of her mouth, can imagine the outline of her lips when she purses her mouth in a pout or when he thinks her lower lip sticks out as she ponders what to talk about next.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take off our masks?” Levi asks. He’s brave enough to ask this at least.

“Hmm,” Petra hums, and Levi swears he sees the shadow of her lips pressed in that thoughtful pout once more. It drives him crazy. “Maybe when enough people get vaccinated. It should be a few months? My friend mentioned it a little while ago. They said it’s amazing how quickly mRNA vaccines are being developed to treat COVID.”

Levi nods. He’s heard this as well when doing his own research, although the technical aspects of the vaccine and how it works to protect him against the virus are beyond him. Still, he trusts medical professionals more than he trusts random people on the internet swearing that vaccines are just a conspiracy theory.

“So if you were vaccinated and it was two weeks after your second dose … and you were only in the company of someone who also received their second dose two weeks ago … would you consider taking off your mask?” Levi asks. He doesn’t look at her, instead drawing circles on the floor of his balcony. He can feel the dust and grime coming off on his finger and makes a mental note to sweep and vacuum his balcony tomorrow morning.

“I’d consider it,” Petra says. When Levi looks up, Petra’s mask is shifted upward just the slightest bit and the corners of her eyes are crinkled. He wants to see her smile so much. “If the other person were okay with it, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Levi repeats, his voice a quiet murmur, and he leaves it at that because he’s afraid of asking more.

But he lets himself imagine that the vaccine will be out to the public soon and, once it is, he’ll finally have the courage to ask Petra if she’s willing to take her mask off. He lets himself imagine that she says yes. And he lets himself imagine that the first thing she does when she takes her mask off is smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi sits on the balcony with Petra at 1:58 AM. It’s the third night in a row that they’ve done this, sitting on their balconies with their masks on and the glow from their laptop screens illuminating their faces. Were Levi with anyone else, he would complain that this was an unreasonable hour to be up even if it is for the slim chance to snag a spot for a vaccine appointment, but because he’s up at this ungodly hour with Petra, Levi finds he doesn’t mind.

Technically, Levi doesn’t apply for a vaccine at this time. The rules are confusing, but he’s not supposed to schedule an appointment until certain other people have gotten their vaccines. People who are currently eligible are healthcare workers and essential workers. Petra, being a waitress in the food industry, is considered an essential worker and is thus eligible for the vaccine at this time. Is it irritating for Levi to watch other people get vaccinated before him? A little bit, but he’s glad Petra will soon get the vaccine. Unlike Petra, Levi works at home all day and is thus less likely to be exposed to the virus anyway. Even if he can’t book a vaccine appointment at this time, helping Petra book hers will help him prepare for scheduling his appointment when the time comes.

Petra yawns, using her elbow to cover her mouth even though she’s still wearing her mask. Levi feels horribly endeared watching her. She’s dressed in her pajamas — a cotton pajama set in black and white polka dot print and fuzzy cat slippers on her feet. Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head, stray locks of ginger falling around her face even though she wears a hairband meant to keep them away. Even as Petra continues to hit the refresh button, her eyelids droop and she looks as if she’s about to nod off to sleep soon.

“Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM,” Petra murmurs to herself over and over. It’s like a mantra she keeps repeating, hoping that it’ll help her stay awake until she books herself an appointment. Levi doesn’t know how much it’s helping. “Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM.”

“Should you really be staying up this late to book an appointment?” Levi asks. He hits the refresh button too, but the page remains the same. All appointments are full. “Don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

Petra squints at him, concentrating as she fully registers his question. “Mmm, if I don’t get one at 2, then I’ll head right to bed.” Petra yawns again. As usual, she uses her elbow to cover her mouth. “I don’t know how people are booking their appointments so fast, but at least it seems like it’s a ‘first come, first serve’ type of thing. I heard it was worse at the hospital when they were first giving the vaccines out.”

Levi remembers hearing about it on the news and then hearing about it second-hand from Petra when she was talking about her doctor friend. There were some hospitals that determined vaccinations for their staff members by raffle, not even prioritizing doctors and nurses that were working first-hand with COVID patients. In the particular hospital that Petra’s friend worked at, COVID vaccinations were given out to higher-ranking doctors first regardless of whether or not they were working with COVID patients, which also caused a flurry of criticism from the hospital staff as well as media when the news broke out. The current system being used for front-line workers to get vaccinated certainly is inconvenient, but Levi doesn’t know what a better one would be.

“Just keep refreshing, just keep refreshing,” Petra says in a sing-song voice. She hits the refresh button robotically, but her eyelids are still drooping. Suddenly, she looks up, a little bit more awake than she was just a second ago. “Do you think my finger will fall off before I get an appointment?”

The mask hides the upward twitch of Levi’s lips. “I don’t think so,” he replies. He hits the refresh button and his eyes flicker to his screen. His eyes widen when he sees 10, 15, 20 spots open up at different pharmacies nearby. Quickly, he begins to turn his laptop around and points at the screen excitedly. “Wait, look!”

Petra takes one look at his screen and begins to tap around hers. She doesn’t even tell him that she sees them or thank him for alerting her because that would take a few extra seconds that might allow the appointments to fill up before she can claim a spot. Levi watches as Petra sits hunched over her laptop, the light from the screen allowing him to see how her brows are knit together in concentration as she types her information on the screen. She even has her insurance card ready beside her, filling in the necessary information easily. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone type that quickly in his life, and he normally hits 100+ wpm when he’s writing code.

Suddenly, Petra hits the enter key one last time and looks up. Her typing has halted entirely and she stares at Levi with a blank expression on her face. It’s difficult to tell whether she got the appointment or if all the available slots had filled up at the last minute. It’s just an appointment, one that Petra can probably book later this week if not tomorrow, but the anticipation is making Levi’s palms sweat.

“So?” Levi asks. He’s never felt like it was hard to breathe wearing his mask, but he’s feeling a little breathless now. “Did you get one?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three.

Suddenly, Petra raises her arms, lifts her head, and lets out a yell that’s far too loud for 2 AM in the morning. It’s so sudden that Levi flinches, but he sees that Petra’s eyes are crinkled at the edges when she faces him again. “I got it!” she proudly announces. She’s swaying as she sits. She probably used all of her energy just booking that appointment. Considering how tired and sleep-deprived Petra has been for the past three days, Levi’s surprised that she hadn’t made a typo at the last moment and missed her chance.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, not that she can see. “That’s great. Good for you. When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. Petra shoots him with an endearing finger gun and winks. It makes his heart flutter in the oddest way. She shuts the screen of her laptop and the blue light that was illuminating her face disappears. It makes it more difficult for Levi to see the lines and creases in her mask. It also makes it a little harder for him to imagine the smile hidden beneath the fabric covering her face. “I’m going to call in sick and come in for my appointment. I don’t care what my boss says. It’s better if I get the vaccine anyway even if I might get yelled at when I come in tomorrow.”

Levi furrows his brow. “Are you going to be okay the next day? The side effects …” His voice trails off.

“It should be okay,” Petra says with yet another yawn. She should really go to sleep, but Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go just yet. “The side effects aren’t really an issue until the second dose, I hear. Although, some people who had COVID said the first dose kicked their butts. Since I haven’t had COVID, it probably won’t be a problem for me.”

“But you won’t go into work if you happen to feel adverse side effects?” Levi can’t help but ask.

Petra doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks at Levi for a moment before her eyes smile again. “You’re sweet,” Petra tells him, and Levi’s flustered. For some reason, he wants to deny it, to tell her that he’s just asking what any reasonably concerned friend would ask, but Petra speaks again before he gets a chance to. “Yeah, I’ll call in another sick day if I have to. Thanks for worrying.”

Levi is about to tell her that it’s not a problem. Of course, it’s not a problem because helping her doesn’t burden him in any way, but he bites his lip instead.

Petra stretches her arms above her head. She gives him another sleep smile, one that Levi can only see in her eyes again, and waves at him tiredly. “That was kind of fun in a hectic way. Thanks for staying up with me these past few nights.”

Levi fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s so I know what to do when it’s my turn to make an appointment,” he mumbles. He cringes when he speaks. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Then we’ll do it again when it’s your turn,” Petra says. She points her index finger at him. “It’s the least I can do after you stayed up with me. I should do the same for you.”

He tells her that she doesn’t have to, but Petra insists and won’t let him go back into his apartment until he agrees. They have an undecided date for when they book Levi’s appointment. Petra, ever the optimist, says that the system will probably be less hectic by the time Levi’s eligible, but Levi’s not so sure. Still, he feels quite content as he returns to his apartment.

Petra gets her vaccine tomorrow. Levi wonders if he should construct a care package for her when she comes back and leave it at her doorstep. Not anything fancy, he thinks, just the essentials just in case side effects hit: canned chicken noodle soup, tea and honey, Gatorade, and a small bottle of Tylenol just in case. That’s probably overkill though, Levi sighs. He can think about being nice and thoughtful all he wants, but he knows he’ll back out in the end because there’s a chance that he’s overstepping his boundaries. He should just play it cool. Play it safe. Just pop out on the balcony tomorrow night and ask her how it went, if she was nervous, if her arm hurts.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be her caretaker. It’s good enough that they’re neighbors, two people in a short-distance relationship of six feet (or more) apart, unlikely friends in this strange time. It’s too much for him to hope to find love in this time of COVID-19. It’s enough that they’re just two people helping each other stay safe from COVID and booking appointments together. Maybe in a month or two they can be friends who are fully vaccinated against the virus. Two people who still take precautions against the infectious disease but who can live life in a little less fear because their chances of contracting the virus are lowered to about 5%. Two people who can smile at each other without their masks on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi gets his vaccine two months after Petra. Like many other people, he suffered few side effects from the first dose except for a sore arm the very next day. The effects of the second dose are far worse.

He was warned by Petra, who told him that the effects of the second dose were like getting hit by the flu virus and a truck at the same time. He was also warned by various anonymous persons on the internet that were kind enough to share their vaccine experiences on online forums as well as medical professionals that posted informative online videos on YouTube. No warning could have prepared him for how bad the side effects really were.

Levi feels the effects of the second dose ten hours after he returns home from his vaccine appointment. At first, his arm just aches and he feels slightly drowsy. He doesn’t think much of it, thinking that these effects are mild compared to what other people are experiencing. After a few more hours, his body feels terribly cold and his entire body is aching. Everything irritates him more than usual: the light streaming in from his balcony hurts his eyes, the rattle of the air vent is grating to his ears, and the pounding of his head makes him want to bang his head against the wall until he passes out. To put it lightly, he feels like shit.

Petra said she only felt some muscle pain and had a slight fever for a few hours, but Levi feels like he can barely walk. The night Petra had her second dose, she only came out for a few minutes to talk to Levi before leaving to sleep early, but Levi doesn’t think he can even manage that.

Lying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body and an ice pack on his head, Levi manages to reach for his phone on the coffee table and type out a brief text message.

Levi:

Staying in tonight. See you tomorrow if I feel better.

Petra:

🙁🙁🙁

I hope it’s not too bad.

Feel better soon!

I hope you feel better tomorrow 😊

Levi wonders what she means when she says she hopes he feels better tomorrow. Does that mean she hopes he feels better so that they can see each other tomorrow? Or maybe he’s overthinking it and she’s just being polite. It’s normal to say “hope you feel better” when someone is feeling awful, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to think about this too much. He should just rest instead of mulling about what Petra’s messages really mean. With a sigh, Levi turns his phone screen off and leaves it face-down on the table so that he’s not tempted to check his texts every time he gets a new notification.

Levi settles down against the pillows on his couch and wraps his blankets around him. He’s already taken a Tylenol, but it has only managed to dull his headache and not get rid of it completely. His limbs still feel achy, although not in the unbearable way they did an hour ago. He wonders if he should eat something. He had downed a Gatorade when he first got home and then drank another bottle a few hours ago, but he hasn’t eaten much except for a slice of bread and half an apple. It would probably be best for him to eat something else, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up off the couch and prepare something. Even a packet of ramen feels like it would be too much for him to handle at the moment.

He tosses and turns on the couch until he finds a position that he doesn’t hate. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to sleep when he feels this uncomfortable. He thinks it’ll take him at least an hour or two, but he drifts off without realizing and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ringing of his doorbell.

Groggy with sleep and muscles still aching, Levi gets up from the couch, his blankets dragging behind him as he checks the door. When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anything. He’s too tired to even be angry about someone ding-dong ditching his door and he’s too feverish to even wonder why somebody would ring his doorbell only to abandon his doorstep moments later. He’s about to walk back to his couch and collapse into another dreamless sleep, but the thought that he might have accidentally called for some takeout while in his post-vaccine delirium forces him to yank open the door.

There isn’t anybody in sight nor is there a bag of takeout. Instead, there’s a basket with a note on it. Levi bends down to read the neat script printed on the paper:

Hope you feel better soon! I made some food that might help since you’re probably not in the mood to cook for yourself. 😊

-Petra

Levi stands there and blinks at the basket of food, wondering if this is all part of his fever dream. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. Levi is sure he’s dreamed this all up, but his body hurts too much for him to be still dreaming. He’s about to go in and text Petra to ask her if she really had left the basket of food for him, but he looks up to see the apartment door across from him cracked open and his gossipy neighbor looking at him, only her eye visible. Startled, Levi quickly grabs the basket and shuts the door behind him with a slam.

He carries the basket with him to the couch, setting it on the table. When he picks up his phone, he sees he has over a dozen messages. Most of them, unsurprisingly, are from Isabel, but when he scrolls to the bottom he sees he also has one from Petra. He taps on that one first.

Petra:

Cooking post-vaccine sucks!! I know from personal experience 😥

Left you some goodies outside your door jic you don’t feel like cooking. I hope you enjoy!

If it’s from Petra, then it’s safe to inspect the package. Levi lifts the cloth covering the top of the basket and peers inside. He pulls out a colorful tumbler first. The container is a pretty and pastel peach color that fades to white at the bottom. On the side it has a label with the same neat handwriting the first note had. “Peach smoothie,” it says with the ingredients listed in smaller print at the bottom: peaches, banana, greek yogurt, almond milk, honey, vanilla & cinnamon. When Levi looks at the other containers, he finds that they’re labeled similarly.

It’s difficult to explain how Levi feels as he sits on the couch and eats the rice porridge Petra had packed. The porridge is still warm, steam escaping from the thermos when Levi had first unscrewed the cap. Earlier, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat, but now he finds he can’t stop as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of rich, hearty porridge in his mouth.

It’s warm, Levi thinks, and he continues to eat. He no longer feels the chills that had confined him to his couch and forced Levi to wrap himself in layers and layers of blankets. He just feels warm and content, the rich broth from the rice porridge filling his belly and warming him from the inside out. There are tender chunks of chicken breast that Levi devours hungrily and tiny pieces of julienned ginger that balance the porridge out with a kick of spice and just the tiniest bit of sweetness. Levi doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten so well.

He feels … so content as he sits back against his couch, upright for the first time in hours. He nibbles on the apple slices had cut for him, making sure to admire the little rabbit-ears she had taken the time to carve into each one. In between sips of the peach smoothie, Levi ponders.

Is it normal for neighbors to make food for their neighbors when they’re feeling ill? Is it something good acquaintances do? Is it something friends do? The last one is possible, although Levi has yet to receive a care package from Isabel or Farlan. Then again, he wasn’t planning on sending them one for their second doses, although he’s seriously considering it after experiencing the second dose side effects firsthand. It could be that his post-vaccine delirium is causing him to imagine things that aren’t there: affection, fondness … love?

Levi downs the rest of his smoothie and decides to sleep it all away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does feel better the next morning, but he doesn’t feel entirely okay either. He feels … strange. While the symptoms he suffered from previously are now gone, Levi finds himself suffering from new ones. They aren’t as uncomfortable as everything he had yesterday — fever, body ache, chills, headache, to name a few — but they make him feel anxious nonetheless. He could be one of the few cases suffering from deadly side effects after the vaccine.

Like any person without a medical degree or a friend in the medical field, Levi takes to the Internet to find answers. He looks up all the uncomfortable symptoms he’s feeling: chest pain, heart palpitations, light-headedness. When he thinks he’s found a consistent answer among various medical sites, he immediately calls Farlan over Zoom.

“I think I’m dying,” he tells Farlan immediately after his friend picks up.

Farlan furrows his brow, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You mean … you didn’t manage to get COVID right before your second dose, did you?” Farlan runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, looking around his apartment for things he needs to drive over to Levi’s house: his wallet, keys, a first aid kit. “Are you okay? I’ll drive over there really quick.”

“No, no. Not COVID,” Levi says quickly. He rubs his hand over his chest. “It’s just … I’ve been feeling strange. I’ve been getting heart palpitations. Sometimes my chest hurts and I feel lightheaded. I think I might have myocarditis.”

Farlan blinks once. Twice. He takes a deep breath and then breathes out. Calmer now, he says, “I thought we talked about you self-diagnosing yourself with different diseases. Just because you’re a hypochondriac does not mean you’re qualified to make these types of calls about your health.”

“I’m serious this time!” Levi says. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? There are other people who have taken the vaccine and have developed pericarditis and myocarditis. I’m not being paranoid.” Levi admits to being quick to diagnosing himself with diseases in the past, many of which were probably impossible for him to contract in hindsight, but he doesn’t know why Farlan is scolding him for being careful about his health.

Farlan sighs. He leans back against his chair and rubs his eyes. “Alright,” Farlan says. He sits up. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. “Tell me everything in detail this time and don’t leave anything out.”

“Well, I told you,” Levi says. “Chest pain and heart palpitations and dizziness -”

“And these all started right after you received your second vaccine?” Farlan asks.

“Yeah, I …,” Levi’s voice trails off. He pauses just a moment and realizes it’s not the first time he’s experienced these symptoms. He’s felt it once or twice before, these strange pangs in his chest and his heart fluttering oddly. “It happened before. When I was with Petra.”

Farlan smirks. “Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re not sick. You’re just an idiot,” he tells Levi and then adds, “and in love.” Before Levi can deny it, Farlan hangs up.

Levi is still spluttering at his screen when a message from Farlan pops up.

Farlan:

Ask her out.

Levi stares at the message even as a million little notifications from Isabel pop up asking him why he called Farlan without her. He thinks about the message. He thinks about asking Petra. He winces when the thought of it brings an odd, sharp pain to his chest, the same one he’s been feeling all morning.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Petra smiles when she sees him that night, her eyes crinkling the way they do when she smiles and her mask shifting upwards. Levi still doesn’t know what her smile looks like, but he’s imagined it every night for weeks on end.

“Feeling better?” she asks Levi. She leans against the railing, her arms resting on top. Levi stands his railing too, but he doesn’t lean against it the way Petra does. It’s perhaps the closest they’ve gotten in all the time they’ve spoken with each other. “The second dose is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He wonders if he looks terrible, if his face is pale or cheeks flushed, if there are bags under his eyes, if he looks any thinner than he was the day before. He hopes he doesn’t look too horrible.

Petra rests her head on her arms, eyes looking up at Levi. “So what are you gonna do once your two weeks are up and you have the antibodies?” she asks. “I mean, don’t go crazy and crowd surf at an unmasked concert, of course, but maybe you could go out and eat at a restaurant if they have outdoor dining or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying home,” Levi says. His palms are sweating already and his heart is doing that thing where it’s beating erratically against his chest. His head is feeling strange. There’s a chance that Levi might faint and fall off his balcony where he’ll fall four stories until he hits the ground. He almost doesn’t believe it when he hears himself say, “I was actually wondering if you wanted to eat dinner at my place once my two weeks are over.”

Petra’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise. Maybe if she weren’t wearing a mask right now, Levi would see her lips shaped in a perfect O. After a moment, she asks, “Are you really asking me to have dinner with you on your first night of being fully vaccinated?” Her tone is teasing. It makes Levi blush and he almost regrets asking her until Petra says, “I’d be honored. Do you want me to bring anything? I can cook pretty well.”

“If you really want to,” Levi says. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. A part of him feels as if he’s still on his couch in a fever-filled haze, suffering from the effects of the second vaccine. There’s no way all of this isn’t a dream. Subtly, he wraps his arm around his torso and pinches himself in the ribs. It hurts too much to be a dream.

He’s two weeks closer to seeing Petra without a mask on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The night of the dinner, Levi finds himself frantically running around his apartment. He took the day off work just to clean his apartment even though he cleans it at least twice daily already. This time, he’s taken the liberty of dusting off the corners of the ceiling and making sure to get all the dirt from behind the furniture. He’s even cleaned the inside of each and every cabinet, including the very top cabinets that are a bitch for him to clean.

It’s overkill, Isabel and Farlan told him. They told him to just treat it like a normal dinner, to just pretend as if they’re the ones coming over instead of Petra, but Levi can’t do that. The difference between Petra and his friends is just too vast. For one thing, he knows that Farlan and Isabel don’t mind a bit of dust, but he’s not sure the same can be said for Petra. Because is so careful in following COVID prevention guidelines, he’s sure she would appreciate the extra time he takes cleaning his apartment just for her arrival.

He couldn’t decide what to buy for dinner. He knows Petra had offered to bring some food over for tonight, but it feels rude to assume that she’ll provide a full-course meal. The problem with ordering food himself is that he doesn’t know what kind of food she likes. Mexican? Italian? Chinese? Indian? There are too many possibilities. He doesn’t know if she has any food preferences or allergies either, and he’s far too nervous to ask her. Levi doesn’t know how to cook for shit, so ordering takeout is the norm for him, but it’s different when you’re ordering for another person. In the end, he orders one dish from different restaurants hoping that at least one dish will be able to satisfy Petra.

Then there’s the question of what to wear.

“Just wear anything,” Farlan groans. He’s splayed out in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He hasn’t looked at the past dozen outfits Levi has suggested. “Wear your all-black grunge number or a three-piece suit. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just wear anything,” Levi hisses. “What will she think of me?”

“You’ve seen each other at 2 AM with only pajamas on,” Farlan points out. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you two know each other well enough not to mind the other person’s fashion choices.”

“You should wear those tight leather pants,” Isabel says. She leans forward in her seat, her head in her palm with her elbow resting on her knee. “With that see-through shirt. And put some hair gel in your hair. Also maybe put on some eyeliner.”

Levi blinks. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Isabel groans. “I know, your wardrobe is sooooo boring!”

He shouldn’t have asked Farlan and Isabel for their help. He ends up with a mask, a sky-blue button-down, his darkest pair of jeans, and more anxiety than he had this morning. Petra should be here any minute and he’s feeling strange again. The same symptoms as before plague him: dizziness, pains in his chest, heart palpitations. The chime of his doorbell is enough to make him jump out of his seat on the couch and almost fall on the floor.

Levi scrambles for the door, pulling it open. There Petra stands, mask on and a bag full of food she’s prepared for tonight. She looked nice more than six feet away when they were standing on their balconies, but she looks even nicer standing right in front of him. He’s about to say as much when he notices the door across from them open and his neighbor’s eye peep out from the crack. Startled, he pulls Petra in just as she’s saying hello and slams the door behind her.

He breathes a sigh of relief only for his breath to hitch in his throat when he realizes that he’s trapped Petra in between him and the door. They’re standing far closer than six feet apart. It’s closer than six inches apart. It’s even closer than six centimeters. He can count every strand of ginger hair on her head, every eyelash, every freckle sprinkled across her cheeks.

Startled, Levi stumbles backward and apologizes. “S-sorry,” he stammers. His cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, the heat made worse with his mask on. “The woman in the apartment across from me was staring.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petra says. She looks behind her, although there’s no way for her to see the neighbor now that Levi’s door is closed. When she turns back, her eyes are crinkled. “She talks a lot, that one.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He stares at Petra. He can’t help it. There’s a smile hidden behind her mask. He can see it if he only asks. He’s closer to seeing it than he’s ever been. Soon, he’ll know what lies beneath. Cautiously, carefully, Levi asks, “Would you like to take off your mask?”

“Sure,” Petra says. She unhooks the elastics from her ears. She removes the mask from her face, looks at Levi, and smiles.

It’s more beautiful than Levi could have imagined: a dimple in her cheek, freckles sprinkled across her skin that her mask had always covered until today, and just the slightest overbite in her smile. It makes Levi’s heart do a weird flip in his chest, worse than he’s ever felt before. His palms are sweating and he’s feeling light-headed. He’s not sure he’s even breathing.

Breathlessly, Levi tears off his mask. “Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his mouth without him thinking. He’s about to take it back and apologize for being too forward, but Petra takes a step closer to him.

Her smile is dazzling, growing wider as Petra takes a step. Her eyes crinkle the way they always did on the balcony. “Sure,” she says and reaches to place one hand on the back of Levi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s perfect.

[gwendeeagain]

How I wrote the Demon fic

Don't draw devil's traps in janitors' closets is one of my longest fic series I’ve ever written, the most notable of which would be my Demon Gakushuu fic, if you’ve seen it. 

In partial response to an ask post (link here), I’ve decided to revisit my writing of this fic series! It was quite a long journey for me and I think it might be fun (?) sharing it with everyone. It’s rather long, so I’ll tag it under “keep reading”. 

FYI this thread contains major spoilers for the fic (and would honestly make no sense if you do not have prior knowledge of it).

I'll just refer to the first fic in the series as Books because it has an insanely long title. Subsequent fics are in order Burgundy, Potential, Illuminate, Illuminate rewrite, and Addendum. The main series is linked here.

Addendum is not linked in the main series for reasons I'll explain below. (link here)

Books

I think one of my biggest mistakes writing Books is my lack of plot planning, and subsequently how thematically inconsistent it became. I start off most my fics with a rough idea of how I want the story to end, and a few good themes to carry me through the plot as I write, but for Books I started off with the first chapter and nothing else. If you followed the notes of my fic you'd probably have witnessed my gradual descent into uncertainty and despair as the fic spiralled out of my control due to how wrong I felt it was becoming.

The fic took a surprisingly hard toll on me. I absolutely hated it. I refused to mark it as complete because I was dissatisfied with how it ended. I thought that everyone was out of character, that I lost the original ending and goal in my head, that it was thematically messy such that I couldn't justify any ending I tried to come up with, and I was just grasping at straws trying to make it work. 

The three things that bothered me were Gakushuu’s wings, Koro-Sensei and the introduction of Aina. When I started this fic I had plans to kill off Koro-Sensei at the end, however as the fic went on it became a celebration of life and learning how to live, and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to have any death in this fic... but at the same time I had Gakushuu find a lot of meaning in Koro-Sensei’s (to-be) death and I didn’t want to undo that. The wings were on a similar note, because Gakushuu spend 50k words finding out who he is and accepting that he was different. Turning that message around and making him go back to being “the same” ate me up inside, but at the same time I set-up the Demon Society in such a way that they would kill Gakushuu if he didn’t have his wings, and it’s supposed to be a happy ending, dammit! Aina was a particularly egregious case because I threw her (and Ikeda) in without any prior warning at the very last minute. I already had a whole world and setting planned for them which I never got to expand on in the previous chapters because I was so anxious about the other two points, and when it came down to the last chapter I realized I had no set-up for these two, who were supposed to be major players in the finale. Basically I was bad at writing.

Even now I cannot fully articulate why it was terrible for me, but compounded with my real-life stressors, I suppose it just became a bit too much to deal with. (This is a piece of fiction that I am creating from scratch. If I can't even get this under control, what hope do I have for everything else?)

((For come disclosure I was never formally diagnosed with any mental illness, but my parents are the sort of people who don’t believe mental illness exists anyways. I would say that I’ve had depressive episodes when I was younger and sometimes even now, but I’ve learnt my ways of dealing with them!))

Burgundy

Four days later I published Burgundy, a short sequel to Books, very shortly after only because I had already finished writing by that time. I actually do still have several half-finished follow ups at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to complete any sequels because I couldn't even come to terms with the ending of the main story. (Those wips are lost to me now.) I think I was hoping that forcing myself to publish the sequel would show me that it was "no big deal" that the main fic didn't end the way I hoped it would, but it succeeded in making me feel worse.

Potential

About one month after that I wrote Potential. It was a three parter, somehow a fifth of the length of the main fic, that followed Gakuhou's perspective prior to the events of Books. It was a prequel which imo made it easier to write, because I still couldn't move on from Books yet. I think writing Potential was me trying to remind myself why I wrote Books in the first place, to perhaps reignite my original passion for the series. It's kind of funny to think about in hindsight, and a little meta, because Potential was a lead up to the events in Books. It worked... a little bit, I think. I still couldn't reconcile my feelings for the whole thing, but through it I got to revisit the original premise that I fell in love with and expand more on worldbuilding it. I could reprise Aina and Ikeda and finally write about the world I planned to introduce them in in the first fic and give more context and insights to how the demon society was supposed to work.

Illuminate

Six months after Potential, I ran into a comment that said, "what would Gakuhou have done if Gakushuu had died?" And for some reason it struck an epiphany in me. After that I wrote Illuminate in one night, cried myself to sleep, waited one more night to proofread it, and then published it. Illuminate was an AU to the first three fics in the series, and it was a fic about grief and mourning. Spoiler alert: I straight up killed Gakushuu in that fic. And somehow that was what I needed.

I quite literally killed my first fic - I upended the terrible ending I hated from Books - everything I had been uncertain about at first? I killed it. Plot points didn't fit my original plans? Killed it. (When I reread the death scene, I... honestly think I was unnecessarily cruel. I must have really been out of my mind when I wrote it, hah!)

And then I wrote myself a love story about missing it, grieving it, and finally letting go of it. It was heart wrenching for me - I made Gakuhou cry about what he lost, what could have been, what he realized he loved, and at the end of it all he could say "I love you and I can move on from you." And I did!

Illuminate (Rewrite)

Illuminate Rewrite, one year later, was me revisiting Illuminate to reflect on myself where I've come with this series. I actually just swapped the places of two paragraphs to change the mood at the end for something more contemplative. I elaborated a bit more on this in my notes for Rewrite, so I won't repeat them here.

Honestly, I still have a hard time coming back to reread Illuminate even after the whole debacle has happened. I attached a lot of emotions through my journey with this, and revisiting it each time takes quite a bit out of me.

Addendum

Addendum was just me having fun! After Illuminate, I managed to reconcile my feelings with the fic series. I was finally able to mark Books as complete and move on from it, and afterwards I wrote a fun little au sequel to Illuminate so that Gakushuu can live again. I could creatively expand on ideas and just do... whatever! It's more of a loose connection of plot points than a real fic, honestly.

Addendum follows Gakushuu in a future hundreds of years later, after every human who he's once known in Books has died. And... he moves on! Gets a job, makes friends, lives his life, and most importantly move on.

I chose to publish in a separate collection, however, because it was an incomplete story and I didn’t want to have a half-complete fic tacked on to what I have settled in my heart as a complete fic collection.

And that’s about it! <3

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 1

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,183

Warnings: none

A/N: This is brand new and probably one of the softest series I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it, these two are going to fall in love so hard!

“I don’t feel good.”

You started rocking back and forth, your breathing coming too fast and too shallow. A drop of sweat rolled down from your armpit, making you hyperaware of the fact that you were looking like a mess. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and groaned; your hairline was wet.

Looking at your dress, you felt bile rise up in your throat.

You should have worn the blue dress. Blue was a nice colour, everyone loved blue. Blue made people calm and at ease. No, instead, you had taken Natasha’s advice and put on the tight orange-red dress that clung to your body and made your breasts look incredible.

But now the dress stuck uncomfortably to your body, the space between your breasts was wet and glistening. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. Red was the colour of passion, of anger and danger, and you just had to deal with your poor life decision.

Although deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the dress, or its colour.

“Relax,” Natasha said, sipping her lemonade. “I’m here, it’s going to be fine.”

“I am not fucking relaxed, Nat,” you repeated with a scoff. “I’m at a bar, about to meet a potential sugar daddy; that’s not what normal people do on a Friday night.”

“You’d be surprised,” she sassed. You gave her an unimpressed look. “Look, you can live with me for as long as you like, and you can work odd shifts at the hotel for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. But I know you, you’re an artist, and artists need freedom and benefactors. Sam is the reason I finished paying my tuition. You can call him my sugar daddy, but I prefer the word scholarship.”

Yeah, it was only a matter of perspective –and vocabulary. Some may call this whole thing brilliant, others stupid. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet.

“And this guy’s legit?” you asked for the nth time.

“Yes, Sam says he’s a great guy; sweet, handsome, thoughtful. He’s the whole package.”

“Mmmh.”

You eyed the pair of napkins the waiter had placed on the table along with your drinks, and wondered if it would be appropriate to stick them under your armpits to sop up the sweat trickling down your sides.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled, reaching for the napkins.

You patted your armpits dry while you anxiously scanned the growing crowd. It was a high end bar, definitely not your usual hang out spot. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes and wore jewellery that cost more than your three years of art classes at the School of Visual Arts.

“Do we really have to stay sober?”

Natasha cocked a brow at you. “You don’t drink.”

You only groaned in response.

“I know how you’re feeling, I’ve been there, too,” she replied. “It’ll be like a normal first date. You’ll get to know each other, see if you guys hit it off, and if everything goes well you’ll talk about the arrangement. You can’t give consent if you’re under the influence of alcohol, so drink your lemonade and stop fussing, yeah?”

Like an obedient child, you brought the bent straw to your lips and took a quick sip of the icy refreshment. You toyed with the straw and watched the ice cubes slowly shrink. It was strangely soothing.

“They’re here.”

And just like that, your panic returned full force. You snapped your head up and tried to smile when you saw Sam approaching your table. You set your drink down on the coffee table and wiped your clammy hands on your dress.

Natasha stood up and gave Sam a kiss. While she wiped off a smudge of lipstick she had left on his upper lip, you glanced at the man behind Sam.

He was tall, muscular, and had a mysterious air about him. He was dressed casually, in black jeans and white t-shirt with a maroon bomber jacket that suited his pale complexion. The left sleeve of his jacket was tucked inside, empty.

Even without being an expert in behaviour analysis, you could tell he felt uncomfortable. He bowed his head to hide his face and kept looking around as if someone was going to attack him or as if he wanted to know where the nearest exit was.

Sam whispered something in the man’s ear and clapped him on the back before he turned to you.

“Okay, we’ll let you guys get to know each other.” Natasha looped her arm through Sam’s, and gave you an encouraging smile. You heard Sam whispering to his friend again. “Buck, seriously, you look like someone shoved a broomstick up your ass. Relax, man.”

“We’ll be over at the bar if you need anything.”

She gave you a thumbs-up as Sam led her across the crowd, toward the bar. With an authoritative look, Sam pointed to the seat across from yours and mouthed ‘sit’ at his friend who rolled his eyes and ground his teeth in response.

“Hi,” you started, trying to sound cheerful but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “you seem like a nice girl but I’m not looking for anyone, least of all a sugar baby. I told Sam it was a stupid idea, but he never listens. This has nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re great. I’m really sorry, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

He had barely made eye contact with you during his long-winded speech but you did notice that they were blue. Now that you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, your shoulders lowered and you felt yourself smiling.

“Of course, I understand. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, too. No offense.”

He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curved up in a soft smile. “Is your friend as meddling as mine?”

You let out a loud laugh, your eyes widening. “More! If meddling were an Olympic sport, Nat would have more medals than Michael Phelps.”

His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle but he still wasn’t looking at you. “So why’d you agree?”

You took your glass of lemonade and played with the straw while you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound too desperate or dramatic. You majestically failed.

“I guess I felt like I had nothing to lose.” You shrugged. “It’s like when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and you only have two options; jumping off the cliff or getting eaten by a pack of wolves,” you said, checking them off on your fingers as you enumerated them. “You have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

He frowned, a curious glint in his eyes and a hint of a smile curved his lips. Your eyes widened when you realized you might have offended him.

“Not that I think you’re evil,” you rushed to add. “What I meant to say is that sometimes you don’t really have a choice. And when you have no other option but to jump, well... your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.”

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, a form of understanding in the depth of his icy blue eyes. He was truly handsome; a little older than the men you usually went out with, but he had kind eyes and very, very nice lips. You looked away, feeling a little foolish.

“Wow, I’m fun at parties, uh? Guess you dodged a bullet,” you laughed, cringing a little as you said it.

He returned a tight smile, loaded with something sad. He looked at you a moment longer and you held your breath, suddenly hoping he would stay and chat. A solemn expression crossed his face and he seemed to go through some kind of inner struggle before he reached a decision.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, shaking your hand before wishing you goodnight. You watched him leave the bar, his shoulders hunched forward, looking as tense as he did when he entered.

That tiny flicker of hope left with him.

“Hey!” Sam called out, a deep frown on his face as he approached you. “Where is he going?”

“It didn’t work out,” you answered with a shrug.

Sam deflated. “I bet he didn’t even try.”

“Does it really matter?” you replied, shrugging into your coat, something way too thin for the changing weather. “He’s not ready, and honestly, you can’t blame him. This sugar daddy-baby thing isn’t for everyone.”

“I know that,” Sam argued, blowing out a frustrated breath. He turned to Natasha, silently pleading with her to understand, but she was as clueless as you were.

There were lots of reasons Sam wanted Bucky to meet you, and none of them included sex. It was difficult to explain his motivations without betraying his friend’s trust; without telling you too much about Bucky.

“I’m not trying to find him a girlfriend,” Sam continued. “He needs more friends, and he has connections to help you in the art world. I thought you two could help each other out.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck and grabbed the backpack you had shoved under your seat. It contained your work uniform, clean underwear, toiletries, a bottle of water, your wallet, and a couple of granola bars. Your whole life was in that backpack.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you said, adjusting the trap of your bag. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” You turned to Nat. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight, my shift starts at 6 so you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, you disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door. Outside the wind was blowing, the cold air biting at your face and bare legs. You took a deep breath, watching as the cold air turned your breath into white smoke.

People were milling about, taking pictures of the skyscrapers, walking hand-in-hand and marvelling at pretty much anything. New York was full of contradictions; kind and hard, smooth and rough, poor and rich. It was exciting to live here, it was exciting to see how people lived together despite their differences. For an artist such as yourself, it was a gold mine of infinite inspiration.

In front of you, a taxi drove closer to the curb, then slowed as a man stepped onto the street and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw you standing there. Sam’s friend smiled at you.

He noticed your light coat, your backpack and your scuffed ankle boots. It was hard to believe that under your coat, you were wearing a sexy little number. He imagined that this was more your style, and he liked it. It was fresh, laidback, casual. He could even see a few drops of paint on the toe of your boots, a smattering of orange and blue.

“Hi, again,” he said. “Wanna share a cab?”

You nodded eagerly, your face half buried in your scarf. You were positively freezing, you didn’t even think twice about following him. He let you climb in first and jumped in after you, angling his body to hide his missing arm.

You gave the driver the address of a Holiday Inn in the Flatiron District and sank into the seat. It dawned on you that you didn’t even know his name. Sam had called him Buck, but you were pretty sure it was one of those nicknames only long-time friends are allowed to use.

“Bucky,” he said with a genuine smile after you told him your name. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening. How long are you going to stay in town?”

“No worries, you didn’t ruin anything. And I live in New York. I live with Natasha.”

“Aren’t we going to a hotel?” Bucky asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yup, I work there. Breakfast attendant. I figured Sam and Nat would like some privacy and sometimes my co-worker at the front desk let me borrow a room for the night.”

The car pulled to a stop at the curb and you reached into the front pocket of your backpack to retrieve your wallet. Bucky stopped you.

“Please, let me pay,” he said. “As a sorry for dragging you to a bar and leaving without even telling you my name.”

“Ouch, yes, when you put it like that it wasn’t a great night,” you said with a crooked smile. He responded with an exaggerated cringe. It made you laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t you who dragged me to a bar, it was Sam. You can always tell him to pay you back.”

His eyes brightened. “I definitely will.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you giggled, closing the door behind you. You walked up to the big automatic doors and waved goodbye one last time.

“’Night, angel.”

Bucky asked the driver to wait until you were safe inside before driving away. As he watched you, he thought back to what you had said earlier.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

This time, it made him smile.

part 2

[acciomalfoy]

fool’s gold (cedric diggory x reader)

summary: you’ve been best friends forever, and valentines hasn’t meant much until now

a/n: GO FOLLOW @fromashescomephoenixes THIS IS YET ANOTHER COLLAB WITH HER!!!!! FOLLOW NOW AND CHECK OUT HER FICS!!!

-

“I’m still not happy with you,” I said, and Cedric only laughed. “Stop laughing!” I scowled, and he swung an arm around me.

“The tournament is well and truly over, Y/n, and you never have to go in the Black Lake again.” He grinned at me, and I only scowled.

“You could’ve gotten killed, or worse, lost the tournament!” As a member of Slytherin, winning is absolutely everything. Maybe Ced dying was a tad worse.

“But I won.” His shit-eating grin said it all, and I whacked his shoulder. 

“Get off of your high horse.” I shook my head, and he stood up. For some reason he had taken to sitting at the Slytherin table during meals, not that I was about to complain. 

“Look’s like Sprout’s about to charge me, I’ll see you in potions?” He asked, and I nodded. Potions was definitely my favourite class, and it had nothing to do with a greasy haired git, but everything to do with the golden boy I sat next to.

“See you then.” Not a second after he left Eleanor Flint clutched my shoulder.

“You’re totally dating! When did he ask you out? Was it right after Chang dumped him, or did he wait a while? Waiting is totally more classy, but I can see Diggory not wanting to wait.” Eleanor babbled, and I stared at her.

“We aren’t dating, and nor does he want to.” I said, but as soon as the words left my mouth I knew I had made a mistake.

“But you want to.” El screeched, and I quickly covered her mouth with my hand.

“No! Cedric still likes Cho, I’m certain of it.” I said, and El pushed away my hand.

“Rumour has it she broke up with Diggory because you were in the lake and not her. If Diggory liked her more than you she would have been in the lake.” El was batshit crazy, I was positive.

“I was in the lake because I’ve been best friends with Ced since first year. I’m not listening to this, El.” I stood up quickly, and before she could continue arguing with me I speed walked my way out of the Great Hall. Good thing too, since I realised that I had left my advanced potions textbook in my dorm. 

The dungeons weren’t too far from the Great Hall, and I made it there in what I would consider record-timing. My textbook was on my desk, and it wasn’t until I was leaving did I see the note on my bed. 

I gingerly picked up the note, all too aware of how the Weasley twins had it out for the Slytherin house, and froze.

I’m like a crow on a wire, you’re the shining distraction that makes me fly.

I spun around the room, as if the writer of the notes would be standing in front of me, but the room was still, void of life aside Eleanor’s plant that was bordering death anyway.

I shook my head and stuffed the note in one of my robe pockets. I really didn’t have time to contemplate shit like this. With my potions book in my bag, I turned and left the dorm, soon entering the common room and eventually the hallways of the dungeons. I didn’t have to go far, since the potions room was only a couple corridors over. I slid into my seat seconds before Snape swept into the room, and I looked at Cedric who was already staring at me.

“What?” I whispered, and he looked at Snape before replying.

“Where were you?” He asked, and I pulled out my quill, ink pot, and finally some parchment.

My dorm, why?

You left the hall in a rush. Why’d you go to your dorm?

I forgot my potions book. Besides, El was killing me and I had to get out of there.

He nodded thoughtfully, and I decided to listen to Snape for once in my life. Anything to keep my mind occupied.

Later that afternoon, we were sat in the dark, stuffy tower for divination. The scent of lavender and peppermint was already overcoming my senses to cloud my mind and make me feel extremely sleepy. According to Trelawny peppermint was meant to sharpen seeing abilities, however I’m not sure anything can sharpen the non-existent...

Luckily, this was another class with Cedric. Merlin knows why we chose to continue it after OWLs, but I suppose that’s the Slytherin in me again: proving I can do it, and do it best.

Right as I’m preparing to drift into my sleepy daze, Ced nudges me. 

“Trelawny. Five o’clock,” he mouths, nodding his head in the direction of my left shoulder.

“Hello dears!” She springs up, slightly like a jack in a box. I entertain the thought of telling her so, but she cuts me off as I open my mouth.

“Have you seen anything in your teacups yet?” She questions, staring at us in a way that is a touch too dramatic for my taste. 

“Erm, yes.” I respond, trying to save Cedric’s skin since he just saved mine. Grabbing his emerald green tea cup, I grasp the golden yellow handle, and twist it three times. I’m not sure why... it just seemed right.

I glance at my book, but decide to wing it. 

“I see a knight- or er. Perhaps a hero?” Trelawny nods, her eyelids fluttering as she rests them close and furrows her brow. 

“No, it’s a knight in shining armour.” I nod, settling on this seeing. Cedric glances up slightly at the word ‘shining’ but shrugs it off quickly. He smirks at me,

“Oh, and what does that symbolise y/n?” His eyes flash slightly with mischief.

“It means you should keep your big mouth shut!” I glare at him, but can’t help cracking into a smile after a moment in his laughing gaze.

“Well dears,” Trelawny chirps at us, grabbing for the cup. “Indeed! I see...”

She gasps as I lazily flick my wand to float the cup off of the ground. I still wish I had remembered this trick when we were working with crystal balls...

“Oh Professor!” I groan miserably, despite the traces of thick sarcasm. “Please don’t say I’m due to die,” I throw myself back in my chair while Cedric tries to hold in a snort.

“I’m afraid you are my dear, in a most unfortunate incident involving a revolving door and a popsicle...”

—

“Charms is the worst.” Cedric groaned from beside me, and I nodded. Charms was fucking boring is what it was.

“Flitwick said it was a practical today.” I remembered, and Cedric brightened up considerably.

“About connecting minds?” He asked, and I nodded.

“I think so, partners?” I answered and asked, but I already knew what Cedric was going to say.

“Howdy.” He tipped an imaginary hat at me, and I sniggered.

“Attention seventh years! I’d like you all to get into pairs, and I will form the mind connecting spell. It will last for just one minute, and there may be minor discomfort as the minute comes to a close. Jordan and Berg, you’re first up.” Flitwick began the charm on the first Hufflepuff and Slytherin duo, and they laughed excitedly as the charm went into effect.

“Diggory and L/n, let’s get to it. Face one another and stare into each other’s eyes.” Flitwick instructed, and Ced beamed at me as we stared at each other.

“Now hold each other’s hands, please.” I felt myself growing sweaty at the thought, but Cedric took my hands with ease, and without breaking eye contact.

His grey eyes were more startling than ever, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell the pretty boy was thinking.

“Ut copulare,” Flitwick began murmuring until out of the corner of my eye I watched a flying wand hit the professor. “Oh!” Flitwick let out a startled cry, and Cedric and I nodded simultaneously as we broke eye contact to stare at him.

“Uh oh.” He tittered nervously, and I swallowed. The last time I heard a professor say uh oh was when Slughorn brewed a de-aging potion and it exploded on one of my classmates, rendering them to infancy for a good three weeks. Rumour had it she still used the pacifier from time to time.

“Do you feel okay?” Flitwick asked, and I nodded.

“I feel fine, Professor. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” This was a lie. I had woken up with a knot the size of a rats nest in my hair this morning, as well as having forgotten to do the potions homework last night. However, my teacher looked relieved, so I smiled at him.

“Same here.” Cedric added, and Flitwick sighed.

“Just in case the spell worked, I won’t be able to perform another one on you until at least a week from now.” Flitwick said, and with that he moved to another pair.

“Well I’d say that went well.” Cedric said, and I snickered.

“About as well as your date with Cho.” I was talking about his final date with Cho, which ended in her pouring a milkshake on his head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I stuck my tongue out. 

—

“Salazar, what’s the reasoning for all these decorations?” I asked as we left charms. Pink and red decorations hung from ceiling to floor, and it was then that I realised it was Valentines next week.

“Every year the house elves go overboard. We should talk to them about it sometime.” Cedric wrinkled his nose, and I nodded. This was just too much.

“What’s going on over there?” I pointed to a circle that had formed, and it looked like two people were in the centre of it.

“Only one way to find out.” Cedric said, and we slowly approached it. Adrian, a fellow Slytherin, nodded at me.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, and he gestured to the pair inside the circle.

“They’re trapped until they kiss, because a rose fell from the ceiling right in front of them. It’s magically binding, so we could be here a while.” Adrian explained, and I tugged on Cedric’s arm.

“Did you hear that? It’s like mistletoe, they can’t leave til they kiss. It only happens when two people are in love.” I repeated, and Cedric nodded as we walked away from the circle.

“I barely survived the mistletoe.” Cedric said with a shiver, and I laughed as I remembered the girls that had chased Cedric down while waving mistletoe. It had been a sight for sore eyes.

“It’s okay, Ceddie. Time for lunch!”

—

“Could we maybe eat by the lake?” He asked, already having dodged three eager third years. The Great Hall was as busy as ever, and I noticed I myself was subject to several glares.

“I suppose.” I dramatically consented, grabbing two pumpkin pasties and some carrots with hummus from the nearest table. “Let’s go,” I led the charge. 

A particularly determined looking Goyle stood directly in my path, stationed by a suspicious rose. I debated how best to get around, when I felt my feet lift off of the floor altogether.

“Cedric!” I shouted as I was levitated a good ten feet across the hall towards the door. I could only hear Cedric’s laughter as he ran below me, and I ducked as I saw the doorway coming straight for my head.

“Mr. Diggory!” McGonagall was heard shouting across the hall, however we were already halfway to the lake.

Dissolving in a fit of laughter, we sank onto the bank of the lake. 

“Ah, back where it all began.” Cedric grinned towards me. I could think of a great deal of memories surrounding this lake, but I wasn’t entirely sure of any that had marked the beginning of something.

“What began?” I nudged him with my elbow and took a rather ‘unladylike’ bite of my pumpkin pasty.

Cerdric shrugged, and responded by taking a large mouthful of his own. He then grinned with a pumpkin paste covering his teeth.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting!” I threw a pebble at him gently. He simply transformed it into a golden finch. And so, another calm, sunny day was passed by the lake.

••••

After lunch, I took a quick trip to the dorms while Cedric was in quidditch practise. I needed to finish this potions essay, and only one person could save me.

“Come on, Y/n! You’re so slow.” Pansy teased as she speed-walked to the dorm, and I only huffed.

“These legs weren’t made for walking!” I shouted as she entered the portrait, and the only response was the faint echo of her laughter.

By the time I stepped through the portrait, the common-room was empty aside a few stray kids from the years below. I walked through the short hallway to our dorm, and Pansy was staring directly at me as I came in, a note in her hand. 

“I’m the first to admit that I’m reckless, I get lost in your beauty and I can’t see two feet in front of me.” Pansy read it aloud, and I froze.

“What the fuck is this?” She asked, and I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I got another one yesterday, I kinda forgot about it.” I explained, and Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“That’s sus, but whatever. Come on, let’s get to the library!”

—

“Holy Hippogriff!” I jumped as I felt a hard impact in my lower back. 

“You okay y/n?” Pansy frowned as I rubbed my back. I frowned back, puzzled by this unexplained pain.

“I think so? Something just hit me in the back,” I explained, glancing around for the remnants of a prank of some sort. None appeared. Pansy shrugged and returned to her potions work. I gathered my stuff, and debated where to head next. 

It was the end of the day, and I had completed all of my homework. So I was blessed with some nice free time. In a last second decision I veered towards the Quidditch pitch to meet Cedric after his practice. 

“Hey y/n!”  A sweet voice called out as I was about to duck out of the entrance hall.

“Hello Holly!” I spun on my heel. Holly was always quite nice to me, even though most of the Gryffindors avoided me. “How are you?” 

“Swell thanks,” she nodded. “Just wanted to say congrats to you and Diggory! You two are so cute together!” I blushed all the way up to my ears.

“No I-“ she was already speeding down the hall back towards the tower. I sighed and continued towards the pitch.

••••

“Y/n!” Cedric waved across the field towards me. I noticed him limping slightly, but didn’t think anything of it. 

“How was practice Ced?” I asked, and he only shrugged.

“Managed to take a bludger to the back, but it wasn’t too bad.” He said as he approached me. 

“Doesn’t look good if you’re limping. Want to go to Pomfrey’s?” I gestured towards the various windowsills side by side that was the infirmary, and Cedric shook his head.

“I’m fine, Hooch said it would be worn off by tomorrow. Did you get all your homework done?” He asked, and I saw his face flinch.

“That’s it. We’re going to the infirmary. Give me your arm. Besides, my back has been aching since the library. Maybe I can get it checked out.” He held his arm out curiously, and I wrapped it around my shoulder so I could help him put less pressure on his leg.

“Thanks, Y/n.” He said sheepishly, and I smiled at him.

“I got all my homework done, by the way. Pansy even helped me with the last part of the potions essay that we struggled to do, so I’ll explain it tonight or tomorrow.” I said, and Cedric nodded.

“Sounds good, let’s go.” 

—

“For some reason you’ve both bruised the exact same area in your lower back. Do you two have anything you’d like to share with me?” Pomfrey stared at us, and Cedric laughed.

“It's a complete coincidence!” He said, and I nodded, but I was mentally frowning.

There’s no such thing as coincidences.

—

“One day you’re going to spill the boiling water all over yourself.” I said as I watched Cedric in a feeble attempt to pour the water from 15 inches above into his teacup.

“I’m not the quidditch captain for nothing-ow!” Cedric yelped at the same time I hissed, and I quickly inspected my wrist.

“Some of it just landed on me!” I glared at him, and he stared blankly back.

“It landed on me, Y/n. You’re across the table it couldn’t have splashed you.” Cedric said slowly, and I realised my wrist was bone-dry.

“I swear to Godric I felt it hit me.” I said earnestly, and Cedric nodded.

“I don’t doubt it. Shall we go back to Pomfrey?” Cedric asked, and I shook my head.

“It’s probably nothing. Lighten up, Ced, we’re fine. We’ve got the lovely class of charms next, followed by Sprout’s endless herbology lectures.” I nudged Cedric with my elbow, but he still seemed upset.

“Hey, what’s up?” I leaned closer and murmured, and he leant his head on mine.

“What if it’s not nothing? What if we’ve been cursed somehow?” I wished I could erase the worry from his face.

“I highly doubt that. Hogwarts is one of the safest places ever, and if someone was going around cursing people we would definitely know about it.” I tried my best to reassure him, and he sighed.

“Okay, dipshit. I guess I trust you.”

— 

“Odds on you asking Sprout what the word sex means?” I asked, and Cedric laughed.

“Ten.” I looked at him in surprise. 

“You sure? That’s pretty low.” He nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” He asked, and I snickered.

“No reason. Three, two, one!”

“Eight!” We both shouted, and I screeched with laughter. Ced was done for.

“No! Rematch!” He said desperately, and I tried to control my laughter.

“Nope! Go ask!” I put my hand over my mouth in an attempt to control my laughter again, and Cedric reluctantly raised his hand.

“Professor? I have a question.” Cedric called out, and Sprout turned around to face us.

“Yes dear?” She smiled at him, and I nudged Cedric’s leg.

“What’s sex?” The entirety of the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class erupted into screams, and Sprout gasped.

“Mr Diggory!” She exclaimed, and I genuinely thought I was going to piss myself.

“Well, as my head of house, I thought you would be the best teacher to ask.” He said, and I noticed his cheeks were bright red. He shot a glare at me before smiling innocently at Sprout. 

“If you stay after class I might be able to explain, however, we are currently in a herbology lesson!” She looked like she was about to cry, and I slapped Cedric’s arm as I laughed.

“You’re insane!” I said, and the smile he gave me made my breath get caught in my throat.

-

The next day I ran into Cedric just before potions. He was about to trip right over his own two feet, when I caught his hand. 

"Morning, clumsy!" I smirked slightly as he brushed off the imaginary dust he had acquired during his slip. 

"Morning, y/n," he mumbled, lacking his regular enthusiasm. After chatting for a minute or two he started to back away slowly. 

"Hey, I just have to run to the bathroom. I'll be back in time for class though!" He yelled over his shoulder now. He started to run down the stony corridor, however I realised after a moment that he was heading the wrong way. 

"Wait! Ced, you're heading towards the common rooms!" I tried to yell after him, but figured he'd learn it in a moment anyway. It's not like he hadn't learned this before either. He came to the Slytherin common room almost as much as I went to the Hufflepuff one. 

I followed his footsteps, figuring I would be able to talk to him on his way back. What I didn't expect was to see a single slip of parchment fluttering to the floor, and Cedric nowhere in sight. 

I bent down quickly to pick it up, crinkling the hard corners with my anxious movements. 

I’m like a boat on the water, you’re the raise on the waves that calm my mind.

It was in the same, scrawling writing as the other notes I had received, and the paper was exactly the same to all of the other's I had received. 

Was it Cedric? I flipped the paper over and looked at the blank back. He couldn't possibly love me. Could he? 

I smiled at the message, remembering when we met up over break once. We had taken his father’s boat sailing, and had somehow managed to capsize on three different occasions. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and I shoved the message in my pocket.

"Hey!" Cedric called out as he came near.

“Hi, Ced. Or should I say boat on the water?” I twirled the piece of paper around my fingers as he approached, and I watched as his face fell.

“That’s not mine.” He said quickly, and I raised my eyebrows.

“Hmm. If that’s true, then I better go search for my secret admirer.” I grinned as he took the bait and grabbed my hand, tugging me closer to him.

“How long have you known?” Ced asked, and I shrugged.

“I had my suspicions on Finch-Fletchley, but you proved me wrong with this note,” I laughed at Cedric’s reaction. “I’m joking of course, Ceddie. I had no idea who it was, but I’m glad it’s you.”

“Wait, really?” He seriously was the cutest. The way he was looking at me right now made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world; then again, I just might be.

“Of course I am. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been trying to drop hints for four years.” Cedric laughed at my confession, and I elbowed him.

“Oi! I was only laughing because I’ve been dropping hints for five. I figured in our last year at school I may as well confess that I’m in love with you.” My breath caught in my throat, and he raised his hand to my face only to brush a piece of hair out of my eyes.

“You’re in love with me?” I asked, and he nodded.

“It’s practically impossible not to be. Now that you know it’s me, I was wondering if you wanted to be my valentine?” Cedric asked, and a rustling from above made us look up.

A red rose had just bloomed.

-

It was valentine's day. Of course, just about everywhere was packed with starry eyed couples. We had opted to stay at Hogwarts, and have a sweet picnic together. Cedric had taken care of the setting, and I had found all of the food. 

It wasn't a bad effort. In my opinion he went slightly overboard with the pink, but I did appreciate the various hints of green he had added with the plates and napkins. Plus, I had brought plenty of food from the kitchens (which Cedric had shown me in my fourth year) 

We settled down on the edge of the lake, and I took a moment to appreciate the sunny day, and the time I could finally spend with Cedric not just as friends, but as a couple. I laid down, and gently rested my head of Cedric's lap.

"We should have done this a lot sooner," I joked, but I meant it as well. Knowing I could have been dating Cedric for months before now was a little bittersweet. I tried to remember that at least we were here now together. 

I wasn't exactly sure if I believed in soulmates, but I knew that if I had a soulmate, it would be Cedric. 

"Thank goodness you found the note I was going to hide the other day," Cedric smiled.

"That's true, you're no Gryffindor," I teased. "Thank goodness!" I stuck my tongue out in mock disgust. 

And that's when things took a turn. I watched as Cho came up to us, with a nasty frown on her face. Her frown darkened our picnic almost instantly.

“Fuck.” I breathed under my voice. What in Merlin’s name could she possibly want with me and Cedric? Obviously we were about to find out.

“Ceddie, honey!” She sang sweetly as she came closer to us. Cedric shot me a look and quickly set a reassuring, soft kiss on my lips before getting up.

“Cho. What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding incredibly confused. He rubbed his hand through his hair, anxious about her mission

“I came to rescue you!” She grinned innocently. As she reached for her hand I couldn’t help myself.

“Hey! Back off!” She shot me a burning glare, and sent a stinging spell at my wrist.

“Shit,” Cedric and I spoke in unison as we both grabbed our wrists. I muttered a healing spell or two as I glared towards Cho.

“Look, Cho, go away. Okay?” Cedric tried to kindly shoo her away. “I’m perfectly happy with y/n!” I smiled softly, glad to here Cedric say that.

“It’s okay Ceddie! I realised exactly why it was her in that lake and not me!” Cho chirrped. She sounded quite proud of herself, and I was curious what on earth she had come up with.

“Yeah, it’s because I love her!” Cedric explained. Cho let out a shrill laugh, and patted his arm.

“No silly!” She smiled sweetly, as if explaining to a young child. “You THINK you love her!” She shot another laser like look towards me.

“I’m pretty sure I know who I love Cho!” Cedric’s face began to harden as he realised this wasn’t going to be easy to brush off.

“She used a love potion on you!” Cho screeched, grabbing hold of Cedric.

“I said let go of him!” I got up off the blanket and walked over.

“She’s best in our potions class, she’s loved you since we were 13, and she’s a fucking Slytherin!” Cho explained desperately! She had small, glistening tears in her eyes now. I almost felt pity for her, but I couldn’t.

I walked over slowly, deciding exactly what I should say.

“Being a Slytherin doesn’t make me evil Cho, just like you being a Ravenclaw doesn’t make you smart!” I frowned. I hated how much the stereotypes of our houses defined us. “People aren’t able to be perfectly categorised between four groups!” Cho glared and jabbed her wand at me.

Before I realised what was happening, Cedric jumped between me and the flash of white light, but it couldn't stop the spell for some reason. I doubled over in excruciating pain that hit right around my belly button. It was as if my stomach had turned inside out and began to burn the surrounding flesh. I glanced over, and Cedric was in obvious pain as well. 

I couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped from my mouth, and Cedric met my eyes.

“How the hell did you hit Y/n with that?” He spat out, while Cho only stared at us in shock and what looked like panic. After Cedric let out what sounded like a painful groan, Cho waved her wand and relief flooded me.

“Tell me! How did you do it?” Now that he was able to stand up without pain, Cedric got incredibly close to her, towering over her. 

“I-I don’t know! You jumped in front, she must have been faking it!” I watched as Cedric lowered the manicured finger she had pointed at me, and whispered something in her ear. The effect in had on her was instantaneous; she slowly stepped away before turning tail and bolting away.

“We need to go to Pomfrey.” Cedric spoke without looking at me, though when I clasped his hand he squeezed mine tightly.

-

“I don’t know what to tell the pair of you. Have you been hit by an unknown spell in the past month or so?” Pomfrey looked tired, I noticed.

I wondered how often she slept.

“Not that I can think of.” Cedric said, and I nodded. 

“Unless someone’s hit us without us noticing, then no.” I added, and Pomfrey sighed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the two of you. I’ve only heard of cases like these, never seen one myself. I think there’s only been four or five documented.” She explained, causing Ced and I to exchange glances.

“Well, what happened to those people?” I asked the obvious question, since my lovely boyfriend clearly wasn’t going to. Pomfrey shifted slightly.

“One person in each pair died before a full analysis and case study could be completed.” I almost laughed at the look on Cedric’s face until I realised that one of us was totally going to die soon.

“Well, my darling, it was lovely knowing you.” I patted him on the back, and he wrapped his arms around me, encasing me with love.

“What can we do?” Cedric asked, and Pomfrey shook her head.

“Not a whole lot. Try and remember if the pair of you have been struck by a spell in the past though.” 

-

It took fourteen seconds after we left the infirmary to Cedric to slap his forehead.

“I think we’re stupid.” He said, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Speak for yourself. Personally, I’m the smartest person I know.” He snickered, and I frowned. Where was the joke?

“Flitwick hit us with that spell, remember? And the spell was interrupted halfway through, which created a new spell entirely.” Cedric explained, and I sighed.

“I think we’re stupid too.”

-

We'd spent another lovely 10 years being stupid together. Sure we'd had our ups and downs, but we always knew that we were soulmates.

 Since we had found out about the spell, we've helped Flitwick research whatever charm had put us in the situation of feeling each others pain. It was actually quite strange when I was pregnant with our son, Cedric had noticed the contractions first. 

 After spending a couple of years with Flitwick researching the spell, we'd moved to Scotland and gotten married. Life had been quite pleasant. We owned a small farm where we raised cows and hippogriffs alike. Our son was now 6 years old, and had already decided that he wanted to be in Slytherin 'Just like mummy!'  

Currently we were sitting in our favorite wizarding restaurant. I gazed over towards Cedric's kind face as he helped our son go through the maze on the children's menu. I grinned over at my two lovely boys, and nudged Cedric with my foot under the table.

"Hm?" He looked up, and our son copied him. I smiled towards them both, and silently thanked Merlin that I had these two lovely boys in my life.

"What do you want to eat?" I held up the menu, and raised my eyebrows. Cedric and our son looked at each other and then looked back towards be in sync. 

"PIZZA!" They said together. I giggled and they quickly joined in. 

Just as we share pain, Cedric and I share the multitude of joys that have bloomed in our lives. And that made the joy all the better.