#[canonverse]

[certainty2witch]

Oh Robin, you aren’t so far away from the truth.

original post

[elmundodeflor]

And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

[kana-daydreams]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 || 𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨(𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐀)

summary: Zoro surprises you with a compliment and you express your appreciation with a surprise of your own—by unintentionally stealing his first kiss. genre: fluff cw: added just a li'l bit of spice wc: 3.3k kana's notes: This was originally suppose to be a drabble, but ig I couldn't help myself😓. Anyways hope you enjoy my fellow Zoro lovers :D

“Told you it was a waste of time.” Nami drawls as she continues to peruse through racks of clothes searching for an outfit to wear for tonight’s dinner while you sit, sulking in a corner next to a discarded heap.

“You don’t have to rub it in y’know.” You lift your head from off your knees to peer up at your friend with a pout. “I’m already regretting all my past decisions.” You say, feeling heat bloom at your cheeks as you recall the couple of model worthy poses (well at least you think they were) you’d mustered up the courage to perform in front of a certain green-haired individual as you tried on multiple styles of clothes ranging from cute to elegant along with a few that showed off some skin— none seeming to had piqued the swordsman’s interest. Not even shamelessly batting your lashes had been enough to earn an ounce of a reaction from him except for his concern that something might have gotten stuck in your eye.

You release a stifled cry at the embarrassing memory, plopping your head back down onto your knees.

“Why did I have to fall for someone incapable of giving a girl a decent compliment?” You say, your words muffled by the fabric of the outfit you’re wearing.

Fishing for compliments wasn’t a habit of yours and seeking validation for your appearance, especially from a guy, definitely wasn’t either. You knew you were a hottie— by your standards anyways. It’s just that you really had somewhat of a thing for Zoro who you’d known for some time now, and hearing him compliment you for just once in your life, no matter how small it was—even if it was only a single word—would be more than enough to send you, having lived a fulfilling life, right to heaven’s pearly white gates.

“C’mon, it’s not the end of the world.” Nami crouches down at your level, giving you a tender pat on the head and you peek an eye open at her to notice that she’s changed into a beautiful and traditional chinese dress; its red colour complementing her ginger-orange hair. 

“I’ve already told you, you look great. Sexy and cute— a deadly combination.” She gives you a wink and you giggle lightly at the action. 

“Thanks, Nami.” You smile.

“No problem.” She lightly pinches your cheeks before standing to her full height. “Now let's finish getting ready, shall we?” She extends a hand down at you. “I have a bet to win.”  

You playfully roll your eyes, remembering her bet with Luffy before taking her hand, the two of you making your way out the grandeur of the closet.

Later at night, under the dazzling lights of a grand chandelier, you and the rest of your newly formed crew along with Usopp—a boy you and the others recently befriended—stand scattered about the spacious foyer of Miss Kaya’s home, awaiting the birthday girl’s presence as you mingle and indulge your taste buds with lavish delicacies being served around on silver platters. 

While you and the crew wine and dine, Zoro stands amongst his own company near the staircase, nursing in his hands, his fourth glass of cocktail—deep brown eyes pinned on your form standing beside Luffy and Usopp.

He watches as you converse with them and as you chow down on platter after platter of food like it’s the last meal of your life alongside Luffy, his gaze drinking in your every smile, your every laugh and the adorable expressions you make as you stuff your cheeks full with every bit of food that comes your way.  It makes him wonder if you and Luffy are having a full on eating competition at the rate the two of you are going.

He only takes his gaze off you when he realises his glass is empty after he goes to chug some of the liquid down, discarding it onto a nearby end table laden with a few more empty glasses alike.

His eyes then search across the room for the server, wanting to satiate his taste for more alcohol, flitting over in your direction when he hears the sound of your voice calling his name. 

“Zoro, you’ve gotta try these!”

Zoro watches as you approach him with animated steps and glances down at the tray you carry in your hands to see chocolate, pink and milk-white covered squares.”

“Is that cho—”

“Yes! And it’s really good!” You bounce on the balls of your feet, the action making Zoro suspect that you’d had way too much chocolate than your sweet tooth could handle. 

“Here, you should try this one.” 

“Chocolate isn’t really my th—” Zoro cuts himself short when he sees one of your hands pick up a chocolate-coated square, offering it to him.

He looks down at the piece of chocolate pinched lightly between your fingers, then back up at your face beaming with a wide smile and then around the room at everyone occupied either in conversation or eating, before returning to settle his gaze back onto you. 

He heaves a sigh. “Does it have alcohol?”

“I don’t think so, but I can go ask if there's any wi—” 

“No, it’s fine.”

Zoro stops you before you can leave, and you watch as he leans forward a bit, shuts his eyes and slightly parts his lips, his actions causing your head to tilt slightly in confusion.

Your questioning look, however, doesn’t last long, slowly fading away and morphing into one of surprise when your brain registers the purpose of his actions.

You almost heave a cough, feeling heat creep up your neck; burning at your cheeks while your hand remains extended with the chocolate held between your fingers as you continue to stand there, unmoving, simply staring up at him— up at a sight you never quite expected to see or would ever see. 

When Zoro doesn’t feel any sign of sugary sweet pressing against his lips, he peeks an eye open to see you staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

“What are you waiting for?”

“N-Nothing!” Your voice immediately squeaks out.

Zoro only lets out a hum at your response before once again closing his eyes, waiting for you to feed him the chocolate square.

You swallow hard. And your heart rate picks up as you inch the chocolate closer to his mouth, its beat increasing more so when the tips of your fingers brush against his soft lips.

When Zoro feels a sweet warmth mixed with a hint of salt melting against his tongue, he doesn’t have much of a reaction and simply opens his eyes to look down at you.

“I-It’s good? Isn’t it?”

Zoro nods. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“Okay, well, um..I’m gonna go,” you say with a nervous chuckle, pointing a thumb behind you. “Gonna see what else they uh, gotta eat.” You slowly start to reverse your steps, bumping into the server behind you as you do, almost knocking her over along with the full platter of food in her hands.

You profusely apologise to the woman who sends you a disapproving glare before continuing with robot-like movement back in the direction you came, unable to see the hint of red that colours the tips of Zoro’s ears and also the way his gaze lingers on your retreating figure, all the while he stands there regretting that he still couldn’t find the courage nor the right words to tell you how beautiful you were in the outfit you’d chosen to wear tonight, and how cute, pretty—and sexy you looked in the many more he had watched you try on. 

When Kaya’s birthday dinner unfortunately comes to an early close due to her outbreak of rattling coughs, she’s kind enough to allow you along with your friends to stay the night unlike her overprotective butler who wasn’t keen on extending your stay, especially after Luffy and his big rubber mouth revealed that you were pirates.

However, instead of lying, snuggled under the thick, warm blankets of a queen size bed, you traverse through a dim-lit hallway in search of the kitchen to help yourself to a midnight snack.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given up on looking for Luffy.” You murmur to yourself as you continue to amble along the empty halls with no sense of direction as to where you were going, involuntarily releasing a gasp when your body suddenly collides into another, one more firmer than your own, just as you round a nearby corner.

You look up at the figure that slightly towers over your form, a much less startled expression on their face. 

“Z-Zoro?!” You breathe a sigh of relief at the swordsman’s presence. “Thank the heavens you're not that scary butler. What are you doing here?” Your eyes dart down to the three swords attached to his right hip.

“I’m looking for a drink.” Zoro watches as you place a hand across your chest, attempting to calm yourself down from the jumpscare he’d unintentionally given you. “What about you?”

“Food hunt.” You look back up at him with a small smile.

“...Right.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as you notice Zoro’s gaze fall behind you and on instinct, you turn around to see where his eyes follow. 

“Where’s Luffy?”

The swordsman expected that if you were here; Luffy was here, as the two of you seemed to be joined at the hip everywhere you went, especially when food was involved.

You turn your gaze back to him. “Back in his room, I guess.” You say, your hand no longer attached to your chest trying to calm your racing heart. “I did plan on inviting him, but I don’t know where his room is.”

Something that wasn’t your fault since you were the first to be assigned a room and didn’t get to see where the others’ rooms were. 

“So…” you drawl and Zoro glances down at you to see your lips curve into a mischievous smirk. .

“Since Luffy isn’t here...” you continue. “Wanna be my partner in crime instead? You know, help me scour the kitchen for some gold?” You suggest, with a slight wiggle of your eyebrows.

Your words seem to pique the swordsman’s interest as similar to you, a smirk pulls at his lips and he makes a gesture with his head for you to lead the way and you do, him falling in step beside you.

Apparently, you taking the lead was not the best idea when it came to navigating through a house designed like a maze—a fact you should have known with hindsight—as you and Zoro still continue to roam around the mansion like headless chickens for what seems like about an hour. 

“Why is this place so huge?!” You groan and release somewhat of a frustrated cry, already feeling the urge to quit your endeavour of a kitchen raid. Though, you do not act on the tempting idea since you have no clue of the direction you and Zoro came from—the soft grumbles of your stomach doing little to curb your frustration.

Zoro, as he walks beside you, remains silent at your mini-breakdown, his head craning in your direction when he hears you speak again.

“By the way,” You start. “How was the party?” You ask, trying—key word, trying— to keep your mind from being occupied by the thought of food and mostly because you couldn’t let the opportunity of your alone time with Zoro slip past you.

“The alcohol was good.” 

You wait to hear if he will add more, but he doesn’t, not surprised that his reply ends rather abruptly.

“Yeah, it was.” You agree.

Zoro arches an inquisitive brow. “You drink?”

“Not exactly. But the mocktails were great and so was the food.” You smile and so does Zoro, one so faint that your eyes fail to catch it, when he recalls the happy expression on your face as you devoured any and everything that passed your way; continuing to listen at the soft and vibrant melody of your voice that fills his ears.

“...and what I loved most of all were the desserts, especially those choco..lates.” Your voice suddenly falls when the memory of you feeding Zoro pops into mind, together with how soft his lips felt when your fingers brushed against them.

“Something wrong?”

You glance to your right to see that Zoro is looking at you with a concerned expression, your face warming from his attention.

 “Ah, N-No. Nothing’s wrong.” You reassure him with a small smile. “Just got sidetracked, that’s all.”  You go silent shortly after your response when your eyes make the mistake of flickering down to his lips and quickly turn your attention away from him, dropping your gaze to the ground.

Zoro doesn’t know what causes your sudden silence which prolongs as you both continue down the hall, but he does know that he misses the sound of your voice which leads to him racking his brain for a topic that might be interesting enough to get you to speak again, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.  

“That outfit you wore tonight—It was nice.”

The words you think you hear Zoro say makes you slow to a stop.

When Zoro notices you’re no longer walking beside him, he turns to see your shock-filled features, immediately feeling himself go pale, and starts to regret the words that just spilled from his mouth—words he’d held back from telling you at Kaya's birthday dinner the entire time his eyes were glued on to you. 

“W-What did you say?” You recover just enough to ask.

Zoro, who stands no more than a few feet away from you, looks back at you and ponders if he should just play it off due to your reaction, but tells himself that doing so would be a cowardly move—and he was not a coward.

He directs his head to the side to keep his face that flushes a light shade of red away from your view. “The outfit you wore at dinner. It looked really nice on you.” He says again, his voice seeming to struggle to get the words out.

You feel heat rush to your skin.

So you did hear him right the first time.

You replay Zoro's words in your head before nervously raising your gaze to look at him. “So, um…” You fidget a bit where you stand. “You think I looked pretty?”

Zoro visibly flinches at your question, still very much avoiding any eye contact.

“Yeah.” He manages an answer after what seems like a couple of seconds. “You always look pretty.”

At his response, a full and goofy smile blossoms on your lips. Then, without thinking—so overcome with joy at Zoro’s one in a lifetime compliment of you that it pushes most of your nervousness aside— your footsteps start moving closer towards his direction, and you tip-toe, just a little to reach his height, aiming at showing your appreciation for his words by gifting him with a kiss on his cheek. 

However the supple softness that your lips meet when you kiss Zoro is not the softness of his cheek, but that of his lips instead when he suddenly turns his head in your direction.

Both Zoro’s dark eyes and yours widen at the realisation and you stumble back, away from him, watching as he touches a finger to his lips.

“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that!” Your face steams as you attempt to explain yourself for the accidental kiss. “I-I was just trying to give you a kiss on the cheek—not on your l-lips.”

Dread fills you when you realise that Zoro doesn’t have much of a reaction towards your words and all sorts of thoughts race through your mind at what he might be thinking about the indecent act.

Though all your worries subside when Zoro eventually decides to speak.

“Can…we do that again?” 

Your eyes become saucers at his request. “W-what?”

“I..I want you to kiss me again.”

You almost choke.

Never in this lifetime or any lifetime would you think the stoic swordsman would utter such a request—one that you will be more than happy to fulfil, despite your buckling knees.

 “A-Are you sure?” 

In a few steps, Zoro closes the distance between you both; a gasp leaving your lips when you feel his strong arms snake around your waist pulling you into his larger frame.

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Your heart races as he silently stares down at you, noticing his gaze flicker down to your lips, then slowly back up to meet your eyes.

Heat creeps up your neck at the action, settling on your face and increases ever so slightly at the feeling of the heat that radiates off of Zoro's skin through his clothes from his body being flush against your own.

"You don't want to?" Zoro asks when he notices your somewhat hesitant expression. "It's fine if—"

"No. I do, I do." You rush out, reassuring him that the feeling is mutual. "It's just..." You hesitate. "I've never kissed someone. Well except for you—just now." You smile sheepishly. "I...I might be bad."

Zoro's gaze softens at your words. "Same goes for me."

You feel your heart swell and warmth rise to your cheeks. "That..I was your first?"

Zoro answers you with a single nod, the blush deepening on his face.

You let the revelation sink in: You were Zoro's first kiss.

A reality you can't help but take a moment of silence to relish in as you remain caged between Zoro's arms and the comforting warmth of his body, a warm smile subconsciously gracing your face.

"Can you close your eyes?" your voice comes out barely above a whisper when you're finished relishing in the moment.

Zoro's face wrinkles in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I want to kiss you. "Your voice quavers a bit as you speak. "Won't it be weird if we do it with our eyes open? Though if that's your thing—"

"No. I'll close 'em." Zoro says as his eyes immediately flutter close. And with his eyelids pressed shut, you can't help but stare back at him, admiring every inch of his handsome face and the deep blush that paints its tan skin.

Gingerly, one of your hands reaches up to caress one side of his face as you lean in, swallowing lightly when your lips near his, but pause just before they could meet. "You're really sure about this, right?" You can't help but ask the question again just for good measure.

Zoro shudders a little from the soft touch of your hand against his cheek, and also when he feels the warmness of your breath brush against his lips a few inches away from your own.

He doesn't answer your question immediately and it makes your heart sink that he might be having second thoughts until you feel his lips press tenderly against yours in a feather-light kiss.

The sudden action renders your body somewhat into a state of surprised stillness. But only for a beat, before your eyes flutter close, hands circling Zoro's neck as you lean into the kiss that starts off slow with you both savouring the taste of each other; before it escalates into one more confident, filled with longing and passion.

And the next day after you and Zoro shared a heated kiss at midnight in the dim lights of a lone hallway—forced to pull away, when Luffy unexpectedly popped out from nowhere— you both sneak a quick kiss at the shipyard, where eyes cannot lurk, before joining the rest of the crew who’d acquired a new member to its team, aboard its first ship—The Going Merry.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

reblogs appreciated🥰

[crystalclear97]

and why should I deny what's all at once so crystal clear?

as usual, I hope you like it 🤍

[cordeliacordate]

the Pact of Ice and Fire

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon flies to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark.

CANON COMPLIANT FIX-IT | EXPLICIT | LONGFIC FIC LINK HERE | JACEGAN DISCORD SERVER LINK HERE

"They drank together, hunted together, trained together, and swore an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood… the Pact of Ice and Fire." - Fire & Blood, George R.R. Martin

This is that story.

On either side of their lookout, the Wall extends further than the eye can see; a never-ending barrier of ice that shimmers even as it weeps—beautiful, yet haunting. "Welcome to the edge of your realm," Cregan murmurs. His gruff tone has softened, the words brushing over Jace's ear in a caress, coiling heat in his belly. The treeline echos the prince's paramour, rustling in the distance as if to greet Jacaerys. And he supposes it's an apt salute, for on the morrow, he will be the first Targaryen to step into the unknown beyond it.

The story that the House of the Dragon skipped right over; a mostly canon-compliant tale that begins with Jacaerys' arrival in Winterfell, extends through his journey up to the Wall, and will have a fix-it ending following the Gullet.

𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦'𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 @angkis

DO NOT REPOST THIS ART.

[loveackermannn]

☰ ANYTHING FOR YOU –.ೃ࿐ 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧.

levi swears that he's a clean freak – that he can't bare to even come into contact with anything remotely filthy.. but it came to your surprise that on your sick days, he won't waste a second to be by your side the whole time.

levi swears that he's a clean freak, until he's literally laying right beside you and keeping a warm cloth on your forehead. he isn't afraid to be within the proximity of you so much so that he himself could get sick – but he didn't care.

"you'll get sick though, levi.."

"to hell with that. as long as you get better, i'll take care of myself later."

levi swears that he's a clean freak, but then the moment you feel yourself needing to vomit, he's gathering your hair in a ponytail with a small bucket placed in front of you. he didn't give one thought about what splattered on the bed sheets or the mess he'd have to clean up later.. all that mattered was you in that moment.

"i'm sorry. i got some on your shirt, i shouldve-"

"don't you dare apologize. forget about my shitty shirt, you okay? here, i'll get you some water."

levi swears that he's a clean freak, until he's wiping the snot from your nose with his handkerchief, letting you blow your nose until it felt empty. his brows furrowed with concern to which you thought was disgust at first – it's hard to read him sometimes.

"you don't have to do this. i know it can be gross for you."

"i want to do this, love. just blow, it's okay i've got you."

levi swears that he's a clean freak but when it comes to you, he'd push it all aside, forgetting that he used to wipe his blades on the battlefield after a bloody attack or how repulsed he felt living in the underground. he had forgotten what it felt like because now, he'd do absolutely anything for you, even if it meant getting his hands dirty every now and then.

☆ — 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @luvjiro , @youre-ackermine , @lovolee3 , @notgoodforlife , @averysmolbear , @bejewelledd , @leviismybby , @evas-leslas , @roseofdarknessblog @cometlevi , @21aurora (! ! 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝💌)

[natsuki208]

Sebastian: I could kill you if I wanted.

Ciel: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Sebastian:

[aberrantcreature]

Obikin Prompt .7

On Mustafar, Obi-Wan doesn’t have it in him to let Anakin slide down into the lava. Before the emperor arrives, Obi-Wan manages to escape with his wayward, mangled, unconscious apprentice.

Having no idea what else to do, Obi-Wan hides him away with a force-suppression collar, and can only wait for him to wake up…

[edupunkn00b]

Spaced

WC: 1416 - Rated: T - CW: mild swearing, minor angst, happy ending

Happy Birthday, Roman. The moment I saw the video explaining Roman's birthday celebration would be late, I couldn't get this out of my head, so, here we go…

Illuminated only by the fairy lights draped along his walls, and the dull blue glow of his phone screen, Roman sat up in bed and scrolled through Thomas’ mentions. 

No big deal, just going feral…

Dayum, the LACE! Those HEELS!

Not to be a lesbian but…

Logan is the HOTTEST side, hands down!

Growling, Roman flung his phone across the room. Lucas popped up and caught it in one hand just before it hit the wall. “Temper, temper, my Prince,” he tutted before launching the phone up into the air and smashing it with his baseball bat. “You could break your phone like that.”

Roman conjured a new device and let his head fall back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. If he didn’t look at him, maybe he would just leave.

It didn’t work. 

“Get out,” he said, listless. Roman had burned up all his rage on throwing the phone and now he just felt… tired.

“That’s it?” Lucas chuckled. Glass crunched underfoot as he stepped closer to the bed. “Where’d that fire go?”

���Catharsis.”

Laughing, Lucas tapped his bat against his orange Doc Martens, knocking away bits of glass and shattered plastic from the chipped and dented wood. Roman glared at him. “Why are you here?” 

He scooped up a handful of the glittery remains of Roman’s phone from the floor. “Do you really have to ask? Or do you just enjoy stupid questions?”

Eyes fixed on his new phone, Roman did his best to pretend Lucas didn’t exist. Switching apps, he scrolled through his history until he found today’s video.

“…This month has been wild and I’ve just been so focused on the Logan skirt photoshoot that I’ve been working on… I completely forgot there were Sides birthdays comin’ up this month…”

Roman’s thumb hovered over Thomas’ face on the screen, ready to pause but knowing that wouldn’t stop the next words from coming. Wouldn’t stop them from playing on a loop in his head as they had for the past four hours.

“…Hopefully it’ll come out the week after? I’m working on it… I completely spaced.”

Three brief knocks broke his concentration and his phone fell to his lap. Roman looked up to where Lucas had stood, but he and the destruction he’d caused was gone. Three more knocks. “Roman?” Logan’s voice outside the room was low, but modulated to be heard through the door. “Roman, I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?” he asked, filling the air as he moved to the door.

“I am in charge of the schedule,” he said, voice clipped. “I should have alerted Thomas to the tight timeline and predicted that—”

“It’s fine, Specs,” Roman muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sash. “I don’t blame you.”

“Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies…” Janus sang quietly, close enough his breath ruffled Roman’s bangs.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he hissed back, adjusting his hair.

“Now why would I do that?” Janus arranged himself on Roman’s chaise, legs crossed and one arm draped over the backrest. “When I can simply make myself at home.” Roman stepped closer, prepared to tip the Lord of the Lies right out of his seat.

“Roman?” Logan was still outside his door. Could he hear Snakeface?

Roman shook his head and let out a slow breath before approaching the door again. “Truly, Logan, we have the birthday video planned for the day after tomorrow. You made sure of it. Ultimately it was Thomas’ choice. I am fine—“

“Oh, sweet, sweet lies…” 

Roman shot Janus a look, jaw clenched, but he kept his voice even and calm. “And I will be down momentarily. I’m nearly done with this script.”

Janus shrugged and disappeared.

“Very well.” Logan was either mollified or else he correctly determined further argument would get him nowhere. “We’ll see you shortly, then.”

One hand pressed to the door, Roman listened to the retreat of Logan’s footsteps down the hall.

“I thought he’d never leave!” Remus cackled from behind him.

Roman spun around. Remus lay sprawled on his bed, head hanging off the side, a series of red and purple splotches running over his neck and down his chest.

“Your hickeys are showing.” Roman rolled his eyes and sat at his vanity. “Here,” he said, offering a golden compact and a beauty blender. “This tone suits you. Cover up.”

“Why would I want that?” he laughed, shoving the compact back at him. “Everyone downstairs will understand how I ended up with these.” Remus locked eyes with his reflection. “Today the whole world saw how hot our Nerdy Wolverine really is.”

Avoiding his brother’s gaze, Roman opened the compact and dabbed at the shadows under his eyes.

“Or didn’t you notice?” Remus added, chin propped up on his fists and kicking his feet.

“Of course I noticed!” Giving up on his makeup, Roman snapped the compact shut and stomped over to his bed. “He looks amazing but that’s not the point! This is the beginning of June and tomorrow’s my—“ Roman’s voice cracked and he plopped down on his bed, hiding his face against the cool satin duvet.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere…” Remus purred, inching closer and tilting Roman’s face so he wouldn’t smother himself in the plush bedding. He tapped his brother’s temple. “I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“Apparently so could Janus,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” Remus laughed. “At least you weren’t feeling murderous enough that Lucas could—“

Roman heaved a sigh and flipped over onto his back. “He was here, too.”

“Pretty fly for a Light guy.” When Roman merely shrugged and closed his eyes, Remus snaked too-long nails through his hair, like a bonobo searching for lice.

Roman shuddered. Remus would just as likely put lice in his hair just to pick them out again. “You know Tommy-gun admitted to forgetting both of our birthdays,” Remus sing-songed.

“Yes, I know,” he breathed. “You’re right.” Roman opened his eyes just in time to catch his brother’s frown. Just before he plastered his face in another manic grin. “But he has time to do something proper for your birthday.”

“You know he’ll make it up to you,” Remus said, more serious than Roman would’ve expected. “Jannie wasn’t lying. You’ll always be his hero.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, nearly believing it.

“Do you need me to go get Jannie?”

“No!” he said, louder than he intended. “No, I mean…” Roman shook his head, out of words. Out of any words worthy of a prince, at least. Laying back, hands folded over his belly, he let Remus pick at his hair and they both fell quiet. Quiet enough for the sounds of the others preparing an impromptu party for Logan to filter through the gap between his door and the hallway.

Sudden laughter rang out from downstairs. Logan’s laughter. The brothers’ eyes darted to the door in perfect unison.

“Now when was the last time you heard that?” Remus murmured.

Roman sighed. It’d been far too long. “I don’t remember, actually.” He sighed again and turned to his side, head pillowed on his brother’s knee. “I know I can’t begrudge him this celebration.”

“Well, you could,” Remus drawled, scratching his head.

“I’d be a real dick if I did.”

“Ah! Language!” Remus scolded, tone serious. But when Roman looked up, his brother was grinning. “You know what’ll make ya feel better?”

“What?” Roman tried not to smile but Remus’ grin was infectious.

“LIke pus,” he winked, reading his mind. “A little tromp through my side of the Imagination will turn that frown upside down. Slaughter some slimy demon spawn?” He wiggled his eyebrows and conjured his morningstar. “I’ll even let ya borrow Lucie…”

Roman narrowed his eyes to hide his excitement. It had been a long time since he’d let loose in the Imagination. Nearly as long since the last time Logan himself had let loose.

The voices in the living room grew louder and two sets of footsteps skipped up the stairs. “Come on, Kiddos! We’re waiting for you!”

Roman stood and pulled his brother to his feet, as well. “Tomorrow we shall hunt your orcs. Tonight?” Squaring his shoulders, Roman took a deep breath and caught a glance of his own reflection. He nodded. Very nearly the picture of regality. “Tonight, we celebrate Logan.”

Remus bumped his shoulder and flung his morningstar in the air. It lodged itself into Roman’s ceiling just before disappearing. “And you really have to wonder why you’re anybody’s hero?”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, still smiling. “Hero.”

[youre-ackermine]

Echo

Characters: Levi Ackerman / Hange Zoe

Wordcount: 1025 approx.

Canon Universe / slightly suggestive / non-binary Hange / swearwords

It seemed like hours had passed since he had knocked on the carriage roof for the coachman to drive them back to HQ. The rain, no more than a drizzle when they had left, was now pouring heavily, adding its monotonous noise to the clatter of the wheels and of the horses' hooves on the paved road.

The meeting with the brass in the Stohess District had worn them both out but they still had so much to think, so much to work out. Well, Hange did at least. As a matter of fact, sitting on the bench opposite his, they were already writing down the final changes to the project suggested by the higher-ups.

The Squad Leader barely had had time to mourn Sawney and Bean. As soon as the Military Police investigation was completed, they had been discussing new action plans to flush out the culprits in Erwin's office until the dead of night. Every fucking night. For two fucking weeks.

The rest of their day was even more busy, Hange rummaging the library shelves or leaning over their desk engrossed in a big-ass book, locked in their lab drawing sketches for a new technical device. Every fucking day. For two fucking weeks.

The development of their research as well as the strategic aspects of Erwin's long-distance scouting formation plan for the expedition to come were frequently talked through in private meetings only a few Squad Leaders and the Captain himself attended. The scheme required secrecy for not only Eren's but also Humanity's fate were at stake.

Both the jolting of the coach moving on the cobblestones and the relentless beating of the rain against the vehicle had failed to bore him to sleep and he had a hard time trying to distract himself. No matter how much effort he put into concentrating on the scenery outside, his thoughts still pulled him back to that night he had tried to soothe their grief the only way he knew, bringing them a cup of tea and, later on, showing them how much he cared.

Too damn long! It had been too damn long since the last time he had touched Hange. Those past few days, they had just been able to steal a couple of hasty kisses, hiding in the shadows like some shameful teenagers. These brief encounters had left him in the grip of a burning frustration that his yearning heart could barely endure and that no stroke of his own hand could fully sweep out.

Levi startled as Hange let out a weary sigh and turned to look at them with a worried frown. The design they were correcting earlier lay abandoned on the bench beside them. They rubbed their eyes and pinched the bridge of their nose.

"Shit!" they muttered, "it has to work or else we're screwed!"

They adjusted their glasses and, trying to shake off their exhaustion, stretched their arms above their head as much as the cramped space allowed them to, their knee slightly brushing against his in the process.

Levi gulped as he took their slender shape in, eyes lingering on their arched figure then up on their small breasts. His cheeks flushed as he noticed their nipples showing through the fabric of their shirt, his thoughts instantly dragged back to that night again.

All of a sudden a bump in the road shook the carriage. The papers slipped off the bench and Levi promptly bent down to pick them up on the floor, a hand on Hange's leg to keep his balance as the coach still bounced. 

His palm was already burning when he lifted his gaze towards Hange. Eyes locked with theirs, he put the sheets back on the seat absentmindedly and let himself dive in the amber shades of their irises.

He tried to ignore the irresistible urge drawing him to them every time they were together. He tried to ignore the unsteady rhythm of his heart pounding in his ears. He tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his chest when he looked at Hange.

But he failed. Terribly. Totally.

Giving in to the longing that had become almost unbearable, he slid his hand along their thigh up to their waist and got closer, his face now mere inches from theirs, his warm breath a feather-like caress over their lips.

In one effortless motion, he cut the distance to kiss Hange, enfolding his arms around their slender waist and, sitting back on his bench, drew them into his lap. 

Nothing was more important to him now than their chest pressed against his, their body wrapping him in a tight embrace. He let himself sink into the slow, tender kiss, relishing the taste of their lips, humming in the warmth of their mouth.

Hange let out a delighted sigh at the feel of Levi's hands sliding up under their shirt and caressing their back. His lips had drifted from their mouth to trail kisses along their jawline and reached that sensitive spot under their ear, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

His hands kept wandering, drawing the scars on their skin, tracing the curves of their spine, slithering to their chest. His deft fingers gently grazed one of their nipples, his lips now moving down their neck. 

Hange's skin shivered under Levi's soft touch and they moaned his name. They ran their fingers through his silky hair, pulling him close for a long, heated, desperate kiss.

When they finally pulled away, both light-headed and panting, they looked at each other in wonder.

The feeling was overwhelming, breathtaking. 

Levi's chest tightened with emotion and he buried his head in Hange's neck, softly whispering their name again and again.

"You got into my head, Four-Eyes!" he blurted out. He kissed the crook of their neck.

"You got under my skin," and he pressed a few feather-light kisses up their neck.

"You got into my heart, Hange," only a faint whisper this time. And he kissed their earlobe.

Hange's eyes widened, then softened and fluttered shut in bliss as he held them impossibly closer against him and whispered something in their ear. 

His words a murmured echo of their own breathless words.

This is for @dont-f-with-moogles 💕

This takes place two weeks after Bad Habit. I'm not as talented as you are but I hope you'll like it!

Happy Birthday Terra Darling 🎂

*****

Header: @youre-ackermine

*****

A/N: not beta/proof read - English is not my usual language

[chenziee]

Love at Sunrise (the worst kind)

HAPPY LAWLU DAY!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Coming back with Chains of Fate for @truffyfest Summer of Lawlu!! But also we all know that I am insane so of course I didn't stop there. We have:

Summer of Lawlu, June 6: DAWN | CAUGHT IN THE RAIN | “I never meant to fall in love with you, I just did.”

OP Bingo 2023 (yes I know, don't look at me): Picnic

@opfluffzine Wheel of Fluff event: Kisses

No, I didn't read this after myself, yes, I'm even less prepared than usual this year xD I'm too busy lately 😭 Please bear with me for now and I'll see you next week 🤍 EDIT: I've read it over now, sorry about the weird typos arrvaerv

[ READ ON AO3 | CHAINS OF FATE | COMM INFO ]

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There wasn’t much Law wanted in life.

Peace and quiet. Knowledge. His crew’s safety. A dry and comfortable bed. A decent amount of sleep. It wasn’t that much to ask, in his humble opinion.

So then why, why in the world was he sitting out here on a soaking wet picnic blanket at five in the fucking morning, surrounded by laughing and singing and shouting people all around him? It was neither dry, nor comfortable, peaceful, quiet nor was he getting any sleep at all anytime soon, by the looks of it.

Hell, he couldn’t even attest for the safety of his crew; no one was dead, but the recent battle with the Blackbeard pirates had carried its toll. Everyone was injured and most of them shouldn’t be even moving around. Not that that had stopped those idiots from partying after reuniting with their ‘allies’.

Quotation marks because the alliance with the Straw Hats was over. It had been over for two weeks, as Law had reminded his crew countless times. And yet, both crews still stubbornly insisted on calling each other that.

All except Law himself, of course.

“Torao!!” 

Law closed his eyes momentarily, praying for patience as the biggest pain in his life approached him fast—his flip flops slapping in the mud soaked by the sudden downpour that had interrupted the party earlier, a giggle on his lips, and bringing the smell of meat and bonfire smoke and the sun with him.

How did he always manage to smell like the sun, even in the middle of the night, right after a rain, when they haven’t seen the celestial body in hours? Law had no idea.

“Torao~! Why are you just sitting here?” Straw Hat questioned once he skidded to a stop right behind Law, before immediately grabbing onto Law’s shoulders and leaning over to press an awkward, upside-down kiss to Law’s forehead.

Law huffed, raising an eyebrow at Luffy. “Better question, how do you still have the energy to be so loud?”

Law tried to sound annoyed but with the way his lips twitched and one of his hands immediately raised to touch Luffy’s own hand on his shoulder… he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

Either way, Luffy wasn’t phased. “It’s our first time on Elbaf!! Of course I’m excited, look how giant everything is! Even the meat is huge!”

“Of course you’d get excited about the meat,” Law teased.

“Not just the meat!”

“Of course,” Law placated, doing his best to sound as sincere as he could.

“Jerk,” Luffy shot back immediately, giving Law a pout. “I hate you.”

Law couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at that. “Glad to know my own soulmate hates me.”

“You can be my soulmate and a jerk,” Luffy announced, sticking his tongue out for good measure.

Law shook his head, trying not to show the smile that was pulling on his lips. Not for the first time, he had to wonder how the hell he had ended up with this absolute menace as his soulmate, and why the hell did he actually enjoy it.

It was ridiculous.

This entire… thing they had was ridiculous, just as anything that involved Straw Hat was ridiculous. Like him breaking the chain of a soulmark on Law’s arm with ease on Dressrosa, like invading Whole Cake Island, like beating Kaido, like bringing an entire fucking Buster Call on himself not two days after Law had left him unsupervised.

And yet, Law couldn’t bring himself to hate it—or to regret a single moment they’d spent together since running into each other on Punk Hazard.

That in itself was ridiculous.

But really, who was the ridiculous one here?

Did it even matter?

Without a word, Law grabbed Luffy’s hand still on his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the knuckles—scarred and rough and rubbery and oh-so warm… 

“Torao? Are you okay?”

No. No, he was not. 

He didn’t realise how scared, how tired, and how stressed he had been since the crew’s run-in with Blackbeard until Luffy was safely back by his side. Just hearing his voice, feeling his warmth, having his presence solid next to him was enough to have Law’s carefully constructed mask of I’m fine fall into pieces.

Law’s soulmark tingled when Luffy twisted his hand so that he could lace their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

That simple gesture was enough to ground Law.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he sighed finally. “Don’t worry.”

Luffy was silent for a moment but then he nodded and, a second later, his usual grin was back. He didn’t waste any time in joining Law on his gross, wet, cold blanket, pressing himself against Law’s side as he huddled close, with Law’s arm automatically wrapping around his shoulders. Before they settled into each other, Luffy pressed a quick peck to Law’s cheek, to which Law huffed. That just seemed to make Luffy laugh.

Sometimes, Law had to wonder what about his reactions was so damn funny.

For a while, they simply watched as the last few people from their crews who were still awake partied together and with their new and old giant friends. Honestly, Law wasn’t even surprised that the Straw Hats had somehow managed to pick up an befriend not one, not two, but five giants somewhere along the fucking way before Law even knew knew the crew. Although, admittedly, one of those five had Nico Robin in a sobbing mess on the floor the moment she saw him, much to her own crew’s confusion.

Law didn’t want to know what that was about. He had enough of his own childhood trauma to deal with, thank you very much. Robo-ya could deal with that particular issue.

As they sat in comfortable silence together, Law played with Lufffy’s hair absentmindedly; eventually, he went to kiss Luffy’s temple where he was resting his head against his shoulder… but as he turned to do just that, he suddenly realised how light the sky was getting on the eastern side of the island.

“You’ve got to be kidding…” he muttered, glaring at the first, slight tinges of orange.

Luffy only hummed questioningly, and Law could just imagine the cute, confused frown on his face.

“It’s dawn. It’s fucking dawn, Straw Hat-ya.”

“Oh! Nice!”

Law took a deep breath, his eye twitching. “I hate sunrises, Straw Hat-ya. Do you know why?”

“But they’re so pretty…” Luffy whined and Law took a deep breath.

“They’re pretty to you. To me, though, there are only three reasons I’d ever watch one. Insomnia, nightmares, or you keeping me up until ungodly hours in the morning doing stupid shit,” Law hissed, shooting Luffy an unimpressed look.

Straw Hat, however, completely ignored the very unsubtle jab. “I like the last option best.”

Clicking his tongue, Law shook his head. He refused to admit out loud that he felt the same way. Being forced to socialise until morning was much preferable to trying and failing to fall asleep in complete silence and darkness for hours on end.

But still…

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

Law clicked his tongue at Luffy’s all too amused snicker. Brat.

Finally, Law sighed. “It’s still weird though. This.” He gestured vaguely with the hand he had on Straw Hat’s shoulder. “You know, I never wanted a soulmate. I never wanted this fucking soulmark. And now I’m sitting here, as uncomfortable as can be. Because of you.”

“Hey!” Luffy cried. “I didn’t force you to sit on the soaked blanket when there was a nice bonfire going right here the whole time!”

“And who was the one who insisted on me not leaving when it started raining, holding my injured crew hostage?” Law asked, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Someone had to make sure no one fucking died.”

“Excuses.” Luffy waved his hand dismissively.

Closing his eyes momentarily, Law forced himself to stay calm. “What I’m trying to say”—he paused, mentally preparing himself—”is that it’s weird as hell. I never wanted a soulmate and yet I…”

He trailed off, suddenly out of words. What was he saying? Why was he saying this? Is it too late to back down?

“Yet you…?” Luffy prompted.

Yep. Definitely too late.

Fuck…

“I never meant to fall in love with you, I just… did. And I can’t figure out why.”

The silence that followed only served to drive the mortification Law was feeling in. He almost wished Luffy had laughed in his face instead of taking all this sweet time to process Law’s words.

It felt like hours before Luffy finally responded.

“I fell in love with you too. And it has nothing to do with the soulmate thing. I just love you. Don’t think so hard about stuff, Torao.”

Law cringed; having Luffy be the voice of reason always felt like a slap in the face—which was usually exactly what Law needed in the situations it happened.

“It’s your fault for keeping me up so late. I’m getting delirious.”

At that, Luffy burst out laughing; and, even though he was mostly laughing at him… Law couldn’t help but smile. Luffy’s joy was infectious, today and always. Brighter and more beautiful than any sunrise could ever dream to be.

Oh god, he really was sleep-deprived.

With one final huff, Law leaned in, pressing his lips against Luffy’s in that day’s first, proper kiss. Actually, wasn’t this their first kiss since they parted in Wano? Maybe.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Luffy’s lips stretched into a smile against Law’s mouth, his hands coming up to hold onto Law’s coat as he returned the kiss eagerly. Nothing else mattered at all.

Law may not have gotten any quiet, comfort, dryness, knowledge, or the least amount of sleep tonight—hell, even safety was questionable during this party despite there being no danger to them on Elbaf in theory. But, with Luffy and his crew within reach once more, Law really couldn’t say he was complaining.

Maybe, happiness was enough sometimes.

He would still not say no to a fucking bed though.

[certainty2witch]

Iva loves bothering them, as it should be.

[chaotic-on-main]

cw/tw: angst, death

Imagine Levi slowly making his way to your room in the barracks, the sounds of his steps lingering down the hallways as he does. It's been a couple weeks since the last time he has been to visit but he just couldn't get himself to go. Why he decided to go today, he doesn't know.

Your door comes into view at the end of the hallway. He remembers you complaining so many months ago about a supervisor who said that if you did their paperwork for a couple weeks, you'd be able to have that room. You wiggled your eyebrows when Levi asked why, you simply stated back, "It has the best view of the sunset." And it did.

He stops in front of the hard wooden door, noting the piercing silence that comes from behind it. It's foreign to him, as usually he's greeted with your sweet voice singing old lullabies or laughing at something with your friends you had invited over. With a gentle push, it slowly opens inward. Levi half expects you to be at your desk, staring out the window facing the horizon. Then turning to face him with a wide smile and those wide eyes he loved.

"Levi, you're home." You'd say, and you'd mean it every time even though you both knew he couldn't stay here all night.

But you weren't there, not this time. You wouldn't be, ever again. The room once filled with life from your own personal touches, now devoid of any meaning. Any scents that once belonged to you, now gone just like your things.

This expedition took more than he could take. With a sigh, he makes his way over to your old chair and lowers himself into it then stares out the window. The sun is just starting to set.

Taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae (it won't tag it properly @ god why)

If you'd like to be a part of my taglist, please go here! Your email and choices will never be shared! 💕

[pickalilywrites]

I'm happy you take requests :) I really like your stories. ❤❤❤

Can I ask for Rivetra?

Whenever Petra takes care of Levi's wounds she always leaves light kiss on his dressing. But this time he was fighting with someone to protect her and he got injured in the lips so Petra is ashamed to do that.

I wish you the best! 😊

thanks :) hope you enjoy it

a kiss on the lips

rivetra. canonverse. 3812 words. read on ao3.

Petra’s hands tremble imperceptibly as she carefully applies soothing salve to her captain’s wounds. The slight quivering of her hands would go unperceived by anyone else, but her captain’s watchful eyes miss nothing. He says nothing of her anxious hands even as they dress his wounds. He sits relaxed against the wooden chair, his demeanor completely contrasting against Petra’s nervous air. Whenever Petra applies salve to her comrades wounds, they tend to wince in pain at the sting of the cool ointment against their open wounds. Levi, however, doesn’t flinch in the slightest despite his wounds being fresh. The cuts and bruises on his skin are hardly anything compared to the injuries they face on the battlefield, but they look severe against his pale skin. Petra grimaces as she tends to a particularly deep cut against his jaw.  

“I’m afraid these will scar,” she murmurs. She finds her eyes constantly flitting between all the different wounds on the Captain’s face, the feeling of guilt in her stomach growing heavier with each one she finds. A particularly nasty cut on his lip attracts her attention the most, but it’s the wound she avoids the most. At the very least she dabs at it occasionally to keep the blood from running down the Captain’s chin.  

“I was never particularly handsome to begin with,” the Captain replies.  

“That’s not true,” Petra says without thinking, and she can feel his gaze on her even as she averts hers.  

The Captain is far from conventionally attractive. He stands at a measly 5’3” — hardly an inch taller than Petra is — and his pale skin accentuates the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hollow cheeks make his cheekbones even more severe, and his sharp jawline meets with a pointed chin. His perpetually sour expression doesn’t help his appearance, but there’s something becoming of the way all his features come together. The structure of his face is so delicate, almost feminine, and his gray eyes are such a striking shade that it’s difficult not to be drawn to them whenever one gazes falls on him. No, handsome is perhaps not the best word to describe him. Pretty is the word Petra would use, but she would never utter those words out loud.  

“Your features suit you,” Petra says, but perhaps it isn’t acceptable to remark on the appearance of one’s superiors whether the words are flattering or not. She bites her lip and wonders if she should say anymore. It feels dangerous to let it alone, but she can’t trust herself to say anything more. 

“It doesn’t matter very much anyway,” the Captain says, and it almost disappoints her how unaffected he is by her words. “I have much worse scars. It won’t be that much different having scars on my face.”  

“Still, I’d feel responsible every time I saw it,” Petra murmurs.  

“I don’t recall you giving me this,” the Captain says, and he lifts his chin slightly. He could be talking about any of his cuts and bruises, but all Petra sees is the cut on his lip. He’s joking in that dry, emotionless tone that makes it difficult to know when he’s speaking in jest, but at least Petra knows him well enough now to know the difference. It doesn’t make her feel any better.  

“You know what I mean,” she murmurs.  

It’s only now that she begins to attend to the cut on his lips. She’s careful as she dabs the salve against his lip with the pad of her finger. His blood comes away on her skin, painting her finger red.  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra left her father’s house much later than she intended. She usually leaves well before sundown. The Captain doesn’t care when they come back from their monthly military leave so long as they’re on time to their drills the following morning. Despite being in the military for years, it was still difficult for Petra’s father to say goodbye every time she began to head back to her station. This time, he had held her back and shoved more and more things into a basket that he insisted she take: fresh fruits from the grocer he had bought this morning, fresh vegetables he had just grown from the garden, and sweet pastries that he had baked before the sun had even begun to rise that day. Whenever she tries to leave anything behind, he would only shake his head and place it back into her basket, telling her that she and the rest of the soldiers needed it more than he did. Petra is a soldier with one of the highest kill counts in the Scouting Legion, but she will always be her father’s precious daughter.  

Her father continued to fuss about her even as she was leaving his house. She laughed as he called out to her, reminding her to dress warmly and to eat well. She pretended not to notice the tears that welled up in his eyes as he waved her goodbye, although it always made her heart ache whenever they had to part. 

She catches her reflection in the mirror of a nearby tailor. It makes her feel self-conscious seeing herself in normal civilian clothes. She’s so used to her military uniform, a standard white ensemble with a cropped jacket that everyone wears. It’s strange seeing herself in anything else, but she dresses more casually because it seems to make her father happy seeing his daughter dressed like a normal woman. As she passes by the store, she tries to walk as naturally as she can, but she can feel her spine straightening and her walk become stilted the more out of place she feels.  

Petra sighs and shifts the basket of fruits and vegetables to her other hand. She wonders if she should walk a little faster, although the Captain and the squad won’t mind waiting for her. She might be late for dinner and it’ll be a shame that they’ll have to wait for tomorrow to cook up the vegetables her father has given them, but she knows Gunther will be delighted to see what she’s brought back regardless.  

Behind her, she can hear a group of men singing. Drunk, probably, even though sky is not yet dark. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at them even though people on the street are whispering and turning their heads. She’s seen her own fair share of drunkards in her time, and they’ve never been very different. They’ll probably stumble into another bar and wreak havoc there before getting kicked out and finding another establishment to trash. 

Petra picks up her pace and the men’s singing have turned into shouts. Their shouting grows louder and louder. Her mouth settles into a frown as she tries to rid herself of the men behind her. It doesn’t even occur to her that their shouts are directed toward her until a hand clutches her shoulder and yanks her backward. Surprised, she yelps as she’s turned around roughly and finds herself surrounded by half a dozen men, most of them much larger than her.  

She tries to keep her composure even as her heartbeat spikes. She bites her lip to keep from crying out even as the man who has his hand clutched on her shoulder tightens his grip. Calling for help might only exacerbate the situation, and Petra’s not sure anyone would come to her aid anyway. When her eyes flit about in alarm, all the passersby are keeping their heads down, pretending not to see what is happening right in front of them.  

“Hello, pretty,” the man who has her in his clutches drawls. She can smell the alcohol on his breath and it makes her want to gag. His mouth stretches in more of a sneer than a smile, revealing yellowed teeth. “What are you doing all by your lonesome so late at night?”  

Petra doesn’t reply, not even to point out that it’s hardly late in the evening. She tries to discreetly break free from the man’s grip, keeping her eyes down so as to not make eye contact, but his hold is far too strong. She wonders if she should fight back regardless of the punishment she’ll face for laying a hand on civilians. Only Military Policemen are allowed to punish civilians, and Petra isn’t sure how lenient the military will be towards her even if her actions are in self-defense. She curses herself for not donning her military uniform today. Even if it has the Scouting Legion emblem emblazoned on the back, at least there was a chance that the men wouldn’t have known the difference between the logos of the different military branches.  

“You should join us, miss. You look like you could have some fun,” another man says.  

“Let’s have some fun. Do you like dancing?” asks a burly man nearly twice her size. He has to stoop down to speak to her, shoving his face in hers and Petra has no choice but to see his flushed face, eyes red from drinking. When she stumbles back in surprise, the man throws his head back to howl with laughter.  

“Give your basket here. We’ll take care of your goods and show you a good time,” another man coaxes. He grabs Petra’s basket from her hand and nearly all the vegetables and fruits come tumbling out of it. He does a few clumsy steps toward Petra, stopping only a few centimeters from her face. “We could show you a few dances, too. Doesn’t this girl look like she’d be a good dancer?”  

Petra’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to take down half a dozen men with her bare hands. At the very least, shouldn’t she attempt to run away? She tries to calculate her next move, but her panicked mind can only think about how helpless she feels surrounded by the men that tower above her. Her hands feel clammy and cold and her body trembles, but she can’t stand to be here another minute. 

Without thinking, she brings up her knee to knock the wind out of the man in front of her. His eyes nearly pop out of his head in surprise as he keels over in pain, letting out a groan as he sinks to his knees. His other friends are frozen in shock, so Petra takes the opportunity to break through the barrier of men that have entrapped her and run as fast as she can. She stumbles through fallen vegetables and fruits, the basket her father had given her forgotten with the men she is trying to escape. She doesn’t make it very far.  

A hand reaches out to grab her by the hair. Petra shrieks in pain as she’s pulled back and thrown to the ground. Her side is numb from her fall, and she stumbles to get upright but the men begin to pile on her. A man pins her down by her wrists while the others begin to clamber onto her, their gazes like wolves about to devour their prey. She opens her mouth to scream but chokes on a hat that a man has jammed down her throat. She can only gag from the pain, wriggling helplessly as she tries to break free. She feels their hands on her, fumbling for the ties and buttons of her clothes, and she wants to vomit. Tears form in her eyes from the searing pain, and she closes her eyes as if somehow that will lesson the pain. 

Her wrists hurt from how tightly she’s being held down. She wants to pull them free, and she can feel the bruises form around her wrists even as she tries to break out of her captor’s grip. It surprises her when she finally does break free. When she opens her eyes, she realizes the man is gone and the his comrades are looking up in surprise. Her gaze follows theirs and she sees that the man has been knocked down. Another man is on top of him, relentless as he throws his punches at the man that had just held Petra down.  

The other men have stopped, their interest in Petra momentarily interrupted as they turn confusedly to the stranger that had just attacked their friend. Petra, too, turns her head as best as she can, craning her neck to catch a glimpse at the man that had dared to interfere when nobody else had. She recognizes the military uniform at once — stark white trousers and pressed white button-up underneath a cropped jacket with the Wings of Freedom, the symbol for the Scouting Legion, plastered on the back. It’s only when the man turns his head, gray eyes blazing with fury, that Petra realizes that it is Captain Levi.  

The men are caught between wanting to flee and saving their friend. They stumble away from Petra, scowling at the Captain as they size him up. The Captain is only a few centimeters taller than Petra, and the men must believe that he can hardly be threat because they charge at him, yelling threateningly as they charge. They are no match for him.  

Petra drags herself up to a sitting position, grabbing the hat that had been stuffed into her mouth and tossing it aside. She coughs, her mouth still tasting of wool. She sees that the Captain has been thrown against the pavement, but he gets up much faster than the other men expected. The Captain is more known for his ability to fight Titans, but his hand-to-hand combat skills greatly surpass many of the other soldiers in the military. While he might be outnumbered, the other men are clearly outmatched. Their attacks are clumsy and uncoordinated, made worse by their inebriated state. Even if they do manage to get a few punches in here and there, the Captain is beating them ruthlessly. 

“Captain, that’s enough!” Petra says. She doesn’t know when she had gotten up, but she’s now pulling him away from the rest of the men who have been beaten senseless. They have more cuts and bruises than the Captain does, although he hasn’t left the fight unscathed. She winces when she sees the wounds on his face, although the Captain doesn’t seem be in pain at all.  

The Captain doesn’t respond to her, only struggles against her to throw in a few more punches with his bloodied knuckles as some of the men attempt to escape. The Captain only stops when the Military Police arrive, rounding up the bloodied men quickly now that the bulk of their work has been done for them.  

“Why didn’t you show up earlier?” the Captain snaps at one of the policemen that have approached them for a statement. The Captain has never been fond of the Military Police. This incident has probably soured his opinion of them even more. He hadn’t seemed tired as he was taking on six men at a time, but he’s leaning against Petra now as he curses out the Military Police. “What the fuck are any of you good for if you can’t stop drunkards from assaulting people?” 

“Captain, it’s fine,” Petra murmurs as she gives an apologetic nod to the policeman. “Let’s just return to our quarters. The others are waiting for us-”  

“It’s not fine!” the Captain says, cutting her off short before returning to his berating of the Military Police. “Are you just sitting on the shitter all day? At least come out once and a while to take care of the civilians you’re meant to protect, you dumb fucks.”  

“We had it handled,” the policeman says, but his eyes are cast downward in shame and his cheeks are flushed. He can’t even make eye contact with either of them. “Only the Military Police are allowed to punish civilians. Other military branches aren’t permitted to lay hands on civilians-”  

“Then do your fucking jobs so we won’t have to do it for you,” the Captain snarls. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Petra behind to apologize profusely for her captain’s behavior.  

They ride the ferry across the river that would take them only part of the way home. A horse ride still awaits them after that. As they ride the ferry, the Captain rests beside Petra, arms folded across his chest and head resting on her shoulder. Her father’s basket sits on her lap. The fruits and vegetables that had fallen on the cobblestone streets had been collected and placed back in the basket because the Captain wouldn’t hear of it being left behind even though there are only one or two vegetables that were undamaged.  

“Thank you for saving me,” Petra murmurs. Her eyes can’t seem to leave her Captain’s face, the cuts and bruises that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for her.  

The Captain doesn’t reply and Petra thinks he’s fallen asleep. He stirs for just a moment and says quietly, “I should have been there sooner.”  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra realizes she’s been staring far too long at the Captain’s face even though the cut on his lip has been attended to. She no longer has an excuse for her gaze to linger on his lips, and she removes her finger quickly from his cut. She turns to return all the things she’s used to the first aid kit, making sure to avoid the Captain’s gaze but she can feel his eyes fixed on her. She does her best to maintain an air of normalcy, but she knows the flush of her cheeks gives her away.  

“It will take a while to heal, but the salve should help prevent scarring. Just let me reapply it for you in the evenings until it’s fully healed,” Petra says. She looks down, organizing and reorganizing everything in the kit even though there is hardly anything in there for her to fuss around with. She’s just looking for any excuse not to look at the Captain. She’s about to shut the lid of the kit and scurry off, but the Captain grabs her by the arm before she can make her escape. He’s careful when he grabs her, making sure to wrap his hand just above her wrists which are still tender from being held down earlier that evening.  

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet that Petra wouldn’t have heard it if she weren’t holding in her breath.  

She could feign innocence, insist that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or maybe clasp her hands and tell the Captain he’s exactly right before attending to a make-believe wound she had forgotten to tend to. She knows he’s referring to a habit she and the rest of the squad had started as a joke.  

Whenever Petra tended to her comrades’ wounds, she would kiss their wounds. She had gotten into the habit of it when taking care of Gunther’s siblings, nearly half a dozen children that got into more trouble than anyone could imagine. They would go out in the morning to play only to come home in the evening with scrapes and bruises all over their elbows and knees. She had pressed kisses against bandaged knees and elbows one after the other. The habit must have stuck because she had leaned down to kiss a wound she had taken care of on Eld’s hand one day without thinking. The others had burst out laughing and Petra, although embarrassed, held her chin up and asked Eld if he had any other injuries for her to “kiss better” as Gunther’s siblings often say.  

It became a running joke among the soldiers, taking care of each other’s injuries and kissing the bandages as soon as they were done being patched up. They would do so mischievously, with roguish grins on their faces if they were kissing a gash on someone’s cheek or a cut on their cheek. They did it with the affection of siblings or very close friends, never with any romantic feeling even if Auruo would joke otherwise as he planted a sloppy kiss against Petra’s temple as she groaned. It was a silly joke, one that Petra didn’t know the Captain even paid attention to. She never thought it was something to be ashamed about, but she’s embarrassed about it now that he brings it up.  

Her mind revisits all the cuts on the Captain’s face — his cheekbone, his temple, his jaw, his chin — but she can only think about the gash on his lip. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about kissing the Captain. She’s probably thought about it more than she should have, but she never thought it would happen like this. Would a kiss like this be deemed improper? But it’s just a kiss, hardly even a kiss. It’s more of a joke than a kiss, Petra reasons, and yet she hesitates.  

“Never mind then,” the Captain says, and Petra realizes she’s taken too long to respond. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

Petra grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back down in his seat before he can rise. Without warning, she leans forward and her lips collide with the bandage on his temple. The Captain tenses in surprise, but she continues to press kisses against his face — his forehead, his cheekbones, down his jawline, down to his chin — and she takes in his beauty as she does. She marvels in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, the point of his chin. His eyelashes are longer and thicker than anyone else’s. They would be wasted on anyone else but him, she thinks.  

She hesitates when she gets to his lips. He must sense her hesitation because his hand finds its way to the back of her neck and he guides her towards him, inviting but not demanding. In the end, she accepts his invitation. She’s hesitant at first, her lips barely brushing against his like the graze of a butterfly’s wings. His lips are soft and gentle against hers, and she tastes the salt of his wound against her tongue mixed with the sweet honey from the salve. She presses her lips harder against his and he reciprocates, his mouth opening to allow her taste and their tongues mingle.  

When they finally part, it is too soon. She’s breathless, her face flushed, but the Captain looks completely unaffected. All he does is touch her lip with the pad of his thumb and it takes everything in her not to hold him there.  

“You’re an excellent nurse, Petra,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, sir,” Petra murmurs. She remains there even when he gets up to leave, all alone with nothing except the memory of the Captain’s lips on hers.  

[leiawritesstories]

A Memory of Your Love

Rowaelin Month, Day 19: Telling the kids about their tattoos

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: none, it's sappy melty fluffy goodness (i swear)

Enjoy!

@rowaelinscourt

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

“Mama.” The small voice was accompanied by a series of rapid knocks on Aelin’s partially-open office door. “Are you very busy, Mama? Da said you’d be busy.” 

Aelin set down her quill and turned away from her desk, finding her second child, her son, poking his head through the crack in her door. “No, my boy, I’m not busy.” She stood, digging one hand into the small of her back–gods, sitting down for too long was terrible for her spine–walked over, and opened the door. “Come in, Bran. What do you need?” 

Bran–Prince Brannon Whitethorn Galathynius–shuffled into the office, uncharacteristically quiet and shy. Normally, he was the most vivacious of the royal children, always with a laugh on his lips and a prank brewing in his mischievous mind. He got that from his mother. “I want to practice with the knives,” he said slowly, haltingly. 

Aelin nodded. “And do you need someone to go with you?”

Sheepishly, he nodded. “Yeah. Da said I can’t be there alone, not yet.” 

“Not yet,” she agreed. “When you’re a little more comfortable with the blade work, or maybe when you’re a little older, then you can go alone. Just not yet.” 

He frowned. “Why not? All the other boys my age go out into the yard by themselves.” 

“Ah, but they’re with each other, no?” 

“Uh…yeeeeees?” 

“That’s right, my son.” Aelin cracked a grin at her son’s slight flush. “You’re welcome to train with them, you know.” 

“Don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I’m not good enough.” 

“Now that’s just horseshit,” she scoffed. 

In her mind, Rowan flinched. Fireheart!

What? she snarked. You know he’s heard worse from those hulking brutes you call friends. “Bran, you are good enough. They aren’t going to make fun of you.” She ruffled his hair affectionately. “Yes, I’ll go practice with you.” She winked. “Anything to sneak away from the boring paperwork.”

That made him snicker. “Are you going to make Da do the paperwork, then?” 

“Maybe.” She led him out of her office and down towards the training yard. “It’s good for him to pretend like he has responsibilities every once in a while.” 

I heard that.

I know. She blew her grumpy buzzard an invisible kiss. 

Bran was at the door to the training yard. “Come on, Mama!”

“Just a minute,” she laughed. “I can’t train in this dress, it’s too frilly.” She ducked into a side room and changed into a loose, comfortable tunic and pants. “All right, I’m ready.”

“Come on!” Bran pushed open the door and bounded out into the training yard, running for the fenced-off area used for knifeplay. “I beat you, Mama!” 

“You did,” she laughed, catching up with him. “I must be getting old.” 

~

For a good hour, she sparred against her son, working with him on his form and his technique, especially taking a chunk of time to show him how to throw a knife. Bran had been wanting to learn that skill for a while, and she decided he was ready, no matter what his overprotective father and uncles thought. 

Bran drew a deep breath, locked his turquoise eyes on the target, exhaled, and released the knife. It sliced through the air and embedded itself in the ring just outside the bulls-eye. “I did it!” he screeched, jumping up and down in thrilled excitement. “I did it, Mama!” 

“You certainly did,” she praised. “I don’t think I could have done any better.” 

He beamed. “Dare you, Mama!” 

“Oh do you, now?” Challenge sparked in her bright eyes. “Stand back, B. I don’t want to hurt you.” She took her mark on the chalked line, inhaled, locked her eyes on her target, tipped her arm back, and launched her blade. Her tunic slipped, partially exposing her shoulder–perils of wearing her mate’s clothing rather than her own–but her knife flew straight down its intended path and buried itself right next to Bran’s knife with a thunk. “How’s that, Your Highness?” she teased. 

Bran sprinted over to check the target and came back with the biggest, brightest smile plastered all over his face. “Mine was closer!” 

“No!” Aelin exclaimed in contrived shock. “I really am losing my touch!” She grinned down at her son. “Congratulations, Bran, you’ve just out-thrown your queen.” 

His attention flicked from the target to his mother and back again, a question creasing his forehead. 

She knelt and met his eye level. “What is it, my son?” 

“Your tattoo,” he said, unexpectedly. “I know you have one, I just…it looks like wings. Why is it wings, Mama? Shouldn’t it be fire?” 

Aelin was quiet, thinking through how much to say. I can’t just brush him off.

No. We knew we would have to tell them eventually.

Right. Just…how much?

As much as you want. Rowan sent reassurance pulsing down the bond. We can talk to him and Lana later tonight, both of us.

I’d like that. With Rowan’s strength at her back, she took Bran’s hands. “Da did it for me.” 

His childish face lit up with interest and wonder. “When?” 

“Before…” She trailed off, her gaze going distant for a moment. “Before we settled. Before you and Lana were even thoughts in our minds.” She noticed his furrowed brow, and she squeezed his hands in comfort. “Da and I are going to tell you and your sister about it later tonight, because you’re old enough and you deserve to know more of our story. I’m not dismissing you, I promise; you just need to wait for a little longer, okay?” 

Slowly, he nodded. “Okay,” he replied. “Can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Of course.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Some,” she said, honestly. “But your father was with me, and that made it easier.” 

~

Rowan wore a sleeveless shirt to dinner that night, the soft gray linen exposing the defined grooves of his muscles and the full breadth of the script inked down his arm. Aelin chose a dress that dipped low in the back, low enough to display the wings unfurled across her shoulder blades. She frowned as she laced the silken material up the side–it was almost at the point where she couldn’t wear it in public, else it would reveal too much. Just to be sure, she turned to the side and checked her profile, relieved when her reflection showed that the skirt still billowed out high enough to conceal the swelling of her abdomen. 

Stunning. Her husband padded up behind her on near-silent feet, slid his powerful arms tenderly around her waist. His tattooed hand splayed over her stomach. “How much longer?” 

“Another few weeks before we tell the children.” She laid her hand over his. “At least a month before anyone else even suspects.” Lest we…lose them.

“Of course.” Rowan dipped his head and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her pulse point. I love you, he murmured into her soul. 

Aelin melted into him. As I love you. 

Lana and Bran were full of anticipation and eager chatter at dinner, both children more than willing to ramble on about their days. Bran seemed to be back to his usual mischievous self, busily flicking tiny crumbs and a pea or two at his sister when he thought nobody was watching. Lana returned the favor by gradually increasing the heat of her brother’s chair, silverware, and even clothes, making him squirm in mild discomfort and drop his fork with a yelp when he picked it up and it nearly burned him. 

Unsurprisingly, though, when dinner was over and they moved into the small, cozy, private living room reserved exclusively for the family, both Lana and Bran went quiet, settling down onto the small sofa and watching their parents expectantly. 

Aelin settled into her chair and spoke first. “So you want to know about our tattoos.” 

“Mhmm.” Lana nodded. “Well, I know about Father’s. Mostly.” 

“Do you?” Rowan wore a half-grin. 

“Uncle Lorcan told me it’s a record of your life and a memory of your love.” 

“Uncle Lorcan talks too damn much.” 

Aelin snickered. “Admit it, buzzard, that was a very lovely description.” 

Rowan grumbled. “Fine. Lorcan can be civil once in a while.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s the most basic description of my tattoos.” 

“You did them yourself, right?” Bran asked. 

“Mostly. Gavriel helped, a little.” 

Bran tilted his head. “And you did Mama’s?” 

“He did,” Aelin confirmed. “Both times.” 

“Both times?” Lana and Bran chorused, wearing twin expressions of disbelief. 

“Both times.” Aelin shared a long, laden look with Rowan. “This set–” she turned around and let her children see the full expanse of the ink scripted across her back–“was done just before we kicked the shit out of the Valg once and for all.” 

“Language,” Rowan sighed, teasingly. 

Aelin huffed a laugh. “Says you. Like your father’s, my tattoos are my story. All of it–who I once was, who I became, who I am now.” She whispered under her breath, and two of the symbols glowed blue for a few seconds. “Those are your names, my loves, in the Old Language.” 

“That’s us?” Lana breathed, both awe and tears clogging her words. 

“That’s you,” Aelin murmured. “Your idiot father also wrote a whole entire spell into my tattoo–didn’t even think to tell me, oh no–in yet another language.” 

“It was a protective measure!” Rowan protested. “And it worked, didn’t it?” 

“Oh, all right, it did.” She laced her fingers with his. “Your father is boring; all his tattoos are just Old Language.” 

“Can you read them?” Bran asked. 

“I can.” A yearning smile curved Rowan’s lips. “It’s been a very long time since I spoke the Old Language, but I can read it, yes.” 

“What’s this one?” Lana pointed to a sequence of characters on Rowan’s bicep. “It repeats a lot. There, and on your forearm, and on your neck, too.” The firstborn Whitethorn Galathynius always had been perceptive. 

“It says Fireheart,” Rowan murmured. 

A crooked little smile lit Lana’s face. “That’s…extremely sappy of you, Father. Aren’t you supposed to be the hardened old warrior?” 

Aelin burst into laughter. “Oh, my daughter,” she wheezed. “Never change, Lana love.” 

“I’m trying very hard to be unimpressed,” Rowan intoned, his lips twitching with the effort of holding back his merriment. 

Lana giggled. “We’re all thinking it.” 

Rowan laughed. “I suppose we all are.” 

Bran’s smaller hands touched the ink spiraling up his father’s arm. “When I grow up, I want tattoos too!” he declared. 

Aelin and Rowan shared a very long look. 

“Maybe you will have tattoos,” Aelin told her son, running her thumb over his knuckles. “If you do, know that you carry the weight of every name and event written into your skin.”

“Even the ones that hurt?” 

“Especially those ones.” Aelin gathered her children close. “It is the weight of the people we have loved and lost that guide us through life. They are always with us, even when they fade.”

[bioplast-hero]

eating, starving

3k • teen • satosugu • part 4: April

“What’s it like, swallowing curses?” Suguru doesn’t answer at first. He doesn’t really want to think about it, but Satoru isn’t that easy to shake. “My technique? You’ve seen it.” “Well, sure, but there’s a lot I can’t see.” Suguru sighs. When he shakes his head, the whisper-fine tips of Satoru’s hair tickle his jaw. “That’s a landmark confession, coming from you.” “Is it?” Satoru snorts like a heathen. He’s so unserious. That alone is enough to dredge up a smile, somehow, with no regard for Suguru’s sour mood. He feels toyed with when that happens. Satoru is a little too good at getting what he wants. “I mean, what is it like for you?” Suguru hasn’t ever tried to explain it. It’s second-nature, really. But he’s picturing it now, feels it coming up like a bad breakfast, this force he can’t resist. He’s picturing it, so he may as well try and find the words. “There’s this… pull.”

Suguru consumes curses for a living and pretends it doesn’t keep him up at night. Satoru knows that it does and tries his best to help.

(Set in April 2006, 4 months before the Star Plasma Vessel incident. Series part 4 of 12.)

[Read the fic on AO3]