#and it *was* fine for only some of that time but the wobble was infuriating at some point

[syntaxaero]

yea I deleted the post bashing the dual screen laptop cus the screenshot i used didn't show the keyboard or fact that simply stands on a built in stand. and people started calling it a tablet

but i still think it's a less-than-ideal product for a few reasons:

1 - While I myself love having multiple monitors I sincerely doubt that it makes much sense to have both at all times for a product designed to be portable. You wouldn't be able to use it on your lap very comfortably I feel. The function only really makes sense at a desk or internet cafe sort of deal. Yes you can use it with the keyboard in standard laptop mode but at that point why get such a product-

2 - The extra concern for durability just probably isn't worth it. Both screens might not shatter if you close it too hard but that shit *will* get scratched up in a backpack. One bad day at the airport (assuming you aren't carrying it on- I doubt you'd be able to use both screens on an airplane) and that thing is Gone. Dust.

3 - No trust me unless ASUS put Wacom EMR in that thing, or even a fully up to date version of MPP, it would be an *awful* experience for drawing on without egregious degrees of stabilizers. Many windows laptops include very cheaply produced pens that have far too much wobble and inconsistency to comfortably use as a daily driver. Its usually fine for note taking or using as a pointer- but otherwise it's probably cheaper and much better to use a 12-16in drawing tablet plugged into the laptop- otherwise the ergonomics and detachable keyboard and extra screen space do make it seem fairly compelling as an illustration device I suppose!

4 - Oh God The Repairability

But yeah anyways at like 1500+ USD it's absolutely not something I'd Recommend Necessarily. Unless it's a deeply user serviceable device with good specs and an actually usable pen protocol, all it's probably good for is getting attention and maaaayyybee power users that cycle laptops every three years. Which is probably the target audience anyway.

[joongwooclub]

Someone's Jealous ~ K. HJ.

synopsis: you're dating kim hongjoong from ateez, everything was fine until a small little comment was made.

warnings: smut, degradation, arguments, cussing, foul language, voyeurism

✩: reblogs / comments + feedbacks are appreciated!! story under cut!

“Yunho, please leave me alone. I have a headache and I don’t feel well”, you said while laying on the couch backstage. You were chilling backstage with the members and your boyfriend, Hongjoong. You have been dating Hongjoong for about four years so you have known Ateez for some time but you were never close with Yunho. You dont know why but it was always a thing to where you would hang out with all of the other members besides Yunho. You decided to change that when Guerrilla promotions came around to where you started to hang out with Yunho more and more just to get to know him more. But now, its the worst time for Yunho to try to bother you.

Hongjoong wanted to play a “game” with you, so you had a bluetooth vibrator inside you while he had the remote, controlling it whenever he chooses. You had at least been with them all day with it inside you and had been denied your release at least four times. You were getting tired and exhausted from the pleasure leaving your body and coming back every time Hongjoong wanted to turn off and on the vibrator and you just wanted to cum at least one good time. The only ones who were the room with you now is only Hongjoong and Yunho due to the boys getting ready and socializing with other idols that are doing their promotions. Hongjoong saw Yunho bothering you and was slowly getting jealous that Yunho was hanging around you this whole time. He has been jealous of you hanging out with Yunho and the fact Yunho has been close with you has been infuriating. He knows how some of members think of you, but Yunho probably has the dirtiest mind when it comes to you, but Yunho knows not say anything……well, almost knows.

He never said anything to you about it but, you know Hongjoong long enough to know that he was jealous. Yunho finally caught on that you were not in the mood to be bothered by him and turned around to walk out the room to get ready for the next stage when he notice something in Hongjoong’s hand. Something small but a bright red, color resembling a remote. Yunho put two and two together and realized what Hongjoong was doing to you. “Hyung”, Yunho said getting Hongjoong’s attention. “Lets get ready to go”. Hongjoong nodded his way and walked over to you, kissed your forehead and walked out of the room. As both of them leave the room, Hongjoong finally turned off the vibrator right when it was harder to hold back the moans that were gonna coming from the back of your throat.

After letting out a breath that you did not know that you were holding in, you were finally let your body calm down from the pleasure that was rushing through it. You were able to stand up without wobbling of course as you walk to the side of the stage to watch the boys perform. Well…. more so watching Hongjoong, just in a trance due to his stage presence and watching his facial expressions. You can see why Atinys put him with Sannie and Hwa in demon line, because of the many reasons you have fallen for that man was that. His energy and the passion he has on stage every time he steps on it drives you crazy. It put a bundle of nerves in your stomach when he makes eye contact with you and smirks at you while perform as you rub your thighs to apply some pressure to your heat.

Time Skip

After the performance, everyone headed backstage and started to clean everything up so they could go back to the dorms and enjoy the rest of the day off. You were helping put their makeup and outfits up with the makeup artists and wardrobe people until you started to hear shouting and yelling down the hall. You immediately dropped everything to see what the hell was happening. At first, you thought it could have Woosan picking a fight with each other, but when you got to everyone, it was Hongjoong and Yunho beating on each other like animals. Despite Hongjoong’s size compared to Yunho, Hongjoong was able to pin down the larger male on the ground and continuous throwing punches. “stop Joongie”, you yelled. While the members were pulling Hongjoong off of Yunho, it was like a switch in his brain as soon as he heard your voice. It was like it brought him back to reality. As soon as he snapped out of whatever trance he was in, he was able to push the boys off of him and ran up to you. He immediately hugged you and dragged you away outside to one of their vans and asked the driver to take you guys to your apartment. Usually Hongjoong would stay at your apartment since you guys cant live together due to the boys need to be together for schedules and such. The driver nodded and then asked, “wait what about the other members, Mr. Kim?” “They have the other two vans. They have a way of getting home, now please drive.” You have never seen Hongjoong like this before. You have seen him agitated when it comes to work or even him being mad at a company when comes to performances or even awards, but never with his members especially beating them to a damn pulp. You guys have finally got to your apartment, thanked the driver and walked to your front door with Hongjoong covering his face with a mask and hat due to wanting to hide his face from any photos that might be taken without his permission.

As soon as you guys got in your apartment, you immediately pulled Hongjoong into the nearest bathroom and had him sit down on the stool while you grabbed a first aid kit and started to bandage his knuckles and started to clean his bloody lip. “Hiss”, Hongjoong said after you take a small cotton swab with hydrogen peroxide. “Sorry love, now will you explain to your girlfriend why the fuck you were beating the shit out of Yunho? Like what the fuck did he do to deserve it?” Hongjoong looked at you with a little anger behind his eyes. “baby can you please tell me what is going on”, you said wrapping his fingers. “So Yunho made a comment and I did not like the way he said nor the comment itself, so I slightly got mad and well you saw what happened”, he said in a low tone. Your curiosity got the better of you as the next question slipped from your lips. “What was Yunho’s comment”? Immediately Hongjoong’s aura changed to a calm one to where he was tensed and you could see it right when it changed, right down to the look in his eye. You were about to tell him to not tell you then he sighed and spoke. “He said that he saw me with the vibrator remote and was wondering if he could join in. I said no calmly but, then that motherfucker turned and said “aww I’m upset now, I know she would have looked so pretty trembling on my dick.” After that, I fucking lost it”. Your face was in utter shocked when you heard this. You had never thought that Yunho or just any of the other members would have thought of you like that or even tell Hongjoong about it. You finished bandaging his knuckles and putting a little ointment on his lip before kissing him on the cheek. You could see his body relax after your action, just confirming something small to him. “Love, you know I don’t look at the members that way and I just shocked that he would say something like that”, you said holding both of his hands in yours and just gently rubbing the back of his hands. “I know baby, its just the fact he has been looking at you like that, when you belong to me. That’s why I got so fucking mad. You belong to me and them thinking they could fuck that pretty pussy of yours makes me shake in anger. No one can touch you the way I do. No one can kiss you the way I do and no one can claim you the way I do”, he said this while getting off the stool he was sitting on, slowly walking and pinning you between the wall and himself.

“Joongie”, you said whining, thinking about what he just said and let your body indulge in the warmness that was spreading due to his words and how he’s looking at you. The look he has is a lustful one but, almost a devilish look, similar to the one he has on stage when he performs. “Fuck baby, you have had me horny all fucking day. Knowing you had been holding back with that vibrator and then with Yunho’s comment. Just makes me want to mark you up and show them that you only are mine and they can’t fucking touch you”. Hongjoong immediately pushes you against the wall and starts to kiss you. The taste of strawberries was from some candy he had in the van on the way here on his lips made you feel weak in your knees where you started to moan softly. “Jump baby”, he whispered in your ear as he picked you and wrapped your legs around his waist. He moved from your lips and started to lightly kiss your neck as you moan his name, wanting more in this moment. “See they can’t hear your pretty little moans but, I might let them hear you scream my name, knowing that its only me that can make you feel this way”, he said kissing my neck and collarbone. He stopped kissing you and looked at you dead in your eyes. His smile that appeared on his face made fall more in love with him as he kissed you more one time on the lips before carry you into your bedroom and softly placing you on the bed. “Now lets take care of my babygirl since we couldn’t do anything earlier”, he said hovering over you and smirking.

He started to strip you out your top as he kissed your chest and all over your collarbone. “Daddy…”, you started to whine louder, craving him more and more to where you were slightly grinding on him. “Slow down babygirl. I still wanna have a little fun”, he said smirking, taking off your bra and throwing it somewhere in the room. All you feel is Joongie start to suck on your nipple on one of your breast while massaging the other. He is slowly realizing that you are getting louder while he was sucking. You could feel his hands glide over your body where he stopped at the band of your shorts. “Please daddy, I needed you all day and I want you so bad”, you said whining and begging him. “Ok babygirl, let me give what you want since you have a good little girl today”. He kissed your lips again before taking off his own shirt and his pants while licking his lips. “Babygirl, you just keep looking better and more sexier”, he said with a smirk on his face, crawling over you and slowly sliding down your shorts and underwear to the floor. He pulled you closer, kissed your lips one moe time before moving down between your legs. “Now hold still princess so I can enjoy my meal”. He immediately started to kiss the inside of your thigh and slowly stated to licked your clit. “Ahh please”, you started to beg more for Hongjoong to go faster. You could feel him smirk and started to suck faster and slowly push one of his fingers, then another finger inside of you. You moaned louder as you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers hitting your g-spot. “fuck daddy im… gonna….”, you said not letting the words come to you as your brain not letting you thinking about anything besides how Hongjoong’s fingers feel in you and his mouth and tongue on your clit. “Go on baby, cum on my fingers for me”. As soon as he said that, you feel a wave of pleasure shot through your body as you moan his name as loud as possible. He looks at you and smirking, guiding the two fingers that were in you into your mouth as you suck them. “See baby, now you know how good you taste”.

A thought snuck into Hongjoong’s mind as he reached over you and grab his phone. “Daddy what are……..”? “Watch and see baby”. He started to smirk as he clicked something on his phone before you heard the facetime ringtone dial from the device. He smiled and put his finger to his lips in a shushing move to tell you that you better not make a sound. You slowly nodded, watching him yell whoever was on the opposite line. “Hyung, where in the hell are you”, the voice you recognized as Mingi said. “Yah where’s everyone”, Hongjoong said while looking at you in the state that left you. You were softly whimpering as he slowly rubs the tip of his dick against your heat. He gave you a warning look as he called for Mingi to go get the rest of the members besides Seonghwa in a room in the dorm where they can all hear and look at the phone. Mingi was able to get everyone in a room while you hear Seonghwa say that he was leaving and not coming until later. “Call me from one of the laptops”, Hongjoong said as he started to smirk. The only thing is that I was the only one to see his face before Mingi hung up. A few seconds later, you heard the ringtone meaning Mingi was calling back. Hongjoong answered to see everyone without the eldest member there. “Now where are you, hyung”, Wooyoung asked. “You guys will see in a little bit, but I do want to say one thing. We share everything in that goddamn dorm. I refuse to share whats mine”. As soon as he finished saying that, he flipped the camera and immediately pushed himself to you. “Baby, you have to let them know who you belong to”, he said smirking. “Tell them how you are my dirty little slut and how you will be my little slave”. He was slowly speeding up with thrusting into you as you started to moan his name. “Daddy……”, you said losing your mind as he keep hitting your g spot harder and harder. “You like that babygirl? You want me to got faster?” You quickly nod as he started to go faster as he propped the phone on the dresser next to both of you so the boys could see you and visa versa. You could tell Hongjoong was finding this amusing as the other boys started talking and saying little comments about you and how Hongjoong was fucking you. “Yall see how she obeys and behaves so well for me and only me. You guys can watch and listen all yall want, but just know that you will never know how her pussy feel when she is about to cum or how tight she is or even hearing her moan and scream your name. That all belongs to me”. He started to go faster to where your brain couldn’t keep up and you just screaming his name as he holds you down in missionary as he watches himself go in and out of you. “Thats it baby, cum for me. Let them hear you what I do to you”. You felt the pressure building up in your stomach as you cum all over his dick. He slowed down a little as he cum into you. “Fuckkkk….”, you both said coming down from the highs and he pulls out of you, a small whine comes from you as you already missed the feeling of being full and filled up by Joongie. You turned your head to the right to see the phone sitting there with shocked faces from Mingi and Yunho, Wooyoung and San gone, and Yeosang and Jongho sitting there in silent with bloodshot red faces.

“I hope you boys enjoyed the show, but I’m gonna go and finish spending quality time with my love”, Hongjoong said as he reached over to grab the phone and hung it up. He put the phone back down and leaned over you to kiss you once more. “I think I like this possesive Joongie a little bit”, you said giggling as you pecked his lips. He chuckled and kissed you more one time as he slowly got up and walked to the bathroom to start running the shower. He came back in the room to find slowly falling asleep. “Come on baby, lets get you nice and clean and then we can go get some rest”, he said picking you and having you straddle his torso as he carried you to the shower. “I love you Joongie”, you said in a low voice, but loud enough for him to hear. “I love you too my love”, he said kissing the side of your head, placing you down and climbing into the shower with you . He washed your body and massaged your shoulders and legs as he cleans you, remembering to be very gentle as you were still sensitive. Hongjoong dried the both of you off and changed into some clothes that you keep for him when he stays over. He dresses with over sized t-shirt with no shorts or underwear to let your body breathe and rest. He carried you into the bed, crawling next to you and cuddling you as you fall back to sleep. “Sleep well my future wife. I will forever be with you”, he said smiling at you and falling asleep as well.

[justanotherghostwriter]

Dear @coffeepotcat. It was my privilege to be your gift-giver for the @secret-cyborg event this year!

Under the cut, you'll find a fanfic set in a happy-ending aftermath of the Cyborg Soldier episode "When You Wish Upon a Shooting Star"/"From Here to Eternity".

It features some (hopefully) fluffy brother-family-team bonding between 002 and 004, with 009 being the mischievous little brother instigator of family cohesiveness. It also does feature some injury recovery mentions for both 002 and 009, and mentions of death, self-sacrifice and grief. I tried to keep the latter two brief, though, so as not to impede the found family fluff. I really hope that you enjoy!

Officially: screw the idea of gratitude over being alive. 002 was going to bitch about things that deserved being bitched about. And crutches? Crutches fell into one of the top tiers of Deserving of Bitching About. He’d gotten used to maneuvering the wheelchair they’d found for him quickly and, after days of having to lie around in bed, any form of restored mobility had been a relief to the crawling he swore he could feel under his skin. He’d thought that Gilmore slapping some prototype legs on him would have been a nice step forward, pun stolen from 007, regardless of how many times the doctor had gone on about the damage done to 002’s body and the fact that they’d have to do a lot of trial and error with the constructed-from-scratch legs, especially as 002 continued to heal first and then get used to the new grafts.

A stumble forward was more like it. Where the wheelchair had brought bruised fingers when he misjudged a doorway, the crutches seemed to get caught on everything. Including his half-working new legs. It was infuriating, and he knew some people had it worse, and he knew that it was only a pure miracle 001 had had enough power to stop the crash-landing from outright killing both him and 009, but 002 was not going to deny the absolute ass of it all even in the face of the relief.

What was really raining on his — completely justified! — honest assessment of the circumstances was, of course, 009’s reaction to everything. Joe had come out with most of his external structure fine, thanks to fancy technology and updates that hadn’t been around when 002 was first built. But things had gone wrong on the inside, somewhere between the Yomi battle and the Robot Turned Spaceship battle and the freefalling through space,leaving the younger cyborg weak, perpetually freezing and often struggling for breath from a crushed windpipe Gilmore was tearing his hair out trying to heal. But it wasn’t because of the damaged throat that 009 complained less. Oh, no; he was just one of those infuriatingly demure and positive patients.

When he wasn’t trying to undo all his healing by pushing himself far beyond his limits, of course.

But, this time, there was no threat to serve as an excuse for 009 to hop over some steps of recovery. Just an uncertain, slightly shell-shocked, somewhat-grieving somewhat-celebrating group of fellow human war experiments. While 002 told it as it was, 009 hid his face behind his bangs, insisted he was fine and grit his teeth to swallow the shame and frustration when it did arise.

Once, he’d grit them so hard that he’d accidentally activated his acceleration switch. It was the first time since the Yomi mess had started that everybody laughed as one: first at 009 and the comical, horrified shock on his face where he’d gone tumbling. Then at 006’s cry-laughing. Then at 007 mocking all of their laughter styles. Then just... because they could. Maybe because they had to.

Aside from that memorable incident, and one or two other moments of cautiously pushing the envelope a little when 002 assumed the underlying emotions were getting almost too much to control, 009 was complacent and as self-reliant as he possibly could be.

Which was why 002 was wobbling down to Dr Kozumi’s sitting room, tripping over his legs and the crutches and getting what felt like under-arm blisters from the whole ordeal. Because Joe, through his bangs, had quietly asked if 002 could please sit with him, because even the fire that 006 made and all the blankets they piled him under weren’t helping, and they still gave off something akin to body heat, as cyborgs, which might help. And, hell, cuddling a guy on a sofa was not exactly how 002 wanted to spend the afternoon but...

But he couldn’t get the image of 009, shivering violently in the sickbed to his right, back when he’d been more out-of-it than awake. And 005 walking in and asking, so gently, if he could carry 009 inside, where there was a fire. It had happened so many times after that, but that first one... it stuck. The worry beaming off of everybody, and his own helplessness — hadn’t managed to save Joe, hadn’t managed to help him then — and the memory of how 003 sounded when she sobbed for 009 and the look on 009’s face all cemented themselves deep.

Plus... Joe had asked. The rarity made it something precious, and something Jet couldn’t deny. Especially because he was, actually, grateful to be alive. And almost more grateful that 009 was alive, too.

Of course, when 002 fumbled his way into the sitting room, out of breath and as frustrated as he was viciously triumphant, there was no 009 in sight.

004 was sitting on the couch, though, a book open in one hand and his eyebrow raised in 002’s direction.

“Where’s 009?” 002 asked, anger clipping his words.

“Hmmm. So you got told the same story, huh?”

It took 002 half a beat too long to understand. “He told y—? I’m going to kick his ass.”

“Are you going to ask him to sit on the floor in front of you to do it?” 004 asked, beginning to smirk.

002 glared at him, temper crackling. “I can, and I will, kick his ass in a way that — ah, shit —”

Stupidly, he’d lifted a crutch to brandish it, threateningly. And that tipped his balance completely, leaving him to slow-fall, windmilling the whole way, until he was on his butt on the floor, slightly sprawled.

“I’m listening, you can keep going,” 004 said, smirking widely.

002 responded by giving him the finger, humiliation and rage both heating his face and why did they still have the ability to blush? Surely that should have been engineered the hell out. 004 got up, languidly, stretched, and then sauntered over to offer 002 a hand up. His smirk was slightly softer. More knowing. 002 cursed at him, but then took his hand and allowed the other man to haul him up, steady him, and then help him wordlessly to the sofa, where he collapsed to regroup.

And then there was silence. Not awkward, exactly, but still tenser than it had been. Than it usually was between them, unless they were in the middle of a serious disagreement. It just felt, all of a sudden, like there was too much to say, and 002 realised that they hadn’t talked since everything had gone down. He hadn’t even seen 004 around, recently.

“I thought you’d left,” he commented.

“No,” 004 said, still reading. “I was just... helping out in other ways. In other places.” He shot 002 a crooked grin that made 002 uneasy at once. It was self-depreciating in a way that made warning bells start to ring in 002’s head. “Might have shot either one of you for being your own particular brands of annoying.”

Usually, 004 was a bit of a puzzle to figure out. But this one was easier than most, because 002 had had a lot of time of lying about and thinking and remembering and processing what had happened in the Yomi Kingdom. And he remembered 004, straight-backed, fury so cold it looked emotionless, as he faced 009 and offhandedly said how he’d managed to shoot Van Vogt.

“009... doesn’t think less of you. For shooting Van Vogt. You know that, right?” Joe was a bleeding heart, but he wasn’t a naive idiot. Evil was evil, and deserved to go straight back to the slime pits of hell. 004 stared down at the book. “He was just...” 002 struggled with the words, not knowing himself how to phrase it. Joe hadn’t wanted Albert to have the bitter taste of revenge coat that moment, he supposed. 009 was still too black and white for all of that.

“I know. We’ve chatted. I thought him asking me here...” 004 trailed into silence for a few beats, and then sighed and snapped his book shut. “He doesn’t,” he repeated, as though reassuring himself. “But it still happened. I’m... angry.” 002 pressed his lips together, one part of him in solidarity, and the other painfully aware of how alien 004’s experience was to him. “We’ve... won. I guess. For now. Until the next... I’m angry,” he snarled, hands curling into fists, metal creaking somewhat. “At Van Vogt. At Black Ghost. At you.”

002 reeled back a little in shocked surprise. “At me? What the hell.” Surprise, hurt, shame, defensiveness, bitter rage all catalysed into his glare. 004 met it without flinching. “That is not fair. I did everything I could. I— I...”

“Didn’t think.” Albert’s voice was more measured, but no less heavy. “What would we have done if you’d died, huh?”

“003 wasn’t crying over me.”

“So that means it was fine?”

002 wished he could get to his feet easily. Having this confrontation sitting down was making his chest tight like he hadn’t felt in... years. “You,” he snarled, “Cannot seriously be the one lecturing me about self-sacrifice and not caring about what happens to the team if I die.”

“I think I’m uniquely able to talk about it, actually,” 004 snarled right back. His arms were crossed, shoulders visibly tense as he continued to lean against the back of the couch.

002 switched tactics. “It could happen any time. Battles kill people. Look at how suddenly we nearly lost 008.”

“That’s the point.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that the whole freakin’ universe wants to take us out. So we shouldn’t be helping them. It means that at any moment, we could lose anybody. Anybody. Without warning. So we have to think and do all we can to protect one another. This team. This family. Every member. It means that you’re part of us, whether you like it or not.” 004 swallowed and broke eye contact. For a moment, he was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was cut glass, and 002 had a dawning impression that 004 wasn’t only lecturing 002, but himself as well. “You’re an important part of this family, Jet.” The first name cut through the growing defensive anger, leaving 002 with nothing except vague guilt and upset. “And you wouldn’t have been able to help him. You had to have known this. But you went anyway. To die. Knowingly.”

“I thought I could — ” But 004’s face stopped the familiar lie. “I hoped I could save him. But... but I... I didn’t...” With a snarl of frustration, he scrubbed at his face and then buried his fingers in his hair. “Out of nowhere one day 009 came to me and asked about the acceleration mode. Asked me if... if anything about it had ever made me feel... lonely. I told him no, weirdo, or whatever but... but it stuck with me. And then, when they were dying, all the sisters wanted was to reach one another and I...” He swallowed. “I couldn’t let him die alone.”

004 exhaled, loud and shaky. And then silence, thick but no longer oppressive, blanketed them.

“I’m sorry about Vena,” 002 said, quietly.

Another audible exhale. “Yeah.”

002 slumped back. 004 played with his book a little. “So. You’re not leaving?” 004 eventually asked.

002 shrugged. “Maybe for a bit. To go visit. I promised. But... No.” He glanced at Albert. “You?”

“Nah. Maybe for a vacation or so when you lot drive me absolutely crazy. But...”

But. Things were different, this time. None of them wanted to disperse like they had when they first thought they’d destroyed Black Ghost. And, even back then, they’d all been one moment away from regrouping. There was very little out there in the world for him, Jet realised with a small pang. Maybe, in a few years, there wouldn’t be anything at all.

“Ready to go find 009?”

002 scoffed. “Yeah. That asshole.”

004 waited for him to get himself to his feet, and matched his pace as they shuffled together toward the deck. They found 009 in one of his favourite spots, basking in the sunshine and wearing a coat that could only have been one of 007’s thrift store finds, it was that hideous.

“What the hell was that?” 002 snapped at him, and 009 opened one eye to look at him, all Butter Couldn’t Melt In My Mouth. “Made me walk all the way to the damn sitting room and then you’re not there?”

“What’s the game?” 004 echoed, arms crossed.

009 gave a crooked smile. “One Father used to play with us when he wanted us to talk about things. The, um, priest, I mean.”

Like they didn’t know whom he was referring to. Like they didn’t know too much about each other. 002 thought of Joe’s orphan friends — his only sort-of-family from before — who had been turned into cyborgs. He suddenly realised that Albert had referred to them as a family, and it hadn’t even struck him as strange. On the tail end of that revelation came another: there was nothing much left in the world out there, but everything for him in this ramshackle group of idiots, morons and annoyances.

He would do anything for them. And they for him. And the line, he guessed Albert had been trying to teach him, just had to be one that was a negotiated give-and-take. Because that’s what family did.

“Don’t know what you were hoping for. This idiot just fell down, is all. How did you even get out here?”

“GB, before he left,” Joe admitted, and the coat’s owner was all-but-confirmed.

“Well, come on, I don’t have all day to stand here being messed about by you. And don’t think I’m staying to keep you warm, now.”

Joe only grinned, fond and bright, and began levering himself to his feet. Despite his words, and the almost ever-present annoyance, Jet found himself starting forward on instinct, ready to help. Albert beat him to it, and Joe accepted the hand up that stayed, as support, to lead him back to the sitting room. The silence was, finally, light and easy, though there were moments of twisted shadows as Joe wavered and Jet banged into things like a blind one-hour-old colt.

By the time they got to the fire, Joe’s breathing was laboured, and it was with a grim-faced worry that Albert settled him down and dumped the blankets on him. Joe was back to insisting he was fine, but 002 sat beside him, anyway, since he was there already and all. They talked about Albert’s book, and then GB’s plans for books, and then the movie theatre in town and if it was showing anything good, and then movies that they liked growing up. Joe faded very quickly, and Jet found himself playing pillow as well as space-heater.

“Shut up,” he said, quietly, to Albert’s smirk. “He cannot still be cold...” But he could feel the unnatural chill against him, and hear the raspy breathing, and so he didn’t begrudge the slightly uncomfortable position, or the heat of the fire. “Thought Japanese people hated physical affection. Makes sense we got the defective, cuddly one in a million,” Jet grumbled.

“Black Ghost is notoriously good at finding the worst possible candidates for ruthless soldiers.” Jet blinked at Albert’s words, and the German laughed. “Look at our team. How many pacifists and golden hearts do we have on it?”

Jet thought for a moment. And then snorted. “Wow. They really should have done background checks.”

“I’m pretty sure you and I would have been the only two to make the cut. Maybe 008...”

Jet rolled his head so he could see more of where Albert was reading through Joe’s wild stack of hair, made wilder by the sea spray. “You’re a marshmallow on the inside,” he said, with a heatless sneer. “Complete sap.” Albert looked up at him, sharply, a scowl forming. “And we need you on this team, too, okay? In this family.” He blurted it before he could think twice about it, emboldened by Joe hiding his face somewhat. He’d never had to do emotional brotherhood speeches. Sue him. But he knew, regardless, that this was important. “So... you know. What’s good for me, is good for you.”

They had a bit of a stare-down for a moment, and then Albert nodded. Just once. Small. Slightly defeated, entirely brimming with hope.

And then he went back to reading, mechanical hands turning the page so gently, and Jet went back to trying to keep Joe warm, and he daydreamed about all of them going to take a picnic on the beach on a good day, and all the horrendous shenanigans that would ensue because they turned one another into delinquents when there was no threat to turn them serious.

Jet was looking forward to it.

[lover-i-lover]

Undercover work gone wrong.

Spencer had never been a disobedient agent. Followed almost every order he'd been given, so when Aaron was told he and Spencer were going undercover as a troublesome couple in a kink club and that Spencer was supposed to be a bratty submissive. It just didn't sit right. Until they got there, then Aaron had to fight to ugre to yank on the younger man's hair every five seconds and tell him to behave.

As Aaron pulls him along to a booth Spencer struggleds and whines playfully. Aaron fights the ugre to smack him, god Spencer's infuriating. Aaron pulls the man down on his lap, yanking his head down to Aaron's mouth by the roots of his hair. "You are just begging for some disciples aren't you?" Aaron growls in his ear, making Spencer pout and turn around to face him. Spencer looks down at his boss with big puppy eyes. Play into it Aaron, this is just pretend. Aaron gives me a stern look, it doesn't deter the young agent.

Spencer shifts on his lap, tugging on Aaron's collar. "Oh come on Sir, i'm not begging...yet" That pushes Aaron over the edge. He doesn't even think about it, just rears his hand back and gives Spencer's behind a good smack. "Ouf!" Spencer yelps in surprise and jerks at the pain. The pout on his face grows real. "That hurt" Spencer complains, laying his head down in the crook of Aaron's neck. Aaron sighs and wraps his arms around him. "Sorry" he whispers to the distressed man. Spencer leans close to his ear, his breath sending a shiver down Aaron's spine. "Does that mean i'm doing good?"

Aaron's blindsided. Spencer's not disstressed at all, he's fine. Spencer's not even a tiny bit worked op? All Aaron wants to do it smack him again. "Yes" He hears himself say to Spencer. "You're really, doing good"

Spencer smiles with pride, a naughty, bratty smile before dashing by form the booth and making a run for it. For the second time tonight. Aaron huffs and gets op, not bothering to shout this time, simply walking away him, he'll tired out eventually and Aaron can grab him and scold him. Maybe give him another smack. Hell maybe he really should take him to the spanking room. Spencer's slows as he turns down a hallway, Aaron grabs his wrist and in one swift move. without much thought. Throws the agent over his shoulder, despite Spencer's lusty protests, and gives his bottom a quick smack. "Hey!" Spencer yelps, in still a hell of a bratty tone.

Aaron sits the bratty Spencer down on a wooden chair. "You are digging yourself into a hole you can only get out of with a spoon, so you'll either fix your attitude or get spanked" Aaron doesn't realise just how serious he sounds, he sounds mad, and like he's actually going to spank Spencer. Aaron isn't going on. At least he shouldn't. Spencer's eyes grow wide and the pout disappears, replaced by a wobbly lip. When the first tear falls, Aaron knows he's hit something far too personal. it sends his caregiver instincts into overdrive.

Scooping Spencer op in his arms he's already shushing him and rubing his back, hoping to soothe him. "Shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, i'm sorry" Aaron rubs his back soothingly and Spencer's tears keep coming. Aaron wants to break character so badly, to ask if Spencer is really upset, to ask what he did to upset him, and if Aaron can fix it or if they need to call it off.

Aaron pats Spencer's back and gently bounces him, it's more instinct then logic. Aaron's use to bouncing a crying baby, not a cry 25 year old. "You wanna go home Baby?" Spencer nods and Aaron calls it right then and there. They're done. It's over. Aaron doesn't even set Spencer down before they get outside of the building. Spencer's still in tears and Aaron feels like he's tried everything.

"I'm sorry baby" Aaron says softly as he sets him down on his feet. Spencer sniffles and wipes his eyes, Aaron isn't use if he's still acting as Spencer tucks himself into Aaron's chest. He takes him into his arms, rubbing his back as they wait for the back-up car to come. "I didn't mean to hurt you" Aaron says softly, Spencer's arms tighen around his middle. "It's okay..." Spencer's voice is weak. He's actually feeling hurt, okay. It's not fake. Aaron holds his colleague close, more friend then colleague. "What happend Honey?" He asks, continuning to gently rub his back, hoping to calm down the younger man. Spencer sniffles and the words pour out like a waterfall.

"I'm sorry I'm so so sorry i was really trying to do it right but then i just got really scared all when you got so mad and it just made me feel all childlike and small and bad and and and...."

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay, breath. I'm not mad. I'm not gonna hurt you Honey" Aaron pats his back, rocking him from side to side gently. Aaron takes him through a breathing exercise and Spencer calms down enough to stop crying. When the car finally comes they pile into the backseat, Aaron sits in the middle to be close to the still vulnerable man.

Spencer tucks himself into Aaron and he takes him into his arms. "It's okay, i promise. We'll get you home"

"Don't leave me alone" Spencer whispers into his skin. Aaron's response is not thought over, it doesn't matter. "I won't, I'll come with you" Spencer relaxes into Aaron.

As they come to Spencer's apartment, Aaron follows him inside. It's a comfy, cozy place for sure. Spencer tosses his shoes on the floor and Aaron straightens them by the door before taking off his own. Spencer clings to Aaron, and he picks him op. Which only makes Spencer cling closer, Aaron doesn't mind. It's nice to comfort him. To get to comfort him. "I got you" Aaron reasures him, gently rubbing his back.

Aaron tucks him into bed, about to head for the couch when Spencer whines and reaches for him. He chuckles, but gives in. Climbing into bed with Spencer, the younger man snuggles op to him.

Aaron sighs contently as Spencer snuggles op onto of him.

[deathless--aphrodite]

For want of a nail in “it was like you” where Ronan comes back up after he realizes he left his shirt

you KNEW what you were doing when you requested this, anon, and i respect you. i would like to add that if something had happened like this in actual canon, ronan would have been out. of. there. he would've turned around and driven to the next state. he wouldn't have been emotionally able to handle it. however, here you go:

Adam brought the shirt back to his face, frustrated. He didn’t need to picture anything when he was breathing in the pure smell of Ronan, he could get off on that alone. He swore, feeling pre-cum gather at the tip of his cock. He wanted to put his mouth at the space between Ronan’s neck and his shoulder, where the smell of him must’ve been the strongest. He wanted to put his teeth there. He wanted to put his hands on Ronan’s hips and feel the muscles of his stomach flex and make him say Oh -

The moment he hears his door open is probably one of the worst moments of his entire life. “Parrish,” Ronan says, “I left my shirt in - oh.” Adam covers his face with the alleged shirt and sinks down the floor, very slowly. “Um —“ “Oh my god,” Adam says, muffled. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die. I’m just - turn around, Lynch.”

He thinks that Ronan does turn, but he doesn’t look up to make sure. He can’t. He’s dying. Ronan begins a few aborted sentences, um, you -, huh. Eventually, he settles on, “Man, Parrish, I didn’t know you were such a perv.” His voice wobbles with what sounds like panic. 

“I’m not - god. You’re such a shithead.” 

“You were the one jerking off into my clothes, Parrish.” Adam hurriedly tucks his dick back into his sweatpants, stands, and goes over to the sink to splash some water on his face. He’s dying. “If you’re too poor to afford rags you could’ve just asked, you know.” “Ronan,” he says, feeling himself whine. “Quit it. Please.” He stalks out of the bathroom and, eyes focused on the floor, shoves the shirt toward Ronan, who takes it. 

“Was it - do I smell that good?” Ronan lets out a laugh, and Adam realises what he’d earlier mistook for panic is actually giddiness. Delight. He lets himself look up, finding Ronan’s eyes. “Well, Parrish? Explain yourself. Whatever it is, I’ll make sure to do more of it.” 

“Fine,” Adam says, gently, playing the game. “Yes, you smell good. It doesn’t make you less of an asshole.”

Ronan takes a step towards him, very nearly crowding him up against the wall. “I think you might like it, Parrish.” He's smiling, smug and happy, and he does smell so good, even under Adam's cheap body wash and that godawful organic deodorant.

Adam takes a deep breath. “Alright. Yeah. I was gonna jerk off thinking about fucking your mouth. I think you’d like if I did that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck, Adam.” He watches Ronan swallow, tip his head down to the ground. He puts a hand against the wall, bracketing Adam in; his heart kicks up in response, leaning closer on instinct. 

Adam whispers, “Do you wanna stop?” Ronan shakes his head resolutely. His face his lovely and flushed. 

“I’ve gotta go to church,” he says. “Or Declan’ll kick my ass.” Adam makes a mournful sound, reaching out and fisting a hand in Ronan’s jacket. If Ronan leaves now, this will start feeling like a dream, a faerie story.

“Stay. Stay. When have you ever cared about Declan kicking your ass?” 

Ronan lets out another laugh, sighs, looks Adam over with an infuriating flick of his eyes. “You want me to stay?” Adam nods quickly. “Stay, and make you come? And kiss you?” Adam hears himself make a little, desperate sound; something about the thought of Ronan kissing him is hotter than the thought of Ronan jerking him off, hotter than Ronan’s mouth on his cock. Ronan pulls back suddenly, out of Adam’s grip. He throws his shirt back to Adam, who only just catches it. “Finish yourself off, this time. I’ve gotta go pray.” 

He winks at Adam before he leaves, grinning. Adam lets his head fall back against the wall, driven almost to distraction, breathless.

[i-cant-sing]

I wonder what would happen if Y/N had a really bad day and just decided to pick a sibling from the Yan!Todoroki clan like a cat would pick its person and just?? Sit in their lap?? They'd say 'I had a terrible day, no torture today please' before taking their well-deserved nap lookin' all cute and peaceful. Then the sibling would be so proud and confused at the same time but really really happy like 'omg for real? Me? What's happening?? 🥺'. Bonus points if it's Dabi just having the widest grin on his face while staring straight at the rest of the fam seething with jealousy.

I saw your works btw and been inhalin em all cause they're all so good *chef's kiss*

-Vibin' anon

Yandere Dabi comforting sister reader

This is so cute omg. Thank u Vibin anon!

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Dabi:

Shotou had come to pick you up from school today. Even though he had a busy schedule himself, he still made time for you, just like the rest if your family.

"How was school?" He asked.

"Fine."

"Just fine? Wasn't your result supposed to come today?"

You nodded. "It did. I passed."

Shotoy smiled. "Thats great. Did you get your report card?"

You knew he was going to ask for it. You also knew that he already knew what grades you got.

You nodded and handed him the report card from your bag.

Shotou's face lit up when he saw your grades.

"You're first again. I'm so proud of you." He patted your head.

You smiled. "Thanks."

By the time you guys reached home, you already knew that your entire family was home. They always were when your result came. You knew the principal had already informed Enji of your grades, she always does.

When you entered the house, your family yelled "surprise!" You feigned shock as they hugged you and congratulated you on your achievement.

Rei had prepared a little feast for you, everything was made from scratch. Enji was beaming with joy, he was so proud of his little girl. Rei had made your favourite cake, kissing your cheek as you cut it. Enji had gotten you beautiful diamond necklace. Natsuo, Shotou and Fuyumi had gotten you some gifts as well, stuff you had vaguely mentioned about. Dabi wasn't home, but you didn't mind his absence.

Your family had planned to spend the night on the couch cuddling and doing a movie marathon, but when you asked them to excuse you for the night because you were feeling tired, they became a but worried. You reassured them that you just had a long day at school as well, and now that you were stuffed with Rei's delicious food, sleep was inevitable. They nodded, a bit sad that you wouldn't be joining, but understanding nonetheless.

You went up the stairs to your room, and as soon as you closed the door, the smile you had been displaying all night was wiped off.

You sat on your bed and recalled the events of the day. Tears pricked your eyes, but you kept yourself quiet. They're not worthy crying over, you reminded yourself. Still, you couldn't help but crumple up your report card and throw it in the dustbin.

Silent tears fell from your eyes, no longer being able to hold them in. God, its infuriating.

Suddenly, you heard someone knock on your bedroom door. You looked at the clock. 12 am.

Its Dabi.

You couldn't deal with him tonight. You remained silent, hoping he'd leave you alone.

But of course not.

You quickly turned away from the door as soon as you heard it open. Wiping your tears quickly, you heard Dabi come in.

"You brat. Why didn't you answer when I knocked?" He asked, pushing the door close with his foot.

"Leave me alone, Dabi." You were trying hard to stabilise your voice.

"Huh?! Is that anyway to talk to your favourite brother?" Dabi mocked as he pulled at your ponytail. You yelped before turning around to push him away.

Dabi was about to laugh at you when he suddenly noticed the your face. Your eyes were full of tears, lashes heavy with them. Your face was flush, your nostrils flared, your lips in a pulled in a tight scowl. Had you been crying? Or did he make you cry?

"Hey, I'm sorry-"

"Just leave me alone." You said as you angrily wiped the tears from your face.

Dabi was shocked to see you like this. He had never seen you cry, not even when he took his teasing a little too far. So, to see you react like this, it worried him a bit.

"Have you been crying? What's the matter? Did you fail or something?" His voice actually held some concern.

You shook your head, pulling your ponytail loose. "Its nothing. Just leave."

Dabi could see the pain in your eyes. What happened? He plopped down on your bed next to you. "Come on. Tell me." He poked your shoulder. "You know I won't leave until you tell me."

"Its nothing, really." You sniffled, avoiding his gaze.

"Did Enji say something?" Dabi asked, his voice taking a dangerous tone. "Look at me. Did he do something?" He's going to kill that bastard if he-

"What? No. God, just go."

Dabi let out a huff. He'll have to use another strategy. "Fine. Don't tell me. I'll just tell Shotou you have been crying, and then you can answer to him."

Shotou? God, he would just overthink everything and do something stupid.

You caught his wrist just as he was about to leave. "Do you have to be such a jerk every single day?" You glared daggers at him.

Dabi smirked before pulling his wrist away and plopping on the bed next to you. "Yes. Big brother privileges." He poked your cheek. "Now spill."

You looked at him, hoping he'd just get blasted magically. Idiot.

You inhaled deeply before closing your eyes. "Its stupid, really." Dabi stared at you, signalling for you to continue. "Something... happened at school." You paused. "Just a couple of assholes."

Dabi was attentive now. "Go on."

You looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers. "Some kids in my class... they said mean things about me."

"Bullying?" Dabi quirked an eyebrow.

You shook your head. "I- I don't think so. They just said that I only get the highest grade in class because of my dad. Like Enji bribes the school into giving me good marks." You sniffled. "They undermine me. They say I'm not good enough to be in their school, and that the only reason I got in was because of my surname."

Tears dripped down your face slowly, almost as if they were ashamed to fall.

You wiped them away harshly. "And it doesn't matter what I say. I've tried to befriend them, I've tried to get along with them, but they still ridicule me. Its frustrating. They... they don't understand that my only option is to be the best." You whispered the last part, but Dabi heard you loud and clear.

He sat up and gently gripped your chin, turning your face towards him as he narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean 'its your only option'?"

You rolled your eyes. "You know what I mean. I know that no one in the family cares if I get the highest marks or not but...I still have to live up to the family name. What will people say if the number 1 hero's kid is both quirkless and dumb?" Your lips wobbled.

Oh. Ohhhh.

You don't want to let down the Todoroki name; you don't want to let down Enji.

He already knew it was that shithead's fault.

Dabi sighed before pulling you close to him. Placing an arm around your shoulders while his other hand wiped your tears away.

Wanting to prove your worth, that you're a valuable asset to the family. Dabi never thought he'd see himself in you, or his younger self really.

"You're an idiot." Dabi began, carding his fingers through your hair. "You don't have to be the best. You're not expected to. You know, the family knows, hell even I know how hard you worked to get in that school. I've seen how you'd do all nighters, how many times you've turned down going out so that you could do well in your exams. But you don't have to do that." He tilted your chin up, staring into your glossy eyes. "We don't care what the public thinks of us. We won't care if you fail. We don't care you're quirkless. You're not expected to be anything but a good girl." He squished your cheeks together, making you look like a fish. "You just need to be safe. Do you understand?"

You sniffled as you nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

Dabi smiled. "Why didn't you tell anyone before?" You shrugged in response. "You know what would've happened if I said anything. They're already hesitant to let me go to school, this would just give them another reason to homeschool me. Besides, I didn't let their words get to me before, so it really wasn't a big deal." Before? You were about to continue but then kept your mouth shut. But Dabi saw that. He pulled you away from him, his eyes turning sharp as he raised his eyebrows. "But something else happened today as well?"

You averted his scrutinising gaze, keeping your lips sealed as you shook your head no. "Do not lie to me. Or I'll tell Shotou and Enji and then they can handle-"

Your eyes widened. "Do you ever stop making threats?" Rolling your eyes, you told him what happened. "It wasn't anything serious. One of those jerks... thought it'd be funny to try and kiss me. When he tried to force me, I slapped him. Really hard. My handprint still on his face." You smiled at that. "He said the only reason he wasn't using his quirk on me was because I was Todorokis charity case. Then he said that I should be grateful that he was going to kiss me, especially since no one cares about a quirkless, frigid bitch like me." You let out a humourless laugh, but Dabi could see the pain in your eyes. You gave a small smile. "Dont worry. I already know what they said isn't true."

Thats it.

Dabi was already planning murder. He's going to make those little shits pay for what they did to you. The nerve to not only bully you, but make you cry, and then touch you? Dabi is gonna make sure they get tortured in every way possible before he incinerates them-

"Dabi?"

Your soft voice pulled him out of his violent thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"Can you... stay the night?"

He looked at your tear stricken face, your eyes were still laden with tear drops, your nose red from all the sniffling.

How could he say no to you? You looked ugly.

"Its okay. You don't have to-" you were cut off by a pillow hitting your face.

"Move over, brat." He climbed in the bed with you, covering you both with the blanket. "And don't put your cold feet on mine." You smiled cheekily at that.

"Don't hog the blanket- why do you need it anyway?"you yanked the blanket.

Dabi pushed another pillow on your face, laughing as you punched his shoulder. "You're insufferable."you mumbled.

It took a while to get comfortable on your single bed, but it ended up with your head on his chest, while Dabi propped himself against the headboard.

"Thank you." You whispered.

Dabi hummed. "Dont think I don't know why you're doing this."

You smiled softly. He caught on to why you were keeping him home that night; you knew he would do something terrible to those guys. "Promise me you won't hurt them?"

Dabi remained silent. You pulled your head away to look up at him. "Dabi. Promise."

When he didn't reply, tears started forming your eyes. He sighed, before shoving your face back into his chest. "Fine, crybaby. I won't hurt them. Promise." You're such a brat, stopping him from doing his big brother duties.

You went back to snuggling him, not taking long for you to finally go to sleep. Once Dabi made sure you were asleep, he pulled out his phone and texted Toga.

"Need a favour. Up 4 stabbing?"

[enby-hawke]

Chapter 16- Honesty

Tw: parental abuse, misogynistic slur, discussions of slavery

Ship: Malcolm/Leandra

Words: 7363

Read From Beginning

Leandra spent the evening pawning off all of the many trinkets her parents had given her: first edition books, finely made dresses too opulent to be worn for any real occasion, and jewelry, oh so much jewelry. Any time there’d been a new occasion, there’d been a new piece of jewelry. The only thing Leandra still had gifted from her parents was her lute, which she loved too much to part with. She had effectively cleaned out all the pawn shops in Hightown and Lowtown and Leandra felt free. Freer than she had in a long time. The money was promptly wired to Mara’s account and while Leandra knew the money would run out eventually, she’d bought Mara some time.

The Council of Five’s letter was still  burning in Leandra’s pocket as Mara drove her back to her parent’s mansion. The porch light was still on and she could feel her spine stiffen in anticipation of the fight that was to come. She had no idea what she would say or what she should do. But she knew she needed to confront her parents.

Leandra sat in Mara’s front seat of her SUV, her hands twisting as she fidgeted with her dress, making sure she looked presentable. She glanced at the front door.

Mara placed a hand over Leandra’s. “No matter what they do, or say, you have options. I will always be here to have your back.”

Leandra’s eyes pricked with tears, sudden grief overcoming her. “I’m just so ashamed of them.”

Mara pulled her into a hug. “Then tell them that. Maybe it will mean something coming from you.”

Leandra felt like she shouldn’t dare to hope that there was any way her parents could change. And yet she couldn’t help but try to get through to them. She held Mara, grateful to have something in her life that made sense.

“I might need a place to crash tonight, well many nights if this goes badly, Maker save me.”

Mara pulled away and brushed Leandra’s bangs into place before cupping her cheek. “Your home is my home.” Then she pinched Leandra’s cheek teasingly. “And with the money you gave me today, I have time to look for another job.”

Leandra rubbed her cheek, a little sore from Mara’s sharp nails. “Let’s hope you won’t need to.” Leandra sighed deeply as her back hit the car seat, sending a few tears dangling from her eyelashes down into her lap.

Her hands and feet were shaky as she got out of the car, her legs wobbly in her heels as she fumbled with the empty suitcases out of the trunk. She tried to open the door to find it was locked. She floundered for the keys in her purse, but the door opened on her just as she pulled them out.

It was one of her parent’s many servants, a quiet elven lad with slick black hair and almond skin. He was rather skittish around her and her family and was always overly polite and quick to leave so Leandra never got around to asking for his name.

“Lady Amell, your parents missed you at dinner. They are expecting you in the study.” His voice was high with false injected cheer.

That was code for ‘your parents are in a bad mood.’ Well, it wasn’t like what Leandra had to say would make them feel any better.

Leandra nodded. “Thank you. I’ll go see them.” She tried to remember all the servants’ names, but there were so many that it was easy for her to confuse Gabby with Abby, Arianna with Brianna, and Chloe with Zoe. And her parents were never satisfied with anyone’s work so new Dobs were being hired to replace Bobs every day.

Leandra entered the foyer to see the fireplace was nice and bright. Maids were doing the evening dusting and vacuuming and they curtsied as Leandra approached. She barely got to the stairs when her parents burst out of the study, looking infuriated. In her mother’s hand was the letter explaining to her parents that she had sold her things to pay for Mara’s salary and to not call the Guard.

“How dare you!?” her mother screeched, scattering the maids from their work like mice running from the light.

Her father was angry, but his anger was quieter, like a snake in the grass. He slithered behind her mother, giving her a strong foundation to lay her hand on. “Leandra Gloriana Amell, we are both very disappointed in you. You betrayed us. And for what? Some servant?”

Leandra felt unsteady at her parent’s united front but she was determined not to be shaken. She calmly set her suitcases on the bottom step and rooted herself firmly to the ground. “What choice did you give me? You drained my accounts.” She crossed her arms, glaring at them.

“They were not your things to sell. They belonged to the family!” her mother screamed, shaking the glass of red wine in her hand as she shoved a finger in Leandra’s face.

Leandra turned her nose up at the finger, daring her mother to strike her. “Oh, was Gamlen going to wear my betrothal ballgown? He’d look so fetching in my jewelry.” She found a wry smile on her face as she imagined him trying to squeeze into her skirt.

Her father scowled, reddening all the way to his balding head. “When did you get such a mouth on you? What in Andraste’s name has gotten into you, young lady? Are you cursed after all?”

“If we’re cursed it’s because you brought on that karma,” Leandra huffed, tearing into her purse and bringing out the letter showing the Council of Five’s ominous inverted triangle stamp. “You’re slavers!? Please tell me I’m wrong!”

Her parents froze, their faces paling. Her mother took a step back. “W-where did you get that?”

Leandra took a deep steadying breath before she said, “I found it in Gamlen’s room. Is he… part of this?” She wondered if even Aunt Revka knew. Was she the only one in the dark about this?

“Useless boy,” her father muttered under his breath.

Her mother looked nervous but defiantly angry. She tucked a bang back into place. “Leandra, it’s not the same thing.”

Leandra scoffed. “Oh, so I suppose I’m misinformed.”

“Yes, you are. It’s all above board. We’re doing nothing illegal,” her father crossed his arms.  

Her mother touched her arm, her nails digging in slightly. “The criminals I hand over would not have made any contribution to society and, left to their own devices, would only harm themselves or others. I gave their lives purpose.”

Leandra pulled away, her ears burning with what she just heard. “You…you really believe that?” But she could see her parents looked more upset about being accused of being slavers, than about the lives they had irrevocably ruined. Suddenly everything her parents did made sense. “The charity events, the outreach programs in the alienage, are they all just a smokescreen for your hunting grounds? Have you done nothing out of the goodness of your hearts?”

Her father looked uneasy, but her mother looked outraged. She slapped Leandra, marking her face with her nails. “How dare you! The good we have done for Kirkwall is immeasurable. We cleaned up the streets of the filth that would sully it. You dare judge us for doing the Maker’s work!”

Leandra held her burning cheek, tears stinging her eyes. “That’s what you call it? Is this what my legacy is built on?”

Her mother had never looked so furious. She threw her wine glass to the ground and it shattered, wine oozing on the carpet like blood. “You should be grateful for what your father and I have done for you. What we have given you, most others would kill for. I’ve never thought you would be so ungrateful! Leandra, why are you doing this?”

And suddenly Leandra couldn’t hold in the truth any longer. “Because I fell in love with a man you would have sold off!” She gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth, uncertain about what she had really said aloud, but she could see her parents freeze in shock as they shared a panicked look.

“Leandra?” her father furrowed his thick eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She said too much, but she couldn’t find herself regretting it. It felt freeing to say. Love. She held her head high. “You heard right. My heart belongs to someone other than Guillaume.” And then she squared her shoulders and glared defiantly. “You can find another heir. I won’t marry to secure your future anymore.”   

“Leandra,” her mother’s voice was quiet with fury. “Don’t think you can go through with this lightly. Go to bed, and we’ll discuss this when you’re more clear-headed.”

Leandra laughed. That would have worked on her a few weeks ago but she felt like a new woman. “I’ve never been more clear-headed. And since you’re both so proud of yourselves, I’m telling everyone the truth about our family.” Her parents widened their eyes and started to argue over each other but Leandra straightened her shoulders, tucking her hands together as she stood her ground. Her voice was not a shout, but unwaveringly carried over her parents. “You should inform the De Lancets the wedding is off. And, if you want a relationship with me, you’ll stop immediately and help me make amends if that’s even possible.”

Her parents stopped shouting and their mouths went gape as they looked at each other so confused. “Leandra,” her mother’s voice was shrill and panicked. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do,” Leandra snapped. “Because right now I’m too ashamed to be your daughter.”

That made both of her parents flinch. Her father looked down at his feet and her mother’s eyes glistened with the threat of tears. “Leandra,” her mother said thinly. “You cannot tell people about our connection to the Counsel of Five. You do not understand. It will be dangerous.”

“I thought everything was above board.” Leandra narrowed her eyes, watching her mother’s lips thin and quiver.

Her father stepped forward, wide-eyed and frazzled. “Forget about that, Bethann. Leandra, you’re in love. Since when? Who is this man?”

Leandra crossed her arms, looking away as her cheeks heated. “You already know he’s a good man, Daddy. You just can’t see it yet.”

“I’ve met him?” His brow furrowed as he searched for the connection. He shoved his glasses back up the long bridge of his nose and snarled, “how good of a man can he be if he doesn’t even consult me first?  What kind of standing does he have?”

Leandra gritted her teeth. She was not having this conversation right now. “You can meet him if you try to make amends. Otherwise, you can forget it. I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Leandra, you’re obviously not thinking straight.” Her mother was clenching her hands so tightly Leandra thought they would crack. “Go to your room!”

Leandra picked up her suitcases and started marching up the stairs. “Oh, I’ll go to my room, alright, but I’m packing. I’m moving out. Tonight.”

“And going where?” Her father chased after her, his blue eyes wild with panic.

Leandra stomped to her bedroom door, yanking it open. “To Mara’s.” Then she slammed the door shut and locked it. She threw the suitcases on her bed and started haphazardly folding clothes into her bags.

Her parents pounded on the door, screaming her name repeatedly, but she ignored that, angry tears in her eyes. She knew tonight could only be a disaster, and yet it felt necessary. She was scared. She didn’t expect to cut her parents off, but she couldn’t be a part of what they were doing. She wondered if this could even be resolved, if it was hopeless to keep faith for a better future.

As she tucked her lute into her suitcase, she saw a strip of red cloth with the Amell insignia, that she often wore as a hair ribbon. It had also been passed down through the family, although its only real value was sentimental. It had been expected after her betrothal ball that she give this ribbon to Guillaume to wear, so everyone would know he belonged to her, but she'd never gotten around to it. As she tucked it into her bag, she smiled, knowing who the rightful owner should be.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell, if you think you’re leaving through this door then you have another thing coming!” her mother was screeching, her fist shaking the door vigorously.

Leandra had to hurry. She knew it was only a matter of time before her father left to grab the key.

So she couldn’t go out through the front door. If Malcolm could come in through the window, she could leave through it. She threw the suitcases down below where they fell with a thud. When she peeked out the window her heart lifted to see that Mara had not left the driveway yet. She turned on the engine of her car, waving with the same mischievous grin.

Leandra peeked over the ledge. It was a long way down, and if she wasn’t careful she could easily break her neck. She took off her heels and threw them onto the grass. She was halfway out the window before she realized she forgot something. She rushed back to her closet and pulled out the skimpy pink dress that Malcolm had begged her to wear.

Leandra threw the dress out the window, and it fluttered down like a hot pink butterfly. Then with a deep breath, she shimmied out the window, barefoot, her skirt rising up to flash everyone.

Thankfully only Mara was present for that.

She slowly stepped her way down, her arms shaking and burning with unused strength, her toes slipping in the wood graft of the rose terrace. The wood bit into her skin and she could feel splinters threaten to pierce her. About two-thirds of the way down, she misjudged a step and slipped, yelping as she fell onto her suitcase with a crack. Leandra groaned, stars in her eyes. Thankfully the suitcase was padded and soft, but when she pried open the suitcase, the stem of her lute had been snapped.

She found herself crying, the dam breaking at last. She was terrified about what she had just done. She couldn’t take this back, and while she couldn’t regret it, she knew home would never be the same. She hugged herself as she held the broken pieces of her lute. She had no idea what to do.

Mara touched Leandra’s hand, bringing her out of her trance. Her dark eyes were misty with sympathy. “Let’s get you home, babe.”

With shining eyes, she smiled at Mara, grateful for the reminder, and intertwined her fingers into her friend’s hand. She still had a home. She had people who wouldn’t abandon her.

All was not lost.

Leandra smiled through her tears, inexplicably excited at the thought of the freedom that tomorrow would suddenly bring. She was no longer an Amell. She was just Leandra.

She didn’t know who that was, yet.

————————————

By the time Leandra’s parents unlocked the door, Leandra and Mara were already speeding out of the driveway. Bethann was fuming, making loud angry phone calls to the Guard, demanding that they bring Leandra back immediately. Aristride was busy calling up an inspector to figure out who had managed to seduce his daughter. Leandra’s determination to reveal the family’s ties to the Council of Five had worried them both, and they knew they would have to move quickly to get ahead of this.

Gamlen came home late around 3am and, as he dragged himself into the foyer, the Amell parents waited in ambush.

Gamlen looked surprised to see them at all. “Mom… Dad… What are you doing up so late?” he adjusted his collar, loosening his tie as his back straightened into a better posture.

Bethann folded her hands in her lap. “I could ask you the same.”

“Was just out with some friends,” he muttered looking down, his cheeks flushing. His hair was a mess and his suit had food stains on it.

“Well, thanks to you, Leandra found out about how the family’s been paying off our debts and now she wants to go public with the knowledge,” Aristride’s voice was sharp. “How could you let this happen!?”

Gamlen tightened his shoulders. “Leandra knows better than that.”

“Does she?” Bethann cocked her head, some greying black hair falling out of her loose bun. “No matter, she’s determined to destroy herself and we can’t let her take us down with her, and so I must ask you, what do you know of the man Leandra’s seeing?

Gamlen shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. “I didn’t know she was seeing anyone.” He dropped his gaze, unable to look at his parent’s eyes.

His parents shared a look that remained unconvinced. His mother sniffed sharply. “In light of recent events, we think Leandra might be too unstable to be considered an heir, so you’re going to have to step up.”

Gamlen blinked. “Me?” he pointed to himself.

“Do we have another child we can depend on?” His mother squinted her dark eyes harshly.

Gamlen puffed up his chest. “No, no you can depend on me.”

His mother smiled sharply. “Good, because I believe I can convince the Baudelaires to renew the betrothal.”

Gamlen’s mouth gaped, as he shifted from one foot to another. “But Mara…”

His mother glared harshly. “You can keep the slut as sidepiece for all I care, but hear me boy if you want to be heir, you’re going to have to show some commitment. Do you understand?”

Gamlen was silent, gritting his teeth as the decision wrestled inside him.

His mother fumed, her slipper tapping impatiently. “Is there something unclear about what I’m asking?”

“No, ma’am,” Gamlen nodded automatically at the sharp tone.  

Aristride drank deeply from his glass. His glasses were balanced on top of his head, and his eyes rimmed red. He seemed uneasy about the whole situation but, as usual, he displayed a united front with his wife in front of Gamlen.

“Good,” Bethann smoothed a wrinkle in her eyebrow. “Now find me some dirt I can use on your sister.”

————————————-

“I don’t understand. I’ve fed countless memories to the Kindness spirit. Why is this not working?” Malcolm knew frustration would not help, but he couldn’t keep the irritation from biting him. Every night was spent rebuilding the flower forest, every day spent feeding false compliments to people and biting down his more snarky remarks. He couldn’t help but feel resentful that his actions were tied to the Fade and to Kindness’ health. He missed the times when he could act in ignorance.

“Do you think Kindness can be brought back by pretty words? Kindness is an action! Why is this so hard to understand?” Scholar waggled his piece of lumpia angrily before crunching the rest of it down.

The nebulous blue form hovered around Malcolm curiously, playing with the roses, whispering melodies to their petals. Clicky, which Shiny was now called, was harmonizing with Kindness in a foreign song that Malcolm could almost understand. The forest was looking much brighter and healthier, but it needed constant maintenance, and Malcolm was running out of motivation to keep going when his efforts seemed to make little difference.

Malcolm leaned on some large stalks of grass, so thick they could have been used as a hammock. There were more wisps than ever gathering in the forest, all adding to the music. The clouds in the Fade green sky floated on a gentle breeze, forming indistinct shapes that almost looked like a dance in time to the beat the wisps were drumming.

“I don’t get it. The forest looks at peace. What could I possibly do to make this better?”

Scholar chomped loudly, shoving three sticks of lumpia in his mouth at once and swallowing. “Perhaps you are finally ready to begin shaping the Fade.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “I can do that?” It still sounded unbelievable.

Scholar plopped down in front of him. “Quite easily. Now that you aren’t corrupting the Fade with your touch, I’m sure that it would be open to suggestions.”

Malcolm looked at his hands with uncertainty, unsure of the power he held. “How do I do that?”

“Well, first, why don’t we re-energize you? Why don’t you try giving yourself something to eat for once?”

Malcolm touched his chin, thinking about what he’d like. He wasn’t really hungry but he would kill for something to soothe his nerves, like a beer. He concentrated, seeing the Fade strings like normal. The Fade was peering into his memory bringing up the burn of alcohol at the back of his throat. The strings looked so easy to maneuver and reshape that he reached out and tore a chunk of the Veil off and started molding it in his hands.

Immediately the Fade lashed back screaming, the flowers whispering shrilly, the memory souring to bitter acid on his tongue.

Scholar smacked at his hand, the Fade substance dissipating. “Why would you do that?”

Malcolm rubbed his hand with confusion. “I thought you told me to shape the Fade!”

“The Fade has feelings like you do Somniari. How would you like it if someone ripped off a piece of you!?” Scholar then yanked one of his pointy ears in emphasis. “Now apologize!”

Malcolm rubbed his ear, scowling, but found the flowers were starting to quiver at his anger and he quickly tamped down his fury. He held up his hands, trying to open his heart out in apology as Scholar had taught him. “I meant no harm. Didn’t realize that hurt you.”

The Fade quieted to a whisper, a nervous bristling energy rustling through the leaves.

“Now ask this time.” Scholar took Malcolm’s hands and brought them together.

Malcolm furrowed his eyebrows, seeing the strings at the tips of his fingers. He held his breath, the Fade all of sudden looked so delicate. This time he reached out with a brush of his mind, the memory of soothing alcohol melting his tongue.

The Fade responded eagerly to Malcolm, its energy moving through him, and soon in his hand materialized an ice cool can of beer.

He tipped the can up to the sky nodding his head. “Thanks,” and began to drink. Immediately his nerves felt less frazzled and on edge, and he felt re-energized. He looked around and found even more flowers were budding from the ground, their petals opening up to the sky in greeting.

Suddenly Clicky started popping in Malcolm’s ears excitedly, pulling at his hair with an urgency.

Scholar cocked their head. “Are you sure? You’re ready?”

Clicky was blinking with red energy, bouncing up and down as it rapped out rapid drum-like beats.

“What?” Malcolm turned to Scholar. He knew that the wisp wanted something from him, but he still could not understand it.

“They want your help to find their true name.”

The wisp tugged at Malcolm’s shirt. “Huh? How do I do that?”

Scholar picked up a piece of lumpia that had dropped on the ground and ate it without thought. “How have you been shaping the forest? How did you ask for your nourishment? When the path is open, you only have to walk through.”

Malcolm set the beer aside and cupped his hands. The wisp settled eagerly within his fingers, feeling like a warm ball of light, not quite physical but it definitely had a sense of weight. The wisp tingled his fingers, clicking rapidly. Suddenly he could see the strings that made up the wisp’s shape, the energy feeling very much like clay that would mold at the slightest touch. But he remembered how the Fade screamed when he forced it. Just a brush of fingers, and it was like something in his mind unlocked. The wisp and he were connected, the creature searching his knowledge for its truth.

Malcolm could feel the wisp start to mold on its own, needing only the gentlest of nudges to coax it along. It grew like a heartbeat shaping his memories. Malcolm let the wisp explore every sensation he had ever felt, feeling its child-like joy as it tasted each experience. It seemed to attach to the happier memories, love, hope, comfort, pleasure, and joy, but it still had a sense of incompleteness. Words in Malcolm’s head echoed and were rejected. The wisp buzzed in dissatisfaction at each name and began digging deeper.

Then the wisp found the memories of Malcolm’s mother cooking for him, and Malcolm could see something changed in its energy. Malcolm found his tongue reliving his childhood palate, chicken adobo, pancet, lechon, bulalo and so much that he had forgotten about. Soon he could hear the wisp chant, “tasty, tasty, tasty,” over and over again as they ran through a menu of memories.

The wisp was borrowing his energy, Malcolm feeling like a battery. It was starting to feel more solid as it chose its shape. The wisp guided Malcolm’s hands, molding it into a tiny flopping tongue the size of a small bat. It flapped in the air, blowing triumphant raspberries for everyone that would hear, “Tasty, Tasty, Tasty.”

Malcolm pulled his hands away, the strings fading. “So that’s your name. Tasty.”

“Tasty!” The tongue waggled excitedly and then licked Malcolm on the cheek. “Salty. Sad. Bitter.” The tongue shivered and then licked the lumpia in Scholar’s hand. “Salty. Meaty. Tasty!”

Scholar handed the piece of lumpia over to Tasty. “A scholar after my own heart I see.”

Malcolm rubbed his slimy cheek. “Well, I’ve never seen a spirit like that before.”

Scholar petted Tasty affectionately as it somehow licked away at its piece of lumpia. “They’re probably the only one of their kind. You did well, Somniari. Even Kindness thinks so.”

The Kindness spirit floated down from their altar, looking more solid and humanoid rather than a nebulous blob, though there were still no defining features on their face. They giggled melodically, covering their hand where their mouth should have been.

Suddenly the sun darkened into night and a chill ran through the forest. Malcolm could feel something crack in the Fade, like a lock breaking open and darkness pouring in. The forest began to wither rapidly, aging into decay. Malcolm jumped to his feet, feeling the painful buzzing of demons drawing near all around him. In the shadows, shades began to form, choking out the forest flowers.

“Zelophehad!” Scholar shirked into Malcolm’s shadow. “He wants to destroy everything you’ve done. Do not let him!”

Malcolm jumped to his feet, readying spells at his fingertips, but Kindness and Tasty blocked him from slinging them. The wisps all gathered around Malcolm buzzing at him, forming a wall of energy. Tasty spat at him darting up and down.

“If you get dragged into battle, Zelophehad wins!” Scholar cried. 

“But isn’t that what you want?” Zelophehad’s warped voice echoed through the forest as the demons chittered excitedly, clawing at the flower stalks and ripping them into pieces. The shadows elongated over Malcolm, blocking him in. “Enact your revenge. Strike at me. Tear out my heart before I eat yours.”

Malcolm’s nerves were screaming at him to defend himself, but the last time he tried to fling himself at this demon, he barely made it out alive. But he couldn’t abandon the forest and leave the Kindness spirit in Zelophehad’s clutches.

A spell flung out. Malcolm blocked it with a barrier, and found the wisps reinforcing its wall with a hum of their magic.

Kindness floated to the center of the wisps, harmonizing brightly. The wisps weaved in dance, taking the energy of Malcolm’s barrier and dispersing it around the heart of the forest. Tasty danced in the middle with Kindness, circling them like a planet in orbit. 

Projectiles and tentacles and claws tore at the barrier, leaving scratches like nails in a glass.

“At last, I will devour each and every last one of you,” Zelophehad screeched.

Outside of the barrier, flowers began to drop dead as the demon’s presence poisoned them. The corruption felt so virulent Malcolm thought he would be swallowed by it. He lost count of all the demons clawing at the barriers, pride and rage, despair and desire all systematically rooting out every seed he had planted, every flower that bloomed. Soon every stalk was torn down, every mushroom smashed and the forest was flattened into a desolate desert. The only patch of green left was safely locked within the barrier.

A few of the wisps began to whimper as the barrier began to crack, dark mist seeping in. With it came a creeping chill that made Malcolm shiver. He braced himself. “I will not let you destroy this.” His hands sparked as he readied for the first attack. Scholar zipped in front of Malcolm, waving his lumpia for attention.

“Zelophehad breathes war. But all war must end. Someone must make the first step towards peace.”

“He’s killing everything!” Malcolm’s voice was strangled, unsure that what Scholar preached was realistic with a creature so intent on violence.

“And I will leave nothing left,” the demon laughed.

“It is his nature,” Scholar shook his head, his skeletal teeth elongating as the Fade around him began to warp, the green hue of the Fade fading to grey. “Somniari you shape the Fade as much as he does. If you look for the path of peace you will find it!”  

Malcolm clenched his fists, which smoked with the unspent energy. He looked out towards the dead stalks on the ground, the torn petals, feeling the ache of its loss.

More demons joined the ranks, the warped fallen spirits of the forest unlucky to have been caught on the wrong side of the barrier. Dead skeletal animals wrapped in thorny vines rammed the barrier, their bones crunching sickeningly.

Tasty and the wisps kept dancing around Kindness, and their harmony kept the barrier up, but more and more cracks were forming. It was just a matter of time before the demons swarmed.

Malcolm looked at his hands. “I shape the Fade?” he asked in disbelief. How could he change that?

Scholar took his hands and folded them together. “And the Fade will help. Let it.”

Malcolm took one last look at the dead forest. That was a mistake. Only a few feet away, waiting outside of the barrier was the warped twisted image of his father. He looked more monstrous, with long nails and sharp teeth, golden eyes too bright and hungry. Malcolm froze at the sight of him, and his father smiled.

“Malcolm, you’ve been a naughty boy.” He cracked his knuckles into a fist.

Scholar turned his head. “Remember you’re in control!”

But it was too late.

Malcolm staggered backward, still remembering the last beating he took. His whole body was trembling. He closed his eyes and suddenly he was back in the closet, listening to his mother scream in agony.

He opened his eyes again and everything was different. He was a child, in the house he grew up in. He could see his old legos stacked in the corner, his action figures scattered on the floor, his drawings tacked to the wall.

His father loomed over him, picking up a stuffed dog in disgust. It turned moldy and ragged in his hands, the buttons shriveling out of its socket as the toy disintegrated to dust. “Such a stubborn child only knows how to learn one way.” He turned to Malcolm, smiling malevolently.

All of a sudden all of Scholar’s teachings were gone. Malcolm’s panic overtook him and he tried to dash out the nearest exit, which happened to be the kitchen. Malcolm ducked behind the counter, his heart galloping frantically in his chest. “You’re in control,” he reminded himself but he didn’t feel in control. Not when he was too panicked to even think. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself but all he could hear was his father’s cruel laughter as his heavy steps came closer.

Malcolm bit his tongue, tasting blood. His breath stuttered in his chest. He tried to think of something, anything that would anchor him back to himself. He reached out into the Fade as Scholar told him, his heart screaming for help.

At first, nothing happened. He could only hear the sound of his own whimpering as the footsteps inched closer. Then a hand brushed his curls.

He looked up to see Compassion wiping his tears, and he couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like his mother.

She cupped Malcolm’s cheeks and touched her forehead to his and suddenly he felt more like himself. He looked down at his hands noticing they were his normal adult size again. He gazed out and the barrier was almost completely broken and claws were poking through reaching for them.

Compassion held onto Malcolm’s hand as she brought him to his feet. She stared defiantly at Zelophehad still borrowing Malcolm’s father's face. “You have been left unbalanced too long.”

A sharp sneer curled the demon’s lip. “Aw, Compassion the spoilsport. Come to ruin my playtime?”

“No, I’ve come to join the playtime.” Compassion actually looked excited, her face radiating a bright enthusiastic smile. She still did not let go of Malcolm’s hand and he felt very much like a child holding onto her and almost let go, but she squeezed on tight. She looked at him, her own blue ember eyes burrowing into him. “I will show you how to fight as I do.”

Kindness floated down, their voice shrill and fading. Kindness took Compassion's hand, cupping her cheek with the other. The wisps followed, their tired voices harmonizing, as they sluggishly danced in rhythmic circles, flashing in unison like the beat of a heart.

Then the barrier cracked and the demons swarmed. The sound was like a cacophony of nails on a chalkboard. Compassion let go of both Malcolm and Kindness’ hands and stepped forward. A terror demon launched its spindly arm at Compassion grasping her by the arm. Compassion grabbed it back, spinning it on its back like a tango. And then she began to sing.

“Hush now, Terror. Let go of your fear.” She was speaking elvhen but Malcolm could somehow understand it. She pulled it in close for a hug, its gangly limbs flailing in confusion. “All your doubts will become clear.”

The demons stopped their attack as if entranced by the song. The wisps dispersed to all the demons carrying the tune with a hum. The Fade clouds parted and the sun peeked out shining brightly on Compassion, her voice weaving into the Fade. From the dead barren dirt, sprouts started to bloom and entwined the demons, trapping most of them.

Zelophehad scowled and stomped on a growing flower, but it stubbornly wrapped around his foot and tripped him. He ripped the rose vine out by its root and snarled at his demons. “Attack the Somniari! Bring me his heart!”

The demons seemed to shake awake from the song spell. Several shades sharpened their claws and darted in on Malcolm.

Scholar was now joining the song, but his contribution was a more spoken word beat that the wisps started whispering back. “Weave the Fade. Feel the beat. Stay your blade. Move your feet.”

Malcolm felt ridiculous. Would he need to start blowing bubbles again too? The demons swiped at him and Malcolm found himself ducking ice and fire spells and weaving through limbs in time to music somehow. Malcolm gritted his teeth. His life depended on it, but he didn’t want to sing. This was ludicrous. Was it really necessary for life to become a musical to defeat his greatest nightmare?

Still, as he dodged and sidestepped each swipe, he found the ridiculous feelings overriding his fear, and he could start to think clearly again.

The terror demon trapped in Compassion's arms tried to jerk out of reach but Compassion spun it around, warding off more attacks with its body. All the while her elvish words seemed to unravel the demon, changing it into something else. “You can find yourself again. Be brave enough to break the chain.”  

The terror demon’s limbs started to enlarge, growing brown fur and a very piggy snout. Suddenly Compassion was twirling the spirit of a bear, its side torn into with a jagged battle scar, but otherwise a very normal-looking spirit.

Zelophehad scowled, zeroing in on Malcolm who was busy trying not to be mauled by three shades. He moved like a blur, grabbing Malcolm by the collar, ready to rip his throat out. But instead of making the killing blow, he held Malcolm there as if waiting for something.

Compassion’s voice fell to a hum. Kindness flanked her, grabbing her hand, and Scholar linked his hand too. Their voices carried through the Fade, weaving an aching harmony as they started to glow.

Malcolm could feel the terror wanting to eat him alive, but as he listened to the strange choir he couldn’t help but break down in manic laughter.

Zelophehad narrowed his eyes, sneering. “What is so funny?”

Malcolm let the laugh go all the way to his belly as it shook away the nerves. This was so absurd. “I get it now,” he chuckled. “You’re like a mirror. You reflect whatever energy is flung at you, but you can’t make a killing blow unless I do. That’s why I can’t kill you.”

The demon’s lip curled up revealing sharp teeth. “But I can kill you. I might be bound by certain laws, but I have reached beyond the Fade.”

The demon tightened his grasp around his neck but Malcolm found that, though the grip was vice tight, he didn’t need to breathe. For a moment he could see the strings that wove Zelophehad together and how easy it would be to reach out and unravel his malice like a loose thread.

Zelophehad seemed to sense this too and he threw Malcolm into the altar, his back slamming against the statue knocking the wind out of him. He then tackled Malcolm, his fist slamming in for a punch, but it stopped when Malcolm did not even flinch. He threw Malcolm to the ground, a roar bellowing in the back of his throat. “Fight me, damn it!”

Malcolm grinned, feeling triumphant at last. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, but I finally caught on.”

“Finally,” a chorus sang back before it faded to humming.

The spirit’s song was growing more complex, each of the wisps taking their own melody, but they somehow weaved back together into one refrain.

Zelophehad seemed to shirk at the music. The dirt under their feet grew green again and the flower stalks and mushroom blooms were steadily overtaking the land, growing to the beat.

Compassion, Kindness, and Scholar still holding hands floated over to Zelophehad, their voices harmonizing in unison. “Is your hunger not endless? Are you not weary of pain? Are you not tired of waking? Let us heal you again.”

Zelophehad swiped at the spirits in frustration but they just floated out of reach. “You will pay for your meddling. I will feast on your souls!”

Then Zelophehad morphed into a mass of tentacles with goat eyes warping out of sight and taking the ominous dark feeling with it.

The forest was definitely shorter now, more of grassland than a proper forest, but Malcolm figured that feeding more Kindness to it would fix that in time. The rest of the demons had fled and what spirits were left had been changed back by the song and were now acclimating to their new home.

The bear spirit nodded its head at Compassion and then slowly lumbered away, dragging a bad foot that looked like it had been mauled in a trap. It parted the growing flowers with its mass, only the top of its head visibly bobbing as it wandered away.

Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief, his head falling against the stone of the altar of Kindness. The dog statue’s sapphire eyes shone brilliantly. The heart of the forest was still tall and strong, the flowers drinking up the sunshine with bright open petals.

Then a giant white jasmine flower spat out a golden owl that floated down to Malcolm’s chest and bore at him with big inquisitive eyes.

The other spirits stopped their song and crowded around Malcolm, cooing in delight. Tasty sputtered flapping as it spurted raspberries. It licked the owl. “Soothing. Refreshing. Tasty!”

Compassion scooped up the little owl and held it to her chest. “Oh, Honesty you came back!”

Malcolm cocked his head feeling like the day couldn’t get weirder but he could feel something was different about that spirit. Like he had met it before. “Another guardian spirit? How did it get here?”

“By a great act of honesty, of course.” Scholar ruffled the top of the owl’s ears fondly. “Just in time, too.”

“Huh? When did I do that?”

“It was not you,” Compassion’s voice was sharp. “In fact, you’ve made it very hard for Honesty to come back.” She placed the spirit on top of her head and it nestled in her curls like an ornament. She crossed her arms. “It’s going to take some work before we restore Honesty and Kindness, so heed your actions in the waking world. They have taken shapes from you; they will be intrinsically affected by your actions.”

Malcolm could feel his insides shrinking. He was already having the damnedest time restoring the Kindness spirit. Adding another spirit to juggle into that mess seemed like too much.

“So I’m supposed to kiss people’s asses and now I can’t lie? What’s next? If there’s a celibacy spirit, I quit!”

Compassion buckled over looking queasy.

Malcolm sat up alarmed, only now just remembering to check his emotions.

Compassion winced in pain. “Be more careful with your rage. Zelophehad might not kill me but you might.”  

Malcolm winced, feeling guilty and the spirit turned a shade of green and gagged.

“Not that emotion either,” she held her mouth as if she might vomit. “You’re too volatile, I can’t stay around you.” With shaky hands, she plucked the owl spirit off her head and deposited it on Malcolm’s lap. “Just try not to kill this spirit- again.” She turned to Scholar, scowling. "Teach him better."

Then Compassion blinked away leaving Malcolm with Scholar, Kindness, and Tasty who seemed to be much more used to Malcolm’s mood swings.

Kindness hummed happily turning a shade of pink. They were still buzzing from the sing-along and they even looked healthier. More corporeal in every sense.

Scholar cocked their head, summoning some balut eggs which he started eating whole. “Well, that’s a pretty color? Are you trying it out?”

Kindness hummed and floated to the dog statue touching the sapphire eyes and turning them into pink diamonds.

Scholar nodded resolutely. “Ah, I see. That’s who you are now. Well, that’s one step closer to finding the rest of you.”

Malcolm cocked his head. Spirit conversations sure were confusing.   

The Kindness spirit floated up towards Malcolm like a puppy showing off its sheen in a glittery glow. “Yes, you're very sparkly,” Malcolm reassured Kindness, though he wasn’t sure if that was what Kindness wanted.

Kindness hummed in delight, their speech almost recognizable, and then giggled. The owl in Malcolm’s lap reached up their stubby wings at Kindness’ glittery sheen and Kindness picked them up and whirled them around in excitement. They looked like two friends greeting after a long absence.

Malcolm sighed deeply as he laid back on the grass and looked up at the Black City looming eerily in the sky. He had survived another attack by Zelophehad and knew well enough how to stop the next encounter from being deadly. But as he stared up at the City defying gravity, he wondered how long he could balance on this knife edge before he fell off.

At least he got through it without singing.

[itsnothesameasitwas]

hiii! this month I’ve read a lot of great fics, so I decided is time to start my monthly fic rec… that means I’ll be doing a short fic rec and recap every month with my favorite fics of the month

note: the fics I’ll be mentioning weren't necessarily posted recently

!!! - please be careful and read all the tags and/or warnings before start reading and left kudos and nice messages to the authors <33

❀ Divinely Blessed by thinlines @thinlinez  | 17k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

“I heard you, Ni. But what do you mean?”

“What do you mean what I mean?”

Harry rolled his eyes as he shoved his alpha friend down onto a seat. “Did you mean you lick someone out or…?”

“Nah, mate! It was me! I got licked out!” Harry could only stare at Niall in horror.

Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

note: for some reason i don’t know i fell in love with the ABO and found this fic someway and WOW! it’s really fluffy and sweet and while i was reading all i could think about was “god! i really want someone who love me like Harry loves Lou and viceversa” and also has a great smut scene, funny and well writen (cliff ily babe)

❀ Promise me you won’t run away by thinlines | 23k | Explicit | ABO | Español

“Does kissing me stop you from having bad thoughts?” Harry asked, voice muffled into the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. Louis chuckled at this. He trailed a hand down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles tensing along with his touch.

“I guess you can say that. You’re a good distraction.”

“Then I will be the best distraction.” Harry answered, pulling back and watched Louis’ lips unashamedly.

“Come distract me, then.”

Or the Prince/ Knight AU in which Harry left Louis, but the omega never once gave up on them.

note: this fic is beautiful and really REALLY well written, i need to say i cried and im the most cold person in the world but this caught me and I LOVED IT! but also when i finished it i got mad because in the end notes was the spanish translation and i read it in english lmao; anyway i love it!!!... summing this up, the fic made me thought about that LOVE ALWAYS WIN <33

❀ Twist the knife by jishler @jishlerfics | 6k | Explicit | Angst / Smut | fic post

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

note: i definetely don’t read smut in purpose and the reason i’ve read this was because i love the moodboard BUT i need to thank the person who put it on my dash because i liked it so much!! was fun to read and the smut is pretty well written :))

❀  Hold you now by solvetheminourdreams @solvetheminourdreams | 131k | Angst with happy ending | fic post | playlist

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

note: at the end of the first chapter i was emotional, is the kind of fic that you feel every single emotion, the one you literally feel are part of it... it’s perfectly well written and please give it a chance and  check all the stef’s works because she’s a super talented writer... if i say something else i’ll probably do spoilers so, shut up ana.

❀ The money mark by brightgolden @brightgolden | 52k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Harry's heart beats faster in his chest as the name sinks in. The Tomlinson name is awfully familiar, and he isn’t sure how many rich Tomlinsons are out here in London, but he knew one. Seven years ago.

Like all fine things in the world, Louis Tomlinson ages exceptionally well.

OR

Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

note: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC OF THE YEAR. sorry, but this fic is super well written, is omega harry + alpha louis and find smth like this is almost impossible! but i loved the fact that harry could be an omega and a sugar baby but he’s independant and strong and wow! it’s amazing; everyone should read it because it’s really good!! (ps. louis is the alpha of my dreams, he’s a complete gentlemen)

❀ Sweet like candy by neodiamond @neondiamond | 4k | General Audiences | ABO | fic post

Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.

note: this is the cutest fluffy fic I have ever read! strangers to friends to lovers <333

❀ Literally making love by Brooklyn_babylon @twopoppies | 30k | Explicit | Robot/Human Relationship | fic post

Holding up one of the android's eyes to the workshop’s windows, he smiled as the light picked up the gold flecks in the pale green of his irises. Louis had always paid attention to even the tiniest details.

--

All Louis intended to do was rescue someone in need from loneliness. He had no idea it would be himself.

note: science + me = signal error BUT this fic. OMG. how to say this is one of the fics would be in my recap at the end of the year; i have read another fic by Gina and was really good but this is probably my favorite between both of them... all i know and want now is to create my perfect partner lmao. 

❀ I’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by pixies @tomlinbuns | 26k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

note: this one is simple to discribe... the best of the best. one of my favorites abo fics, funny, teasing and very romantic. i enjoyed so much read how these two guys fell in love with each other. god bless this fic <33

❀ Beautiful stranger by lovelarry10 @chloehl10 | 66k | Explicit | ABO / Mpreg | fic post

“Did you want to- oh. Uh, sorry, I-” Harry stuttered, licking his lips as he looked over Louis’ bare torso, not focusing on the ocean ahead of him. “You’re very distracting, Lou.”

“Trying to tell me you haven’t seen a topless Omega before?” Louis asked, walking back to his rucksack and grabbing a bottle of suncream out of it before returning to stand by Harry.

“Not one as stunning as you,” he thought he heard Harry mutter as he started to rub the cream into his shoulders.

*****

When Alpha Harry Styles attends the Gucci Cruise 2020 show, he knows what to expect: clothes, clutch bags, and a few too many pretentious people. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to run into an Omega who is more beautiful than anything on the runway.

note: this fic is from 2019 but who cares, i loved it so much and i want to thank/blame @justalarryblog​ because she unintentionally recommended it to me in her abo fic rec post and now i want someone like this harry in my life... is it too much to ask? because is one of the most beautiful abo fics i’ve read this month and wow. if you haven’t read it yet, what are you waiting for??

❀ Waiting on you by beckywritesthings @beckydoesthings  | 21k | Mature | Mpreg | fic post

“Do you want to touch?” Harry asks, taking one of his hands off to tangle with Louis’. His open invitation finally drags Louis’ attention away from his baby and up to his face, blue eyes wobbly with emotions. It’s clear that he’s too taken to really form words, so Harry takes the initiative to press their laced hands against his shirt fabric, warmth from the skin radiating through.

Louis pushes his shirt up to his chest, taking Harry’s hand and pressing it to hold the fabric in place. His hands return to warm skin, palms even more scalding now that there’s nothing in between them. And then, as if that wasn’t enough for Harry’s heart to handle, Louis leans in, pressing his lips right above his belly button.

“Hi, baby,” he says, lips moving across his skin softly. “I’m your… I’m Louis.”

Or Harry is pregnant with a stranger’s baby and Louis doesn’t know. It’s a minor detail that Harry’s both living with Louis and in love with him. No big deal.

note: this fic is really new, someone reblogged the fic post and when i saw it first i was like ‘huh?’ and then suddendly (in less than a minute) decided it was the next thing i’ll be reading and now i’m completely in love with it. Lou i need to say you’re the kind of guy everyone wants in their life <3 

-----------

❀ all the love, ana. xx

[thefanbasewhore]

About Time.

Summary: While Din has a hard time showing how he feels, it’s not take he doesn’t want to I’ve into them, he wants nothing more in this world but in order to keep you safe he makes some decisions that can strain your relationship forever. Reader has enough of it and finally says something to be ignored. Despite this she still does something that makes even the Mandalorian cry.

Warning/Content: Fluffy din, broken heart, din doesn’t know how to handle his feelings, emotional Din with first kiss between characters. Two idiots finally admitting their feelings for each other.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Tag list here || Master list.

“Do you want some of these, is that is bug?” Your tone is teasing, a small laughing falling from petal like lips and Din can’t find himself to look away from the soft curve of your nose, eyes wrinkling with joy to match the most breath-taking smile even though it’s directed towards the child tucked inside the bag the slings across the Mandalorian’s chest he is rather breathless at the sight.

From the form of your jaw, the few dark spots that form against cheeks, he feels his heart stuttering inside his chest. The sun is hangs so high in the air, thick clouds can’t even contain the orange haze that hits your skin just right, illuminating the dips of collarbones, a natural glow that no one could even come close to. The shine reflecting off the beskar but you still manage to look up, pause and really give him something to be nervous about as the kind smile is now exclusively for the breathless Mandalorian.

Despite what others may think that the Mandalorian is ruthless, nothing but a cold stone killer he proves them wrong. Has an eye for acquired beauty, takes time at every planet he visits just to watch the sunset - if it’s over the forest, the bitter cold mountains or buzzing city, there’s just something about watching the colors of the sky collide, the dim light singing a silent lullaby with the promise of new life tomorrow when sun rises again. But nothing, absolutely nothing will beat that smile, it’s hurts to see it, makes his head spin as he’s consumed with thoughts of you, you, you.

Knees feel like they’re going to buckle underneath the weight of your smile, cheeks are instantly hot as he’s caught but with the way the sun touches your skin and glimmers against the natural highlights of your cheek bones, he could careless. So close, your so close he can smell the intoxicating scent of soap, gooseberries and spice, sweet but fierce, calm but firey. A surge of goosebumps makes him shiver feeling the heat of your body as you brush your hand along his arm unintentionally raising the sleeve of cookies teasingly, up and down towards the child. His bead bobs with your own, he’d following that smile to the pits of underworld.

The marketplace is full, buzzing with life, bodies knocking against each other in the afternoon rush, a few goers knocking against the Mandalorian and yourself but he quickly puts a stop to it. He’s closer, nearly attached at the hip, helmet following anyone who gets too close with a silent warning which has a few men gulping, turning back into the direction they came from.

“What else do you need?” The vocoder crackles under his baritone, thick and laced with a genuine concern that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. He must have reached out unintentionally for you, watching as your eyes flicker from his gloved hold that softly rubs your wrist to his face, cheeks flushing just a little as he pulls away - not sure if his actions.

“I think we have everything.” Face burning, but only because of how fast the Mandalorian moved away - like he was disgusted, impulsed he would ever touch you. He seems to notice the shift of temper, nervously trailing behind as you walk away without a second glance towards him.

His throat is weary, unable to speak because of just how try it feels. It’s awkward, lingering silence between you, he wants to know why. Nervousness stirs his stomach, beads sweat across his forehead. He’s so inobvious of your affections, it is absolutely infuriating at times. It’s not his fault, how could he notice? He can barely think with you so close. The sudden change doesn’t go unnoticed though, not daring to look up at him at least half way through the market place.

“Are you okay?” He’s clueless, completely unaware of your pounding heart, the question making you pause and freeze and he must have not been paying attention as he hits your back with a small huff through the static of the vocoder, knocking the wind from your startled chest. He curses under his breath, fingers spreading across the base of your hip to steady you. “Kriff, I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The word is sharp, more harsh then intended and thankfully the Mandalorian’s face can’t been seen, confusion pinches his eyebrows, mouth dropping to say something, anything but the little wobble of your voice along with the small tears that gloss over eyes as him immobilized.

Unable to speak, not prepared nor what to say to the tearing beauty in front of him. What does he say? Does he let it go? Obviously you didn’t want to talk, but he doesn’t like the swirl of emotions in his own chest as he watches you turn, try to slip out towards the direction of the Crest but his hands grab your sides before he even register what is happening.

“Wait.. wait. Cyar'ika, why are you crying?” As the tears slip past long eyelashes he feels confused. “Where are you going?”

“Why do you always do this?” The words confuse the Mandalorian, make him step closer, reach for you but with every inch he steps forward you find yourself steering away. “You can’t keep calling me these nicknames, touching me and acting like nothing exist between us. It’s - it’s - it’s exhausting! Every time I bring it up, you ignore me.”

He never misses a beat, hearing the choke in your throat, voice rising an oculate as his heart pounds inside his chest. He pauses, completely freezes as the commotion causes uncomfortable eyes. Harsh and grumbled. “Not here.”

“You never want to talk about it! – ugh, you’re impossible!” While he didn’t particularly like your tone there are some truths behind your words, the sting of realization brazes his cheeks, makes him bite his lip, chewing nervously on the fat of it.

It’s true, every single word. He is impossible, difficult to talk too especially when it comes to feelings. He wants to blame it on his upbringing, feelings were never a factors, what he felt never mattered. He carried it all throughout his life but what really did matter in this point and time is how you feel. It matters to him, the way you pout if he doesn’t hold you close at night, when you’re feeling homesick, like a caged bird from being in the Crest for too long. He cares, cares so much but doesnt know how to show it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like change, he doesn’t like being unprepared, parting from a very stern schedule but once he met you, that all seemed to be thrown out the door, only coming up on a year but it feels like another life. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to handle these feelings, they swell inside, make his heart four times bigger until he feels like it’s going to explode with just how lovely you are. So naturally, just like the way he was raised instead of handling them, he chooses to ignore them, let them dangle in front of your face with sweet nicknames, touches of a lover, promised that seem like nothing.

The Crest isn’t too far, camouflaged between trees whose think branches canope around it, the greenery hiding any proof the Mandalorian roams these parts, he didn’t have too. It’s almost second nature now, hiding the ship to guarantee the safety for his son and girl.

You don’t say another word, shoving through the rather large crowd, slipping through a few crack but so quickly that Din and his large mass of armor can barely catch up, calling your name but it’s no use as you’re swollowed into the swarm of people.

When the Mandalorian finally does make it to the ship he calls home he lifts the sleeping child from the brown bag, rockling him softly until he reaches the threshold of the upper belly of the Razor Crest, noticing the rather large lump of blankets. He pauses, his heart wants him to press further, peel back every layer of insecurity as the blankets would reveal your body under his fists but he shakes his head, clear the thought all together before placing the child next to you, placing the loose corner to cover him. The Mandalorian doesn’t come to bed that night or even the next following nights.

He doesn’t dare speak, the only time you do hear him over the course of a few days is a cracked scolding or coo towards the child but he now spends the majority of his time in the cockpit. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. It’s like two ghosts passing in the night. It makes you regret even bringing it up, claiming his sweet touches were fake, that his kisses in the dark meant nothing. You know they do, despite how much he wants to claim their not, that he doesn’t care for you in the way, the memory of the smile that caresses your shoulder says different, the warm lips that melt against your forehead but never dare dive to the intoxicity of your lips. He used to hold you so close at night, warmth and familiarity fight away fear that may creep up on you late a night but now you find yourself nudging nose deep into the pillows just to get a glimpse of his fated scent.

Earthy woods, dewy morning pine smell mixed with the ringed, worn leather of his gloves. You never realized how much you loved it. Even right now, late hours of the night but early hours of the morning sitting up on the bed. The only sound is the heavy breathing of the little green ball curled up in Din’s spot, sleep doesn’t seem to come easy anymore.

You’re so exhausted, eyes heavy, crusting for the relief of closing but nothing can take away the aching of your heart. It hurts so much you find yourself pressing your hand against your chest, rubbing the skin like it would sooth the ache. It almost makes you want to march up the stupid, wobbly later and apologize but it’s hard when you meant every word you said.

You know it deep in your heart Din cares for you, he would do anything, die for you but living on this constant edge of “what are we” is almost as tiring as not sleeping for three days, at this moment you can’t tell which one is worse. He needed to admit it, stop playing heartless bounty hunter because he’s anything but.

He’s comes off as cold, stern and ruthless but he’s anything but. He’s kind, cares for others. You see it in the way he tries to understand, attempt to speak the languages of the people he meets in order to make sure they’re more comfortable. He gives the benefit of the doubt no matter the reputation of man. Maybe because it hits so close to home. To the outside world he is a cold man, will do anything to return his bounty but if anyone bothered to try, the world would notice the façade quickly crumbles.

You’re so wrapped up in just thinking, concentrating on every breath that falls from your erratic, heavy chest you don’t notice the way the ladder to the upper level rattles under the pressure of a man.

He pauses almost instantly, clearly not expecting the sight of you protruding forward, sore shoulders slumped. Not noticing the extra shadow you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep the small promise of tears from rolling over but it’s pretty much useless.

The tears come, flush against the heat of your face as you pull the blanket closer, turning the slightest bit just to check up on the sleeping child but tucked away in the corner the rather large silhouette catches catches your own reflection.

He pauses, the T of his visor never leaves the direction of your reddening face. There’s a small noise, a peak of his voice. It’s like he tried to speak, words dying in his throat, tries to hide it but the vocoder catches it.

Din feels at war. His heart just wants to climb into bed with you, kiss every single tear that you cry but his brain says the opposite. Be logical, it would never last, no one would want a life like this why would he subject you to it? Give you more of a reason to stay?

Besides it’s easier this way, you would never be safe. If there isn’t one already, there would be a giant target painted on your back. Especially with the child, you would never be safe.

Honestly, you don’t know what hurts more, the lack of sleep that pinches your eyes or the sinking of your heart as the Mandalorian walks away without a word.

The next morning is awkward, scratch that, the last few days have just weird. Din comes before you even manage to wake, taking the child to feed and wash him and keeps him in the cockpit while he tries to figure out where the last bounty has traveled to. Which is fine but all this time alone as left you.. bored.

Usually you would be up there with them, teasing the Mandalorian at the fact that his voice raises a few notches as he talks to Grogu, which would only result in a scoff but he would still murmurs in the annoyingly cute voice and call him his little co-pilot.

The words on the page in front of you start to blur, words grouping together, it didn’t make any sense no matter how many times you try to reread them. The ship is rather warmer then usual, not having to go outside to know it’s a beautiful, warm day and judging by your calculations, it was market day again.

You stand aimlessly, the lack of sleep making you shift on your feet, balance and coordination long gone. Movements are slower, messy but despite heavy eyes still are able to move though the belly of the Crest to find your bag, throwing it across your shoulder as you mindlessly press the button the shakes and squeals as the hydraulics of the descending ramp come to life.

You don’t want to be alone anymore, no matter how much the bed calls, the chattering of civilization and social interaction call you from just over the ridge. Before stepping out, you take one last look around, biting your lip as you nervously suck on it. It wasn’t a good idea to just disappear, just in case something would happen but truthfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t seem to care too much at the moment.

The first step into the forest is liberating, fresh air beings the color back to your skin, it’s easier to breath following the small trail towards the town. Fresh pine and dark green leaves that shiver with every low breeze, it nips your skin pink but it just feels so good to be out of the ship.

***

The laugh that falls from your lips is quite unexpected, the small human that extends his hand, offering you a beautiful, purple flower.

“Thank you.” The boy gives a shy smile before disappearing behind the stall of the vender, off to find his mother.

The market is buzzing, filled with laughs, venders shouting deals from every corner, the smells are beautiful, mixed with homemade soaps to mouth watering food. The colors are bright, no doubt to match the just as shining sun, bright oranges and sky blues from fabrics, blanket and clothing.

You find yourself smack dab in the middle of it, not really knowing where to start as the first smile in days touches your lips as people shove past you. It felt good to be out but the realization of why you were alone dropped your smile instantly.

“Are you alright miss?” The voice moving your head in direction, peering over your shoulder to notice the man leaning against one of the stalls, throwing the apple in his hand up then back down to his palm.

He was quite tall but not as tall as the Mandalorian. A scruffy dark beard that is cut low, leaving a shadow of darkness over the distal end of his prominent features. Cupid lips, the curve of his nose strong but the bridge slightly crooked, looks like it’s been broken a few times. Baby blue eyes, ones that are filled with concern as you realize how long you’re taking looking at him. He has silky, long curls.

“Yeah…” You finally answer, unsure of the words as he steps closer. His clothes look expensive, blood red fleece mixed with a pattern of gold. He gives you a small grin… And he’s not ugly.

His skin is flushed from it’s normal color, no doubt a little irritated from the brutal sun. He smiles at your reply, dimples and all. “Would you like an apple miss?”

“How do I know you didn’t do anything to it?” This makes him laugh, clicking his tongue as he flirty leans a little forward.

“I guess you must take a leap of faith, my lady. I’m sure one little, innocent apple won’t cause death to such a pretty lady.”

Your cheeks ignite almost instantly but the wide smile hides it. “My lady?”

“Well you never gave me your name.”

“You never asked.” You take the apple from his outstretched palm, watching and anticipating the bite but it never comes. Still skeptical of taking foods from a stranger.

“What is your name?” You answer, telling him as his hand covers your free one but right when you’re about to push him away he brings the ring on your finger closer to his face, running his own thumbs over it in amazement.

“What is it?” His eyes fill with so much awe at the stone, large and black. It looked like a galaxy, the stars inside of it moving, making him look up questioningly. “It’s moving, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s just a moonstone.” A gift from months ago, Din had shyly placed it in front of you, swearing Grogu picked it out but the way he lingered for a reaction told you everything.

He must have noticed how close he was but didn’t bother to move as his eyes widen. “Oh, sorry! I don’t get out much.” He must have noticed the pinch of confusion Where are my manners? I’m Prince Brydon.“

“Prince? As of prince of?”

He pauses, brows moving closer in confusion. “As of Aralan, the planet we are on..”

“Oh.” Suddenly you felt nervous of the man, giving him a polite but uncomfortable smile.

“I know I just met you but would you like to walk with me? Just for a little, I can offer you food or drink?” Who are you to say no to the prince?

You’re about to follow but a smooth grip that pulls you back by your elbow makes your head whip back. The orange tipped leather gloves never leave despite gaining your attention, instead pull you further away from the prince. Even though the Mandalorian’s face is completely concealed, there’s no hiding his anger, he visibly trembles, words are deep from his chest. “Where have you been? How long have you been gone?”

You look up at the prince apologically, feeling like a  toddler getting a scolding especially with the angle of your arm. The baby is pressed against his chest with the other arm, cooing as he reaches out for you. His father’s displeased attitude rubbing off onto the green baby. 

The Mandalorian is frustrated, so much he doesn’t notice the prince only lets a soft curse fall from the static as he releases your arm, mumbling a soft sorry as he extends the child towards you. You take him happily, bouncing him as he goes right to burying his petal-like ears into the crook of your neck. With that you hope the Din will just leave it alone, go back to not talking because right now the last thing you want to deal with is him. “You can’t just run off like that, what is something happened?” It felt good to hear him speak, it’s been so long and honestly the deep vibration of his vocal cords were soothing, husky with a odd element of security. “Who are you?”

The words were a little harsh as the Mandalorian finally notices the added presence, stiffening and taking two steps in front of you. Institutionally protecting the child and yourself. Din almost towers over him, broad shoulders blocking the prince from your peripheral. 

The Prince speaks, claiming his title but Din looks unamused, still standing strong and straight, shoulder widening, slowing his strength. He’s sizing him up, the poor prince is confused, eyes dropping towards your own but Din blocks his way. Overbearing but Din has vowed in silence to himself to always protect you.

“Will you be okay?” The prince asks, unsure of leaving you with the metal man but you nod, giving him a soft smile. “Well It was a pleasure to meet you and your weird friend.”

The giggle that falls from your lips makes Din’s heart thump and chest fill with jealousy, the smile towards the Prince he’s one he’s never seen before. 

***

 Din still ignoring you but every few minutes looks past his shoulder to see if you’re still following. He doesn’t seem to care about the delicious smell of food, or singing of passerby’s, but you do, you keep stopping to look at the flowers, inquire about something to eat but feel suffocated by the Mandalorian. He’s walking so close that he’s practically ontop of you, hips pressed against the back of your own, trying to ignore the feeling of your ass pressed against him but the scowl on your face knocks sense into him.

“You don’t have to watch me.”

“Why? For you can run away again?”

You scoff, hand pressing against the cuirass of the armor trying to push him away. Truly amused by the challenge in his voice, the audacity of a man who didn’t care weather you were alive or dead for the last few days. “I didn’t run away. You been ignoring me for days and then scare away the first person who wanted to talk to me. Why do you care?”

The Mandalorian’s mouth drops behind the helmet, words trapped behind his teeth, they’re fumbling on the tip of his tongue, an apology so close but he can’t help but notice you’re looking past his shoulder now, brows moving closer in concentration and then widening but before he can manage to turn around to see you tackle him to the ground.

A large spray of blaster shots kick the dirt up from around you, curling yourself deeper into Din but laying across him, using your own body to shield him. Eyes squeezed so tight expecting pain and blood but nothing comes. It only last a few more seconds before the loud boom fills your ears, the smell of gun powder and heat fill your entire body and the shooter drops dead a few feet away. The source is right next to you, one of Din’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, the other extended and gripping the just fired blaster. 

There’s a moment of silence as everyone around starts to look up, realizing the gun fire is gone. Low chatter followed by heavy breaths, even your own chest betrays you. Din’s eyes never leave your own, pants cracked with static as his throat feels dry.

“Why did you do that?” The Mandalorian’s hands grip your face, don’t allow you to move from the captivating reflection of yourself in the helmet. Still on top of him but now he pulls you into his lap, a deep sigh racks his body. The orange tips of his glove shape against the outline of your jaw, keep your eyes on what you can only guess is his own. They’re gentle, applying just enough pressure to keep you up right. 

One set of fingers rub the bumpy surface of your cheek bones, it’s gentle, savoring every moment of it. His chest falling and raising with faltering adrenaline but swelling with emotion.

Small tears pick his eyes, he can’t seem to care about the yelling and chaos that surrounds you, he leans closer, forehead pressing against your own. “Why did you do that? You could have gotten hurt - that was st -.”

He wants to finish the sentence but can’t seem to. It’s not stupid, it was incredibly dangerous, selfless but the action on it’s own filled him with such warmth and so many unsaid words. Never, ever has anyone risk their lives for his own. He’s speechless, can’t form words as the ball of emotion grows inside his throat, so big it barely allows air to pass through.

It’s so sudden you’re stunned when it happens, the rush of air from the force of his arms wrapping around your waist. He sits up, but it’s only to pull you closer into him until your head rests against his chest. Now it’s your turn to stop breathing, hearing your heart pound in your ears but still managing to hear the cracked gasp that falls from the helmet. His chest is moving to fast, the rise and fall abnormally pressing against your cheek. Fingers clutch his forearm, rubbing soothing circles as you try to ask him if he’s alright, the reason for his tears but he doesn’t allow you to. “Never ever do that again.”

“Din -.”

“Promise me, please. Never, ever do something like that again.”

He’s so suddenly filled with so much guilt, the look on your face when he walked away from your long night of crying is seared in his brain. Even now he feels guilty, it racks his body, makes his hold tighter as one hand comes to rub the soft strands of your hair. “Promise me.” 

He suddenly can’t think of anything else except for how absolutely breath taking you are, and how this planet could be named his favorite just by the way it so generously let’s the natural light shine against your skin. He’s a complete mess, shoulders protruding forward, back starting to ache from being the man base of support for holding you and him up, no matter how much he tried to squeeze his eyes shut, blink away the tears he can’t help as they slide past eyelashes.

You notice almost instantly, he sees they way your hand outstretches to feel the points of the helmet. In that very moment, under the scrutiny of those eyes he feels three words touch his tongue, he’s leaning forward into your touch, mouth opening to finally say them but the bewildered, pure panic that widens your eyes has him looking around impending danger he’s too distracted to notice.

Just like that the both of you click, Din letting out a worried gasp. “Grogu.”

As if there wasn’t any other reason to feel like a terrible person already, he was so distracted by you, finally allowing you to peal back the layers and layers he’s built but forgetting his soon after an all out gun fire was pretty low on even his list. To be fair though, the way you looked at him was almost sinful, it would be a crime to look away.

The Mandalorian’s gentle fingers lift your thighs, helping you stand as he quickly stalks away, the child’s name break through the static, low and horse, no doubt trying to swallow the ball that made it so hard to even talk. He’s not injury, both of you know this. He’s a baby, lacks a little common sense but one of the smartest creatures you’ve ever met.

No doubt he sensed the danger, no wonder why he was so fussy. He most likely ran for cover to avoid the blaster shots. With wobbly legs you stand, using the stall next to you for support but the Mandalorian’s hand against the small of your back steadies you, the small child cooing from his fathers arm’s. 

Almost as quick as the night he found you crying, he turns his back to you, heart dropping at the sudden coldness almost identical to the temperature of his shiny beskar. Small, unwanted tears gather in the corner of your eyes, just like that he was back to hating you, possibly ignore your presence for another week or so.

A smooth gush of air follows as he turns to face you, heart skipping in your chest as the shadow of his visor meets your gaze. Pushing Grogu closer to his chest. Mouth dropping in surprise as he extends his other, hand opening for your own.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.” He doesn’t give you much of a choice as he steps closer to fill the gaps between his fingers with your own. They trip back to the ship is quiet, not uncomfortable but clearly the both of you have a lot on your minds.

***

No one says a word, nightfall kisses the horizon by the time you return. Convinced nothing could calm the irregular pattern of your pounding heart, the heat on your cheeks never leaving, a reminder every time you look down and see your entangled fingers. 

Once on the ship, he’s still silent, not daring to speak as he puts the child down and retreats to the cockpit, once the ship is up and out of the atmosphere you half expect him be dismissive again, spend the rest of the trip in the cockpit but instead are filled with surprise as the lights of hull flicker off. Instantly reaching out to find something to steady yourself on but instead strong, large arms wrap around you. They keep you grounded, steady as your eyes widen. The Mandalorian’s hot breath fanning your face, the ghost of his lips at the shell of your ear. “Easy, easy, it’s just me.”

Standing in complete silence, all breath void with fears it might scare him away. You’re so caught up in the heat of his breath against your face, so close to your lips which he never allowed himself to touch that the realization of his helmet being off almost sends you onto your ass, grabbing his sleeves to stand up straight. 

Finally you can’t take it anymore, hands softly running over the smoothness of his jaw, coarse hairs of the patchy beard followed by the fly away hairs just above his lips, then to form over the soft flesh of his cupid shaped lips. This causes the Mandalorian to stiffen, a long breath parting his lips as he pulls you closer, stepping back until he falls onto the cot, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap.

Without thinking you start to lean in, the Mandalorian feeling the force of your body lifting up but turn his head for you feel the corner of his lip, the bluntness of the kiss against his cheek. This makes your skin on fire, embarrassed as your try to move away but the grip on your thighs doesn’t allow you to.

“I’ve never kissed someone before.” He admits lowly, just above a whisper trying to save you the embarrassment.  The soft oh that falls from your lips is panicked as you try to pull the touch away but the Mandalorian is too quick, his palm squeezes your fingers, pulling them back to cup his cheek and nuzzling into it. 

“We don’t have to Din, I should’ve asked.”

“No, no, I want to kiss you sweet girl.” The nickname alone is enough to have you melting into a puddle, knees weak and buckling but lucky for you, Din holds you up right. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

Staying silent, not daring to move but instead allow Din to take his time, experiment as he starts to lean closer and do it on his own time. 

Time felt like it almost stopped when his nose nudged your own, lips barely touching, hovering as he lets out a soft sigh, leaning closer until you feel his eyelashes flutter against your own. He’s so gentle as his lips finally meet yours, only being able to focus on how soft they were against his own.

Every breath he took smelt like you, wild flowers and vanilla as his lips shape against your own. Whole body tingling as he pulls you closer against him, giving him a better angle to kiss you at, he pulled away for just a second, catching his breath before claiming your mouth again. Filled with emotion, heavy and soft as his tongue slips past your lips.

You’re so caught up in the way he feels you don’t notice the fingers that slip under your shirt, feeling the soft flesh of his skin. A soft moan falling from his parted lips as you shift on his lap.

tags: @coonflix, @mudhornchronicles,  @kaermorons  @winter-rxn  @carlygrayson  @naturalswifty89  @Curiouskeyboard   @idjitdestiel  @tossacoin2yourwitcher @victias,  @altarsw ,  @nikkixostan  , @moonlightnumbsthepainifeel,  @est19xxshit , @owloveyounever , @engie115@dinsbeskar,  @akatasukilove ,  @nerdalert-andi , @mailee420 , @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @thatonedindjarinfan,  @Sporadicshoebailifffish,  @coldlilheart,  @starsvck,  @agirlinherhead,  @lokismidnight,  @expellopatronum,  @dinschutta , @queenbbarnes, @ironbabey,  @i-ship-it-ironically, @coonflix, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @maileecabudal,  @buckysalefty, @fangirlmendes, @godohammers, @mermaidbrina, @capsheadquaters,  @i-ship-it-ironically  

@dinsbeskar

[imaginingsoftly]

Apartment 352 Pt. 2 - Erik Johnson

Type: strangers-lovers

Requested: no

Warnings: blood, cuts and scrapes

A/N: Hopefully this redeems Erik a little bit for you guys :)

Day two of unpacking was marginally better than the first, if only because Emma’s giant of a neighbor hadn’t been around to witness her trip on the top step yet again that morning. She was still nursing a slightly sore and bruised knee a few hours later, when the next big dangerous task came up; hanging a couple of pictures. The task itself shouldn’t have been dangerous, but the frames were big enough she was going to need to stand on a chair to hang them up high. Emma took a deep breath, hauled up the heavy frame, and took a step onto the chair.

It took seconds for things to go wrong. Her back foot caught on the arm of the chair as Emma stepped up, and she immediately slipped sideways into the shelf right next to her ribcage. The frame smashed on the wall, and Emma felt pain in her forearm as a shard of glass nicked her.

There wasn’t time to do anything except brace herself. The shelf crashed to the ground, taking the ugly-ass plates from her aunt and a framed picture of her best friend with it. Emma wobbled on the chair, but kept her balance. “Shit,” she mumbled to the wall. Shards of glass from the picture frame and pieces of the ceramic plates littered the ground around the chair, and the radius of the shards was too far to jump. There was maybe enough space for her to step around them, but in bare feet Emma wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.

A pounding at Emma’s door almost made her fall off the chair. A muffled voice came from behind the door. “You good?” She heaved a sigh. Of course Erik would be the one to find her like this.

“Door’s unlocked! Come in!” He was inside before she’d even finished talking. It took a full ten seconds, she counted, before he moved from the entryway. Emma shifted uncomfortably on the chair as he took in her appearance, from her bare feet to the disheveled mess of her hair. It was only when he looked in the direction of her legs that she realized they were bare except for where the hem of her oversized t-shirt just covered her underwear. For approximately the thousandth time since she’d met Erik, Emma cursed her clumsiness. She shifted uncomfortably as Erik continued to stand completely still. It wasn’t until she began to step down from the chair gingerly, looking for a safe space to put her bare feet, that he moved.

No giant should be able to move as quickly as he did. Erik took three long strides to reach her, glass and ceramic crunching under his sneakered feet. “Don’t you dare.” His words were a warning, and Emma froze. Huge hands, warm and strong, slid around her shoulders and behind her knees. Erik lifted her into his arms gently, and she automatically clenched her arms around his neck. “Angel, I think I’m gonna have to wrap you in bubble wrap to keep you safe.” Erik’s voice, low and gravelly as it was in the moment, rumbled through his chest and Emma could feel it against her torso where their bodies touched. She wasn’t even going to think about the way her stomach fluttered at the nickname.

Erik carried her clear of the mess on her floor, only placing her on the ground once they were several feet away. For a split second it felt like he pulled her tighter into his chest, but then her feet were on the ground and he was stepping back slightly. “You okay?” Erik’s hands settled on the tops of her arms as he spoke, and his eyes scanned her body quickly. She opened her mouth to confirm that she was fine when his gaze settled on her forearm. “Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” Emma looked down, and sure enough the nick she’d felt was actually a sizeable cut. Blood ran down her arm at a slightly higher volume than a trickle. It probably should have been more concerning than it was, but Emma’s thoughts were more on the fact that Erik hadn’t ever actually called her by her name. It was always ‘sweetheart’ or ‘angel’. Come to think of it, maybe she hadn’t ever actually told him her name. Who does that? He had been in her apartment, for fucks’ sake.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Erik’s voice cut through her thoughts, and Emma pointed mutely. He caught the hand on her good arm in a gentle grip and pulled her across the living room. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Emma felt like putty in Erik’s hands as he moved her around, gently lifting her onto the counter and maneuvering her arm under the faucet. The water ran pink, and Emma closed her eyes. Of all the things to defeat her, it just had to be blood. A cool hand settled on her cheek as her brain went a little fuzzy. “Hey. Stay with me sweetheart. You good?”

Emma shook her head. “Don’t like blood,” she rasped through a bone-dry throat. “I’m okay.” The cool hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her head, and Erik put gentle pressure there.

“Lean on me. Don’t look, I’ll clean you up.” Emma followed the press of Erik’s hand, leaning her forehead into his shoulder. “Atta girl. I’ve got you.” His voice rumbled through his chest, and Emma felt it where her shoulder and good arm touched his side.

Any of the lingering irritation she’d felt towards him over yesterday was gone. If anything, Emma now had a soft spot for her next-door neighbor. “It’s Emma.” Erik’s hands stilled from where they were rinsing out her arm for a split second before starting up again. “I just realized I never actually told you my name.”

The sound of a bottle opening and liquid splashing registered seconds before Emma felt a slight sting on her cut. “Emma.” She shivered at the sound of Erik’s gravelly voice saying her name. “Short and sweet. Suits you.” She felt his smile against the top of her head. “I don’t think you need stitches, but I am going to put a band-aid and some bacitracin on this. Don’t want you to get an infection or anything.”

Emma nodded into Erik’s shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Erik said nothing as he finished patching up her arm, but then she felt an arm come around her back and tug her torso closer into Erik’s chest. “Don’t mention it, Angel. Just promise me you won’t hang things barefoot anymore?”

That was an easy thing to agree to. Emma nodded. “You keep seeing me at my worst,” she mumbled into Erik’s chest grumpily. At this rate, he was going to see her drastically injure herself by the end of the first week. She stiffened against his chest at the thought. What was next? A grease fire? Falling down the stairs? Cutting a finger off while cooking?

Her doomsday thoughts were interrupted by a slight tug on her hair. “Hey. Your thoughts are so loud I can practically hear them. If this is your worst, I’m almost afraid to see how incredible you are at your best.”

Emma leaned back to see Erik smirking at her. “Are you flirting with me?” His smirk became a full-on grin.

“Been flirting with you the whole damn time, Angel, you just didn’t catch on.” Emma gaped at her neighbor as he stepped back, instantly lamenting the loss of his warmth. “Now that you’ve got that figured out, dinner Saturday?” She cocked her head at him choosing a day three days in advance, and he shrugged. “Figured I’d be a good guy and let you get settled before I sweep you off your feet.”

That was it. Emma barked out a laugh, and Erik looked far too proud of himself. “Yeah, Casanova, you can take me out Saturday.” Not that she’d ever let him actually get somewhere with her. She slid off the counter, and Erik was immediately there with an arm out to steady her when she stumbled slightly. As infuriating as her new neighbor was, she couldn’t help but find him adorable too.

He walked out of the bathroom, and Emma took a second to settle her legs before she tried to walk. The blood really had thrown her off, and she needed to take a couple of deep breaths. By the time Emma made it back out into her living room, Erik was already picking up the large chunks of glass littering her entryway. “You don’t have to-” Emma stopped when he held up a hand.

“I don’t mind helping you clean this up. Besides, some of this stuff has blood on it. I don’t want you to get woozy and step on glass.” His words were slightly domineering, but also sweet. “You’re still barefoot; can you grab me your vacuum without stepping near the glass?” Erik glanced backwards at her, nodding when she gestured in the direction of her bedroom. “Grab that for me, and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Emma took a deep breath as she stepped into her bedroom. It had been a long time since she’d had anyone looking out for her, especially a potential romantic interest. Her last boyfriend hadn’t even cared when she spent a night in the hospital, let alone if she stepped on a piece of glass.

She stepped back out of her room with her vacuum in hand. “I can vacuum this stuff up, Erik, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Erik looked over from where he stood by her trash can and pinned her with a glare. “I said I’d help you clean this shit up, and I’m going to do what I said.” Emma opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “I know you don’t need my help and you are perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but I want to do this for you.” His face softened. “Sweetheart, in the two days I’ve known you you’ve fallen up the stairs at least once, taken out a shelf, and sliced the shit out of your arm. It seems like you’re having a rough week, and I want to make it a little easier. Can you let me do that?”

Damn him, he was saying everything right. Emma sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. He smiled gently and reached out a hand for the vacuum. “Thank you, Angel.”

She stood back and watched Erik vacuum up the area around her chair, carefully lifting the chair and the corner of the area rug to make sure he got everything. He even wrapped up the cord when he was finished. “Thank you,” Emma mumbled. Her neighbor flashed a smile in her direction before stalking towards her.

“Saturday.” He ran a thumb across her cheekbone, smiling again. “Try not to end up in a hospital or anything before then, yeah?”

Emma smacked Erik’s arm as he let out a bark of laughter. He was still laughing as he strode towards her front door, and Emma could hear him chuckling to himself even from the hallway.

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter two: incheon mall tube tops

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 4.5K

notes: i really hope you guys are enjoying namjoon’s story! i think there will only be one more chapter after this.  and like a true unfocused writer i started daydreaming about a yoongi one-shot to go with it? gah, nevermind.  i really hope you guys like this and i’d love to hear how you feel one way or another.  a huge thanks to my amazing beta @hobi-gif​ who does a hell of a lot more than just find typos.  and all of my love has to go out to @ladyartemesia​ @ppersonna​ @taetaewonderland​ because all three of you are so much more than tumblr friends.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

It didn’t matter how hard you tried to hide your sadness, Namjoon saw it.

It didn’t matter how many hushed calls you tried to sneak, or how many smiles you tried to force -- Namjoon saw right through your act from the very beginning.  He’d seen enough to know that you were facing some kind of personal battle. He understood enough about you to know that you were far too private to bring it up or ask for help.

He should have asked.

The question sat heavy on the tip of his tongue for weeks.  He should have asked on the days he would spot you at your desk, fingers pressed to your temples in frustration.  Or on the days when he would catch you staring out the window, mind a million miles away.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be driven to distraction by the way your blouses fit perfectly against the lines of your body. The way your pencil skirts hugged the curve of your hips. How soft your hair looked pulled into the low, loose knot you favored.

He found himself stumbling over his words when you’d quietly slip into meetings to deliver an urgent message or he’d drift off in the middle of conversations just because he’d caught sight of you outside his office door.

So it wasn’t long before what started as a preoccupation turned into a full-blown fixation.

You’d turn up at his request, poised and professional as always -- and he’d be lost in thought, defiling you a thousand different ways in his head.  Fantasizing about getting his hands on you, his mouth on you, his teeth on you.

You didn’t deserve that.

That’s why Namjoon kept his mouth shut -- stuck in a maddening cycle of wanting to help you, wanting to know you, just wanting you.

All of it made him feel guilty as hell.

*********************

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

Namjoon has yet to figure out how she manages to be underfoot at the most inconvenient times and simultaneously nowhere to be found when she’s needed.  She misplaces files and misses calls and forgets assigned tasks altogether. He’s lost track of the number of times he’s passed her desk to find her taking pictures of herself; lips pouted, angle skewed.

Two weeks ago, she was probably selling tube tops at Incheon Mall and now she’s playing gatekeeper to one of the most powerful men in Seoul.  So it’s not her fault that she’s woefully unprepared for this job.

And it’s not her fault that she’s not you.

Namjoon has spent the better part of the morning debating the call he’s about to make, picking up the phone and setting it back down at least half a dozen times.  But he’s at the end of his rope, running out of patience and options.

So he swallows his pride and picks up the phone just one more time.  

You answer on the first ring.

“Mister Kim.”

God, he’s missed the sound of your voice.  

“Good morning,” he starts carefully, clearing his throat. “I’m certain you have a lot on your plate but I was wondering if you could come sit with the new girl for a few minutes.  She’s struggling a bit.”  

The line is quiet for a moment and Namjoon can practically hear your thoughts on the other end of the line.  The ones that say well that’s what you get for replacing your perfectly competent assistant with a child.

“I left notes,” is the quiet reply that comes instead.

“You did.”

“Detailed notes. Written, detailed notes.”

“Yes,” Namjoon agrees, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.  “I’m certain they were quite detailed.  It’s just that she’s having trouble following those notes because --”  

“Because she can’t read?”

Namjoon cringes.  Any small hope he had that you weren’t taking your reassignment personally dies with the abrupt delivery of that statement.

“Apparently not,” he admits lamely.

He hears the quiet sigh you take in before answering.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

*************************

There’s a moment -- just after Seokjin has walked through his office door -- when Namjoon catches a glimpse of you.

You are leaned over the new girl’s desk, lips pursed, pointing something out on the computer screen.  Namjoon freezes when you look up and lock eyes with him just as the door swings shut.

Christ, is he ever going to be able to look at you without feeling like he’s had the wind knocked out of him?

He turns to find Seokjin staring at him, one brow raised.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales, shoving a hand through his hair as he walks back to his desk.  “I’m fine. You said you wanted to talk about something?”

“I do,” Seokjin starts, helping himself to a seat. “Two things, actually. Both pertaining to the amazing new assistant you so generously gifted me.”

Namjoon’s nails dig into the palm of his hand.

“Go on.”

“Apparently she’s some kind of whiz with numbers,” Seokjin continues, unbothered by his strained response.  “I gave her a few of the books to look over and she already found a couple of our guys in the Songpa district skimming off the top. I’ll bet there’s even more where that came from and she’ll find it.  She’s got a good eye.”

Namjoon feels pride stir in his chest.  Yet again, you exceed expectations.  

“Send Yoongi and Hoseok to Songpa tonight,” he murmurs.  “I’ll be curious to hear what kind of explanation our friends come up with for their lapses in accounting.”

Seokjin nods.

“Will do.  So the other thing --” he pauses for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out how to carefully deliver what he has to say next.  “I know you asked me to try and figure out what’s going on with her and I think I have.  You’re right, she’s struggling with some personal issues.”

Namjoon leans forward in his chair, body rigid.

“Let me hear it.”

*************************

YOU

The new girl is a fucking disaster.

You have yet to figure out why she can’t work the printers or can’t read a simple spreadsheet when you know for fact she knows how to beam her selfies all the way to the goddamned moon.

It’s infuriating.

Just like it’s infuriating to see her seated at what should be your desk, doing what should be your job, working for the man who should be your boss.  

Figure shit out, you’d love to tell her.  Sink or swim, that’s how the real world works.  

The idea of letting her fail so dismally that Namjoon has no choice but to beg for you back is tempting.  But then he’d picked up the phone to personally ask you to help.

And apparently you are incapable of denying that man anything.

You’ve stayed late every day this week to review the spreadsheets Seokjin has given you to audit because of the extra time you’ve had to put aside to help the new girl navigate foreign concepts like filing and scheduling.

The numbers tell an interesting story.

The rumors about Kim Namjoon’s skill as a businessman don’t give him enough credit.  Money is pouring into the Gajog, hand over fist, from every major district in the city.  Billions of won flow into the organization from legitimate and not as legitimate revenue streams alike.  Combine the numbers and Kim Namjoon controls an empire worth trillions.

You stare at the sums and your mind flips back to your unexpected pay raise. It’s no wonder Namjoon can afford to be so generous.

It’s no wonder so many of the street-level men who work for him seem to be helping themselves to more than their fair share.  

It took you a few days to identify the patterns, comparing the new intake sheets to the old ones, but once you did the missing money practically jumped off the page.  Just a few audits in and you’d already been able to find at least 119 million won unaccounted for.

The Kim Namjoon you know is reserved and unflappable -- but this is information that’s bound to piss even him off.  

What is a man like him like when he’s angry?

You shudder at the thought.

Before long, the night sky stares back at you from the window across from your desk and you decide it’s well past time you went home.  You sort everything into neat piles and leave yourself organized notes before packing up to leave.

***************************

There’s no answer from your mother when you call to her from the hallway.  

You frown as you make your way to her bedroom, worry melting away when you find her asleep in her chair.  Her head is bent at a sharp angle, and you immediately move to help her prop her up.

Her eyes open to slits, unfocused from sleep and medication.

“Ttal,” she whispers, grimacing as she straightens out the crick in her neck.

“Eomma,” you whisper in a hushed rebuke. “We’ve talked about this.  You can’t fall asleep in this chair, it’s terrible for you.”

She nods slowly, pointing to a glass of water on her nightstand.  You hand it to her, but it wobbles in her weak grip and you take hold of it to help her drink before setting it aside.

“I’m hurting tonight,” she admits.  

“I know,” you sigh, heart breaking. “Come, let me help you into bed.”

The process is painstaking.  You help hoist her frail frame out of the chair and over to the side of the bed then work carefully to help her lie back.  There’s no meat on her anymore, just skin and bones, so you tuck her blankets carefully around her legs and arms until you’re certain she’s not shivering anymore.

You know this isn’t working.  

It doesn’t matter how many calls you make over the course of a day to check in, or how many well-meaning neighbors drop in to help, leaving your mother alone for hours in this state is a dangerous gamble.  

You fight back tears of frustration.  You grew up without siblings and your father has been gone for years. Being alone is something you’ve had a long time to get used to.  

But you’ve still never felt as alone as you do right now.

You think in the quiet for a while, stroking your fingers across your mother’s upturned palm, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do.  

Unsure of what comes next.

“Kim Namjoon grew up to be such a handsome man,” your mother rasps.

The steady stroke of your fingers comes to an abrupt halt as the fine hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end.

“Excuse me?”

Your mother doesn’t repeat herself.

“Eomma,” you urge, nudging her hand with yours.  “What is this talk of Kim Namjoon?”

Her lips quirk when she closes her eyes like she’s recalling a pleasant memory.

“His mother was beautiful,” she breathes quietly. “God smiled on that boy. He looks nothing like his father.”

The dull panic that’s already started to pulse in your chest sharpens to a point.

She has to be hallucinating.  

She has to be taking too much medicine because nothing she’s saying makes any sense.  You fumble for the bottles on her nightstand, pulling off the caps and pouring the pills out onto the tabletop.  You count them over and over until you’re satisfied your mother hasn’t taken a dangerous amount of drugs.

“Eomma, why are you talking about Kim Namjoon?” you plead. “Help me understand.”

But when you look back to your mother, you realize your words are already falling on deaf ears. She’s slipped back into a sleep state once again.

If only it were that easy for you.

When you finally get to crawl into bed a short while later, you toss and turn all night.  

Somewhere in the haze between asleep and awake you dream of Kim Namjoon.

*************************

Your mother’s mental clarity is always better in the morning.  

After she’s had a night of rest -- and whatever medicine she’s taken has had some time to wear off -- she’s much more alert, much more like her old self.  But you still weren’t able to get anything by way of answers out of her as you made breakfast this morning.

You’d made her favorite cold cucumber soup before carefully broaching the subject of last night’s strange conversation.  You’d waited patiently for some kind of explanation about why she mentioned a man she hasn’t spoken of in years.

It didn’t come.

There was something odd about the way your mother went completely quiet at your mention of Namjoon.  Something odd about how adamant she was about not having any memory of the conversation at all.

That odd look on her face is the one thought on your mind as you make your way to work in a complete fog.  You slip into an open elevator and hit the button for your floor on autopilot.

You don’t even realize that you’re not alone until a soft voice interrupts your thoughts.

“I remember you.”

Your eyes flick up from their unseeing stare at your shoes to a young woman standing against the elevator’s back wall.  

“Miss Kim,” you breathe, brushing an errant hair out of your face.  Your cheeks are still stinging from the cold. “Good morning.”

Namjoon’s sister is a beautiful woman, without a doubt — but until this moment, you hadn’t realized how much she resembles her brother.  They have the same striking features, the same smooth skin and high cheekbones and full lips.  

They share the same dark, kind eyes.

“I remember you now,” she repeats, mouth curving into a smile.  “I knew I recognized you, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I finally connected the dots.”

“Well, I wasn’t around a lot when we were kids,” you admit shyly. “So that’s certainly understandable.”

“That’s true,” she agrees.  “And I try not to think back to those times a lot but you made an impression on me.  You were always so sweet.”

Your cold cheeks seem to warm at her compliment.

“Thank you.”

The elevator stops at her floor but she seems reluctant to end the conversation.  She leans against the door to prop it open.

“My brother,” she asks carefully, “Is he treating you well?  Is he a fair boss?”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Well, he’s not my boss anymore,” you admit.  “He replaced me not long ago.  But yes, he was very fair when I worked for him.”

Her lips part in a soft gesture of surprise when you deliver that news.  

She’s quiet until the elevator blares a loud reminder that it’s time to close the doors.  She smiles at you on her way out the door, opting not to comment on the quality of her brother’s staffing decisions.  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she murmurs. “But I’m still really glad you’re here.”

****************************

An inviting scent is the first thing you notice when you get home that night.  

The second thing you notice are the voices.

You make your way down the long hallway with careful steps, trying to place the sound of the voice coming from your mother’s bedroom.  It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Sim -- in fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone you know.

You stop short at the sight that greets you when you round the corner.

A woman -- a complete stranger is in your mother’s room.

You stand frozen in shock as you watch the stranger read to your mother from her seated position in the chair next to the bed.  She looks up from the page when she realizes you’re there, giving you a better look at her pleasant, aged face.

“Aish,” she startles, clapping a hand over her chest.  “Here I was, worried about scaring you and instead you’re the one giving me a fright.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice.

“Forgive me,” you start weakly, “But who are you?  And how did you get into this house?”

The woman stands to adjust the pillow under your mother’s head before meeting you in the doorway.  “She’s resting now,” she says, nodding at your mother’s still form on the bed.  “Why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

Should you be screaming right now? Calling the police?  

There’s no good explanation for why you do neither and decide instead to follow this complete stranger into your kitchen instead.  She walks to the stove to stir whatever she has cooking in the pot.

“Get off those feet,” she admonishes kindly. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

Again you comply, inexplicably following orders.  

“I made Budae Jjigae,” she explains, ladling some of the stew into a bowl.  She sets it down in front of you, and you stare back at her like an idiot.  The stew smells amazing, and you’re immediately hit with a well-timed hunger pang.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“My name is Jinjoo,” she replies sweetly, handing you a spoon.  “And I work for you now.”

“You work for me,” you repeat slowly.

“I do,” Jinjoo nods.  “Mister Kim hired me.”

The spoon clatters loudly against the lip of the bowl when you drop it.  For a moment, it’s hard to breathe. You have to wait for the strange sensation that snakes up your spine to subside before you speak again.

“Mister Kim.”  You echo her again, dumbly.

Jinjoo takes a seat next to you at the table, radiating a patient kindness that makes you want to give into the urge to trust her.  She smiles reassuringly at you, voice soothing when she speaks again.

“Yes. He said you needed help with your mother, and I can understand why.  I nursed in hospitals for decades, dear.  I can see your mother is in a bad way.”

You blink back at Jinjoo in stunned silence.

“I assure you, I’ll give your mother the best quality care,” she vows, patting one of your hands with her own.  “And Mister Kim has already paid me well in advance, so don’t even think about trying to get rid of me.”

That statement almost makes you laugh.  

You don’t want to get rid of Jinjoo at all.  Ten minutes ago you had no idea she existed and in the span of one conversation she’s become one of the most important people you know.  Tears well in your eyes as you stare into your bowl of stew, at a total loss for words.  

Jinjoo seems to sense how overwhelmed you are.  She gives you some space to process what’s going on, stroking one soft hand over your shoulder when she stands to leave.

“Eat something, dear.  I’m gonna go sit with your mother for a while.”

You look up at her with watery eyes and nod, reaching for the spoon.

“This smells really good,” you say softly.

“Well, I’m a great cook.  You’ll see,” she promises.

“Jinjoo -- “ you call out after her as she walks away.  “Thank you,” you manage, voice thick with emotion.  “I can’t thank you enough.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle when her mouth curves into a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

**********************

Jinjoo’s stew was delicious -- not that you had the chance to fully appreciate it.  

You’d sat in that kitchen alone for some time, eating slowly while you tried to process yet another bombshell in what seemed to be a series of them.  Everything that’s happened to you since Namjoon reassigned you has been a whirlwind; from the sudden pay raise to the sudden arrival of Jinjoo.

You eat the last of the stew with your stomach in knots.

Namjoon knows your mother is sick.  And you don’t know how to feel about it.

A part of you feels exposed when you think about him uncovering the sad details of your mother’s health battle. But knowing that he stepped in to help you fight it makes you feel something you haven’t felt in years.  

Cared for.

The sound of laughter from your mother’s bedroom echoes down the hall and you stand to follow it.  

Her favorite variety show is playing on the small TV in front of her bed, and it appears Jinjoo is a fan, too.  You lean in the doorway and watch the women giggle at the silly skit.  It’s been a long time since you’ve heard the sound of your mother’s laugh.  

It makes you smile.

“Jinjoo, could you give us a moment, please?”

You almost hate to interrupt the instant camaraderie between the two women but you recognize that your mother is in the midst of a rare moment of clarity.  You have to strike while the iron is hot.

“Of course,” she agrees, standing.

You wait until the sound of her footsteps fades away before taking her place in the worn chair next to your mother’s bed.  Your mother smiles at you, taking one of your hands into her own.  

You squeeze her fingers gently.

“Eomma, no more secrets,” you murmur.  “Tell me the truth.  Did Kim Namjoon come here?”

Your mother swallows thickly before nodding.

“He asked me not to tell you,” she admits.  “He said he didn’t want you to refuse his help.”

You shut your eyes and imagine Namjoon in your home, in this room. Speaking to your mother.  Making plans to send Jinjoo.  Your chest squeezes so tight that for a moment it’s hard to breathe.

“Okay,” you concede quietly.  You maintain the appearance of careful calm because you don’t want to make your mother feel worse than she already does., “It’s alright Eomma, I’m not angry, I promise.”

A peculiar look passes over her face.  Her eyes dart away from yours and that’s all it takes for you to know you don’t have the full story.  You decide to toughen your stance.

“Look at me, Eomma,” you say firmly.  “If there’s anything I don’t know, you need to tell me right now.  I need to know all of it.  Everything.”

“I -- “

“Just tell me what it is,” you repeat, patience hanging by a thread.

Your mother sighs, lifting one weak hand in the direction of her dresser.  You turn to stare at the pile of papers stacked there, realization dawning in an instant.  You move on unsteady legs to walk over and take hold of them.

Radiology, pulmonology, chemotherapy.  

You know exactly how much is owed on each of those bills because the numbers are burned into your mind. Those numbers are the reason you leave your mother for hours on end every day to go to work.  Those numbers are the reason why it’s so hard to sleep at night.

You don’t realize that your hands are shaking until you hear the papers rustling.

Every bill bears the same neat, handwritten marking.

paid -- knj

***************************

NAMJOON

Namjoon watched his sister leave early tonight with Hoseok. Seokjin is out to dinner with his wife.  And Yoongi is off doing -- well, whatever the hell Yoongi does when he’s not around.

There’s no one here tonight to tell Namjoon to go home.  No one to point out that he’s had too much to drink or that it’s happening far too often.

So he pours another scotch.

The glass sweats in his hand as he stands in front of his window, deep in thought.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about the way you struggled in silence, caring for your mother alone -- too proud to ask for help. The way you catered to Namjoon’s every need and whim without ever making mention of yours.  The way he’d let it go on for far too long, selfishly wrapped up in the way you made him feel.

“That girl is going to get you killed.”

Namjoon tells himself the sound of your voice is a figment of his imagination, an entirely predictable side-effect of too much scotch.  But it’s followed quickly by your soft footsteps against the plush carpet in his office and both sounds are too real to ignore.

He turns to assess you, quietly sipping his drink.

Fuck, you are beautiful.  

You have no right turning up here tonight -- looking like that -- testing him when he is at his weakest.  Your dark eyes flash with something like a challenge and Namjoon feels his blood warm.

“That girl is never at her desk and she has no idea who’s coming or going,” you accuse quietly.  “She’s putting you at risk.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow half-smirk that teases the edge of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” he admits.  “But there are different kinds of risk.  Maybe you put me at risk, too.”

He shouldn’t take pleasure from the way your eyes go wide at that statement.  Or from the way you overcompensate by standing taller, chin lifted high.

But he does.

“Mister Kim -- “ you start.

“ -- Namjoon,” he interrupts.  “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Namjoon? Haven’t we known one another since we were kids?”

“Namjoon,” you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know about everything.  Jinjoo, the bills, all of it.”

Namjoon says nothing for a moment, draining his glass before setting it down on his desk with a heavy thud.

“Why?” you ask quietly.  “Why did you do this for me?”

Because I would do anything for you.  

He doesn’t voice that thought out loud.  He knows he shouldn’t.

But he also knows he shouldn’t be closing the distance between you right now, and he’s doing that anyway.  He steps closer, quietly, and you swallow hard, thrown by his silence and his advance.

“That’s not -- that’s not something you do for an employee,” you protest, slowly backing away.  You stop only when the ledge of his desk hits you on the backside.  

“The late nights and the extra hours.  Everything else you did,” Namjoon murmurs, stepping close, chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.  “Did you do that for your boss?  Or did you do that for me?”

He leans closer, caging your body against his desk.  Your lips part in surprise and Namjoon forces himself not to react when your tongue slips out to wet them.

“Namjoon, I -- ” your voice is barely above a whisper when you find it.  “-- I don’t understand you right now.”

“How could I have every resource at my fingertips and not help you?” he asks, reaching one hand out to cup your face.  The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips and you shudder under his touch.  “Why didn’t you come to me when you knew I could help?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pupils blown and cheeks flushed.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes quietly.  You lean into the touch of his hand.  “I would have given you anything you asked for. Anything.”

“I understand that,” you say quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying your attempt at calm.  “Because I would give you anything you asked for, too.”

Something about the way you say that snaps Namjoon back to reality.  

He looks down at you like he’s only just now realized that he’s loaded on scotch, leaning you over his desk -- and well on his way to taking advantage of this situation.  He tenses, pulling away.

“This is -- this is not --” he sputters pathetically for a moment.  “Go home,” he pleads.  “Please.”

He’s never hated himself as much as he does right now -- when you’re looking up at him with hurt and confusion in those wide, dark eyes.

“Go home before I do something I can’t take back.”

************************

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[kanene-yaaay]

Go to Sleep

Kanene’s note: Gosh, having a schedule is weird. I just wanna post everything I already wrote and ramble non stop about it asdfgtyujkigfdo. XD

Well, this was suppose to be a drabble, but it’s very long so sdftyujikgfred. I hope you like it!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders from the serie Sanders Sides.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. If you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Virgil with Ler!Roman. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Listen a bit to the birds today. Changing the way you think is not a bad thing. Drink water, sleep, eat and love!

[~*~]

Roman growled, missing by a few inches the button of his thunderous, infuriating alarm before finally hitting it. Staring and blinking lazily at the numbers his brain struggled to discern and recognize, only to confirm it was really time to wake up and start the day. He grabbed his pillow and squeezed it with all the strength he could muster, rolling from one side to other on the mattress, trying to wake up his body as quick as his mind and almost falling from the bed a reasonable number of times during the process.

 He got up, yawing, stretching and humming as the first lyrics of the day stuck on his head, hand rubbing at his eyes as he followed the kitchen’s direction with slow steps and tired sways on the beat of the song.

 Two dark, wide eyes stared right back at him, their owner completely frozen on the spot with his hand inside the cabinet, probably already holding some sort of a snack. Roman also stopped mid-step, gears running inside his mind, gaze locked on the other, his brow progressively furrowing.

“Virgil,” he began, voice slightly hoarse “What the heckty heck are you doing up? It’s barely seven in the morning!” Virgil only stared back, slowly closing the cabinet’s door, as if afraid the movement would startle the other. Roman proceeded to get some eggs and other cold ingredients from the refrigerator for the breakfast, his words growing more awake and vivid as they spilled with no filter or whatsoever from his lips. “You got an early shift again or something? Those are absolutely hellish. A bunch of people exhausted, tired and glaring at you as if you are the holder of all their problems and their solutions can only be achieved by being insufferable pieces of- Urg. I can’t believe they would give you one right after you got the night one. Damn, I didn’t even see you arriving here yesterday!”

 He turned his attention back at the other, looking for a kind of frustration in the place of the still startled, wide gaze which continued to be directed at him. Virgil nodded slowly, stepping away and putting some physical distance between him and the confusion on Roman’s features.

 Then, between the strings of sleepiness that clouded his brain, it clicked.

 Suddenly more details on the other’s behavior started to become clearer: the way Virgil’s hair was messier than his usual ““style”” (Roman scoffed mentally, thinking that if he rolled his eyes any harder they would never come back to his normal place again), his wary, yes, but way too much slow movements, the way he seemed to be unable to stop blinking at every millisecond and, above it all, the final piece of the puzzle.

 Virgil wasn’t wearing his pajamas.

 “YOU DIDN’T!” Roman gasped, as if Virgil’s life choices were a personal attack. “YOU DIDN’T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT!!” A turn of heels and he was again fixating his glare on the other, his free hand accusingly pointing in his direction, receiving an annoyed hiss as immediate answer.

 “Shut up!” Virgil snarled, practically growling back at him. “It’s fucking seven am don’t be so freaking loud.”

 “Don’t change the subject! Why didn’t you go to sleep?”

 The one being questioned just snorted, half amused. “Bold of you to assume I’d ever sleep in my whole life.”

 “That is it.” Virgil didn’t even have the time to wonder the meaning of his friend’s sentence before the aforementioned picked him up, resulting to a not very contained shriek escaping from his lips and his hands not much gracefully – or gently, although since they were keen on just jumping on each other out of nowhere to play fight Princey would be fine - meeting his friend’s face.

 “Roman! What the he-”

 “Did you just SLAP me? My beautiful face?! Before my own beautiful eyes??” Virgil Storm always got, even if he would never admit this out loud, surprised with Roman’s capacity of doing a series of offended incoherent noises which evolved to words before being carefully metamorphosed in weird noises all over again, and in the end still managing to form comprehensible sentences. His surprise did nothing to quell the grumpy snark immediately flying from lips, though.

 “And I’m going to do it again if you don’t let me go in this exact instant.”

 “You go and try to help and that is the acknowledgement you get,” The one wearing pajamas with little crows printed on it huffed, mumbling in a lower tone as he noticed the sharp gaze being thrown in his direction. “fucking unbelievable.”

 “I still can hear you, Princey. You’re literally carrying me.”

 “I sTiLL cAn HeAr yOu-OW! Ow! Ow!” The sentence was interrupted when the sleep deprived one punched Roman’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

 “Let me fucking gAAH!” In a way his wish was granted, one could say as they watched his protest being cut as Storm was impolitely tossed on his bed, Roman quickly following his friend on the mattress, arms hugging him from behind, and physically preventing him from escaping his current soft predicament. “Prince, you’re dead.”

 “Shhh, no talking. We’re sleeping.”

 “We are not. You are being a pain in ass and I am about to defenestrate you.” Despite his fervent protests, his sharp, flaming glare began to lose its heat, his body not doing any actual effort to free himself from the other’s – strong, good - grip, muscles starting to relax against the great warmth involving him in a comfortable and secure blanket.

 “Sure, sure, mister Grumpy Pants, you can do that when you wake up.” He tightened a bit his hold around Virgil, yet being the most careful as possible, actively ignoring the annoyed hiss his friend gave him. His hoodie was really fluffy at the touch, slightly remembering his stuffed animals he frequently hugged to sleep.

 For a moment, everything was pleasantly quiet. The one with smudged makeup, since he hadn’t time to get it off before being trapped by his roommate and best friend, felt the tiredness becoming sleepiness as the seconds went by.

 …That was until an electric sensation shot across his spine, leading him to almost jump in the same place 

 “S-stop nuzzling me!”

 “Hm? Oh sorry.” Virgil pressed his lips tightly closed, preventing the wobbly giggles to escape as Roman speaks, not realizing how close his mouth was from the base of his neck, every breath sending tickly shocks across every nerve. “You’re just too much sooooft.”

 Roman opened an eye when realized that no snark remark from the other followed his words, the figure in his arms shaking too much to be asleep. A frown painted his feature as he readjusted the position of his hands, trying to get a bit more of balance to look at Virgil’s face when suddenly a high-pitched yelp escaped, cutting the air and immediately catching their attention.

 “Did you just squeal?” He questioned as his glare assumed a playful shine seeing a blush spread on his now frozen friend.

 “It was NOT a squeal! It was a yelp.” Virgil’s words came so fast that they almost tripped on themselves. Roman snorted, a smile taking over his face. “Get off me!” and, in the moment the one wearing a hoodie tried to pry his hand from the spot on his right side where it was resting, the pieces finally clicked in the right place and his smile quickly submerged, giving space to a smirk.

 ‘No WAY Doctor Doom and Gloom is ticklish!’

 However, the red lover only blinked as the true personification of innocence and naiveness, his hand firm in its place, fingers starting to slowly move, light pokes being delivered on the sensitive skin. “But why that, Knight Mare? It’s cold and all I could ever want is just to hug my bestest friend!”

 “You already hugged me, now go aWAY!” His voice trembled in the last second, the exact moment his thumb experimentally scratched the spot right under the lowest ribs, leading a surprised squeak to leave Virgil’s mouth.

 They both stared at each other, gleaming, filling their wide eyes.

 “No.” Virgil said, trying to squirm away but finding himself stuck between Prince and the wall. Roman didn’t even attempt to hide his smug grin, anymore. This was going to be so much fun

 “Don’t you dare! Don’t you freaking dare!!” His friend only laid down again, now carefully, yet firmly, pulling him one more time against his chest, growling playfully. Years and years fighting for the Tickle Monster title on his family, battles and battles against Remus only sharpening his skills, which showed by the way his fingers seemed to find every single weak spot on Virgil’s skin, wiggles, scribbles, pokes and scratching exploring everywhere. “No! Nononono! You fucker, you moron, you bitch, you-” A few chuckles cut his curses as he one wearing pajamas squeezed his side a couple of times, the tip of his fingers also teasing his ticklish stomach. “Roman!!”

 “No, no, my so dear, so ticklish, friend. Roman is no longer here, this is…” He paused for a dramatic effect, basically beaming at the giggly giggles and wiggly wiggles from the other. He shoved his face on his neck, the next words vibrating almost as bad as the spidering on his ribs. “The Tickle Monster!!”

[pigeonp0st]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

#7 Part 2

Words: 2,365

Click here for Part 1

Warnings: love, angst, trauma

Notes:

A part 2 was requested so a part 2 is here. Thank you for requesting, and sorry for spelling mistakes. I’m not sure if anyone notices but here, and in the first part, i’m really experimenting with my writing. If anyone reads these notes let me know if you like it...(also sorry for the sorta abrupt ending. The Word count was getting far too high.)

—————

Natasha looks at you and sometimes she wonders how exactly they had broken you. She wonders how they put out your flames.

Sometimes she thinks that maybe it was simple, like they poured water over you and watched as the flames died into embers.

Other times, more commonly, she thinks it was more difficult than that, she thinks that maybe putting them out—your flames— was challenging, and that people got burned in their efforts. She thinks that maybe it had taken an entire crew of people who specialize in putting out peoples flames. Firefighters.

Then, one day, watching you sleep with peace that you now only have when you’re unconscious; she thinks she knows.

They poured water over an oil fire—you’re oil fire—over and over again, and left it to burn, burn, burn, until everything around you was ash. Until you finally stopped and looked around at the nothingness and wondered what you were burning for in the first place.

The thought makes Natasha furious. She wants to wake you up just so she can tell you, so that she can shout that; your strength isn’t a distinguishable flame, and that you are not as small as a forest, that you are an ocean, and your strength is the waves, your strength is a whirlpool, your strength is a typhoon, and you are simply infinite.

To Natasha—to Natasha you are infinite.

She doesn’t tell you that though, she can’t while you’re still so reluctant to talk about what happened, she can’t when her love and her reassurances are like water to the oil fire you limit yourself to, and you’re still so scared of burning everything away.

——

You’re so scared of what it will mean to be strong again, but you want it so badly anyways.

You muse with no small amount of humor if that makes you brave, then you laugh because what a funny concept.

You were brave, you remember, when Hydra began their abuse and their nightmare pills and their cruelty. You were brave, and you were strong, and it was so much harder than just giving in but it didn’t make you hate yourself as much.

You were brave and strong, and Natasha loved you, and then you weren’t and she still loved you anyways.

——-

Natasha’s been tasked to call you downstairs for the weekly ‘Avenger family dinner’. She checks her room (you’re there more often than not again), and when she doesn’t find you there she checked yours.

You’re not there either, and she can’t hear the shower to your bathroom but she pushes it open anyways—just in case.

She’s gotten used to not knocking...she doesn’t even consider it anymore. She doesn’t even stop to realize that she hasn’t seen you without clothes since you were rescued, and that maybe there’s a reason for that, she just opens the bathroom door and stops so completely when she sees you her legs hurt from the abruptness.

You’re there staring so blankly in the mirror Natasha knows you’re not really looking at it—you’re looking through it at things she can’t ever see.

You don’t realize she’s there, but she’s there. She’s there, and you’re naked with scars she’s never seen before littered across your skin like shells on a beach.

Scattered and many. Too many to count. Too many.

Natasha stops, and the world stops, and infinity stops. Everything stops—at least to her it seems that way, because how can anything possibly exist outside this moment.

How can there be other lives and how can there be more pain in the world than this when this moment feels like it is already too much more than Natasha can handle—too much for the world to handle even.

Natasha has known logically that they had tortured you, you are the evidence—you obviously told her too—but none of your evidence is...touchable. Physically.

It’s been visual—yeah—but not like this.

This is...this is violence, and cruelty, when since you’ve been back you have only been the exact opposite. This is red lines and scars not quite healed yet forming constellations and shooting stars and hope.

Hope because you have survived so much violence, and yet here you are, still so good. Natasha wants to reach out and touch them—touch your scars and make wishes against them because she thinks that maybe your strength has the power to do anything.

Tears fill her eyes and fall over her cheeks and suddenly all she can think of is how you shouldn’t have to be that strong. No one should have to be.

She wanted to protect you. All she has ever wanted to do is protect you, and yet here you are.

Here you are, staring into a mirror unseeing and conscious but not there, with a look in your eyes Natasha has only seen in nightmares where she’s failed you—and you’re trying. You’re trying even now and Natasha wants to be there for you but this isn’t something she can hold your hand through.

This isn’t something she can kiss and make better. There’s nothing she can do. There’s nothing she can do and the simple fact rips away at her heart and leaves it bleeding out with it’s helplessness.

And then, and then you turn around.

The world starts moving again.

It starts moving and her heart stops bleeding—stiched up with her love for you—and you have never looked so sad but you have always looked so beautiful.

“I think,” Natasha whispers, voice throaty and full of shooting stars, “I think I love you more than I ever have. I think—” she pauses then, thinking of infinities, “I think my love for you is infinite.”

Your mouth parts open just slightly, and your eyes widen just that bit more. “Nat…” you stutter out wobbly, eyes filling with tears.

Natasha blinks, shocked and guilty for making you cry, but then you release a smile so bright and simply glowing Natasha can only think of stars again.

You’re laughing in the next instant, laughing and crossing your arms over your torso, digging your fingers into your arms, and then sobbing. Sobbing but somehow still laughing, and Natasha is crossing the bathroom and wrapping her arms around you like seaweed being pulled in by ocean waves.

“I think,” you gasp out between breaths, pulling away slightly to meet Natasha’s eyes, “I think that you’re going to beat me to it.”

“To what?”

“To putting my pieces back together,” you answer like it’s obvious. “You seem to do it so easily, yet when I try the pieces don’t quite fit right.”

Natasha cups your cheek and simply smiles. “Oh baby, look at how many pieces you’ve already put back.”

You don’t know what she’s talking about for a moment, Natasha can tell, but when it hits you it’s obvious. “I...I don’t flinch anymore.”

“Not around your friends. Not in the compound,” Natasha confirms, feeling a part of your joy when you screech like a child on Christmas and tightly wrap your arms around her neck.

Natasha thinks that maybe she—you—will get by just by just fine without a wish upon a star.

——-

There’s a silent argument going on, an argument that only shows itself on the floors of the training room and seeps out of the both of you like it was never there the moment you leave.

Natasha’s begun training with you again but she clearly doesn’t want to be there.

You don’t want to be there with her either if the whole time you’re training with her she’s going to be so...loud. Loud but silent. You can hear her shouting at you—accusations, pleads, and why’s. Why, why, why, you can hear Natasha ask.

Why are you doing this?

You don’t have the answers she’s seeking, not any that would appeal to her anyways, and it’s exhausting—exhausting because this is you trying to glue some pieces back where they belong and all Natasha see’s is you forcing them together when they don’t fit.

It’s infuriating, and heartwarming, and tiring, and when you’ve finally had enough of it you decide to try and train with someone else—Steve—but you’re trembling the whole fight and your insides don’t burn, they quake, and your nauseous; nauseous because he moves too quickly, because he’s reaching for you but it’s not him, it’s not him, and you’re dying, you’re dying, you can’t breathe— Natasha is there.

Natasha is there, arms wrapped around your torso and angry, but this time it’s not at you, it’s at Steve, and it’s Steve again, not some Hydra agent. It’s your friend.

Steve is looking guilty and sad, like a kicked puppy, and Natasha is yelling, and then Steve says something, something and suddenly she’s looking guilty too, guilty and sad.

Not like a kicked puppy though, like a betrayed one.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” Natasha asks quietly. Steve is gone. Where did he go? When did he leave? “Are you...are you there?”

Oh. Had Natasha said that out loud?

“Doing what?” You rasp, despising the way that you hate it when your jaw shakes. It’s okay, you remind yourself. It’s Natasha, it’s okay to be broken around her. Even when she’s angry.

Natasha has broken pieces, and she has missing pieces, and you do too, so it’s okay.

“Why are you training, why are you doing any of this when you aren’t,” Natasha searches your eyes, desperate, “you aren’t going out there on the field again.”

And now, now you are burning.

——

You croak out a raspy; “What?” That has Natasha wincing like she’s already been burned. “Natasha, I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but i’m- i’m going out there again.”

“You can’t even fight anyone that isn’t me,” Natasha says, freezing the moment the words are past her lips.

She tries to cup your cheek but your wincing and stepping away, away, away, too far for Natasha to reach and she hadn’t meant it like that, it wasn’t supposed to be an attack, she hadn’t—

“I’m trying now,” you say, and your voice is shaky but it’s there, and it’s strong, and you aren’t backing away any more you’re moving closer— like this time Natasha is the ocean and you’re being drawn in.

You’re wrapping your arms around Natasha and she’s confused but she’s relieved because you’re still there. You’re still with her.

“I’m trying and I know things have changed,” you whisper, “I know you’re scared, I am too, but we...were heroes because we keep trying, because even when missions go wrong and we don’t want to—we go out there and we fight so that other people don’t have to as hard.”

And Natasha knows this. She knows but…

“I know this has been hard for you,” you say, and you’re the ocean, you’re the fire, you’re all of the stupid metaphors the two of you have made up to signify strength. You’re strength, and you’re bravery because she knows how scared you are of being strong and for it to mean nothing in the end, and yet here you are.

“I know it’s been hard for you to see me like this, I know it’s been hard for you to deal with what’s happened to me,” you pull away to clamp a hand over Natasha’s mouth so she doesn’t dispute anything, and Natasha couldn’t if she wanted to because you’re crying, there are tears running down your cheeks, and she’s been speechless since the moment you hugged her.

“I know that you’ve been handing me the little pieces of yourself that you have left, and that you’ve been ignoring the pile at your own feet, and I could never thank you enough,” you smile at her then, brushing away tears that Natasha hadn’t even known she let fall “you wouldn’t want me to anyways, but now—right now I need you to let me be strong again. Even though it’s scary, because Natasha…”

You pause, closing your eyes and letting your hand fall from her mouth. “Hydra took me on a chance. It could have been you. It could have been any of the Avengers. That’s the position you put yourself in, that’s the position all of us put ourselves in, but we take that chance. I let you take that chance. Let me.”

And Natasha kisses you. She kisses you, and you gasp against her lips because you hadn’t expected it, but she keeps kissing you, and kissing you, because you're her shooting star and she wants to wish for infinity to slow down.

“I’m so scared,” Natasha says when she pulls away for air, and a sentence has never resonated with her so much, but you’re strong, you’re strong even though you’re scared, and Natasha won’t let it mean nothing, because it means everything that you’re being strong for her. “But okay. Okay.”

The breath of relief you release against Natasha’s neck, and the way you sag into her like your strength has been sapped out of you makes her tense and swallow down a sob. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

But you pull away from her grinning and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Does this mean you’ll stop going easy on me?”

Natasha gets whiplash.

“I uh...I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she denies, wiping away the wetness on your cheeks only to have you start wiping away at her own. Natasha laughs because what else is she supposed to do.

“Hypothetically though, if I were to have been going easy on you, I'll try to be more fair.”

Your smile widens just that bit more and Natasha is put at ease.

The two of you will be just fine, Natasha knows. No matter what the two of you face, what the two of you go through, you’ll be okay.

“I won’t go easy on you either then.”

“...What…?”

[blkgojo]

Two Superheroes, One Bed | Carol Danvers x Reader

In which, you and Carol hate each other, but have to share a bed. 

Request: Anonymous

Despite popular misconception being a former terrorist does not make people like you. If anything, it makes them hate you. Despise you. Question you incessently with things such as, "Why did you do this? What is wrong with you? How could you have justified those acts?" And to be honest, your answer was less than satisfying. There was no tragic backstory. No great villain speech. Just you and your hatred for the government.

Living in the Avenger facility did little to change that.

See, the thing about Carol Danvers was that she wasn't an "Earth" hero. Logically speaking, there should've been no reason you disliked eachother as much as you did. You didn't work for the Kree. You had no squabble with saving refugees from colonial rule. On paper, you two were two peas in a pod. Both looking after people who didn't have others to help them, but you hated her the moment you laid eyes on her. Carol Danvers with the huge ass ego. Carol Danvers who somehow was fighting an intergalactic empire, but saw no problem with the way the US military conducted business. She hated you because honestly, who likes a murderer. Redemption arc be damned. You know how it goes.

"I just feel like I've done nothing to deserve this."

"You've killed hundreds of people."

"In total, the Avengers have killed like 2000 so, I don't really see how that's relevant."

Natasha sighs. Steve steps forward and when you cut your eyes at him, he raises his hands in plea.

"Half the universe's population is gone. The US government just needs a win."

You nod slowly. "And sending me across the fucking galaxy with-" You gesture vaguely to the blonde who until that point had decided to be quiet. "- is somehow a win."

"I hate to say this, but I agree," Carol interjects. "I work better alone. Y/N will just hold me back."

"We just need someone to go back to the planet where the infinity stores were destroyed. Make sure there are no remnants."

"It'd be quicker if I did it by myself."

"Y/N is the only one with the ability to replicate organic life," Steve retorts. "If there's a possibility she can locate some particle of infinity stone and replicate that, we need to take that chance."

"It'd be good publicity for her image and it'd bring us one step closer to bringing them back," Natasha continues.

"The world needs you to put aside your differences for the mission."

That was another thing you regretted about joining the Avengers. Steve had no shortage of motivating speeches under his belt. The good thing about villains was that they weren't much for conversation - there was no need to give motivating speeches when the odds were in your favor.

But, people were gone. Wanda, the only one you remotely liked, was gone. Snapped. Looking at Carol now, it looks like she must've lost someone, too. Her unpleasant face looks somehow more restrained than it usually did.

You sigh and fold your arms. "Fine."

All Carol does is nod.

--

It would take two earth days to reach his planet. Two. There'd been complications with the engine and so, it would take not the twenty four hours you expected, you know the time span that was customary for light travel, but it would take two days. Between that and the ship having to lower the heat to maintain proper oxygen levels, it wasn't fun.

"I could fly us there," Carol offers.

"Are you forgetting I can't breathe in space?"

Carol shrugs. "You replicate organic life right? Just replicate yourself a new pair of lungs."

"Fuck you."

She smirks, takes the only other available chair next to you. At first, she seems content to annoy you by tapping her fingers against the dashboard. Then, she grows bored. Worse, she tries to talk to you.

"Isn't all of this stuff automated?"

"Yes."

"So," she begins, stretching out the word. "You don't actually need to be here monitoring it. You can get on the cot." She shrugs. "Take a nap."

"I'd rather keep watch."

You think that'll be it and she'll be done, but she continues. You never would've pegged her as the type to not like silence. But, maybe that's not even it. Maybe, she just wanted to squeeze information out of you. God knows you weren't exactly open with the other Avengers when Fury made you join.

"You ever been to outer space?"

You shake your head. "When you're flagged as a global liability they tend to prefer you on the ground."

"A global liability? Is that what terrorists call themselves?"

"At least, we don't give ourselves cutesy nicknames like Black Widow or Captain Marvel."

She scoffs. "No. You guys just blow up innocent civilians."

"Yeah, I guess accidentally killing them is way better." You smile thinly. "For the greater good and all, you know?"

She stares at you long enough that you don't think she'll actually speak. Finally, she looks away and out to the empty abyss in front of you. "I don't pretend to know what the Avengers did while I was off-world. I see them now and they're good people."

You don't respond and she continues. "You must agree. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

"Fury said it was either this or experimentation."

"Fury didn't say that."

You laugh bitterly. "He didn't, but he didn't need to. The governments experiment on all mutants - that's how we got Steve and Wanda - they just don't talk about it anymore." You spare her a glance. There's nothing in her expression that would tell you what she's thinking. "So, I chose the Avengers. And here we are."

"You could've escaped."

"Where?" You lean forward in your seat and prop your elbow on the dash. "Please tell me. Where can someone who's wanted internationally hide?"

She squints her eyes. "I'd help, but unfortunately, my knowledge of ideal vacation spots is pretty limited."

Carol's lips seem to be trapped in a permanent smirk - the corner always tilted up in vaguely hidden amusement. Even now. Her snark never stops. You feel your own anger dissipate as quick as it came. There was no point being angry with her. She loved it. Fed off it like a parasite or leech.

"It's almost like you're trying to piss me off."

She places her elbow on the console, leaning forward to shrink the gap between you two.

"Would it make you more angry if I was?"

One time, you and the raccoon had a bet. Whose eyes were more blue: Captain America or Captain Marvel? Like this, you'd have to say Carol. Her eyes had their own halo wrapped around the rim, highlighting the blue and making it fluorescent.

You rub your lips together and lean back in your seat, turning away from her to once again, look at the controls.

The ship breaks down when you reach his planet. You and Carol spend the first ten minutes after landing, arguing back and forth, blaming eachother. The next fifteen, Carol leaves you. Fucks off like a glow stick and searches the planet. When she returns, you haven't moved. Haven't left. You opted instead to lie down in the flowers. It was a beautiful planet. Perfect for retirement. The air was pure, almost light enough to get high in.

"I found his cabin."

"Great." You jump up. The blood rushing to your head and spotting your vision briefly, almost enough to cause you to wobble. "Let's go."

She steps in front of you, quick. You stop just short of bumping into her. Your faces are inches apart. That same infuriating smirk on her lips. Your eyes dart down, down to her chest - she was quite muscular, you could see that even through her clothes-  down enough that she has to clear her throat.

"It's too far by foot." When your eyes meet, she's trying to not look smug.

You arch a brow. "Well, we can't fly."

"I'll have to carry you."

You groan.

"Believe me. I'd be more than willing to do anything else."

"Fine. Do it."

You step back and gesture at her to turn around. She rolls her eyes and in a breathe you didn't know you were holding, throws your arm around her shoulders, wraps her arms around your waist, and jumps. You scream. Through the rush of wind, you think you hear her laughing or perhaps, that's a lie and it's you. Laughing hysterically. No. You are screaming. Hitting her chest. And she's laughing. Fuck Natasha. Fuck Steve. When this is over, you're quitting.

When your feet touch the ground, you bend down and kiss it. Pray to it.

"Anyone ever tell you you're dramatic?" She asks.

"Anyone ever teach you about consent?"  

"You told me to do it."

"I don't care!"

The two of you spend hours looking for remnants of the stones before you finally give it up and return to the ship. You were careful not to drift too close to his cabin. The Avengers never recovered the body. The rot of Thanos was thick, enough to gag over if you got too close. This planet wasn't used to death, not the harsh meat of Thanos. It had been months and he was still there, newly rotting as if it had been a week or two.

"I'll look again tomorrow before we leave." Carol pops a chip in her mouth, her feet kicked on the co-pilot chair while you lounged on the cot. "For now, you should get your rest."

"Don't you need to sleep, too?"

"I have been." She gestures to the chair.

You stare. Frown. The chairs were nowhere near comfortable.

"We can switch. I'll just take the blanket," you offer reluctantly. The nights here were cold anyways. Much colder than space. You involuntarily shiver.

"I prefer to sleep sitting up."

"Is that a military thing?"

To your surprise, she laughs. "Why?"

You shrug the blanket higher - the thin layer providing little comfort. "Cap likes to do that too."

As the sky gets darker, the cold filters in the cracks of the ship and between the layers of your comforter. You snuggle tighter within yourself, curl your knees up to your chest, burrow your hands underneath your pits. When that doesn't work, you shift again. It was always something. The blanket doesn't cover your feet here. You're uncomfortable there.

"You still up?"

You peek up to glance at Carol. She's leaned back in the chair, her head propped back against the headrest. When you shift, she pops one eye open.

"It's cold," you respond. "Are you cold?"

She shakes her head. "Temperature stops being a concern when you get superpowers like mine."

"Oh, yeah. Forgot you're a glow stick."

She snorts. "You talk a lot of shit for someone whose close to being an icicle."

"Bravado under pressure. It's my best quality."

You think she's gonna retort with another snort, but she stays silent. You make a move to stand, but she stops you.

"It's colder over here. See." She breathes out and you can see the cloud of her breathe. You frown.

"I can't sleep like this."

You think she's gonna do something like procure a blanket or throw you her jacket. You even think she might use her powers to heat the ship. It would make sense. Now, that you thought about it - she could've flew your ship to Thanos's exact location. You open your mouth to say as much, maybe, even yell at her as well, but she surprises you by standing.

Her head tilts to the side. Her mouth opening and closing again as if she's mulling over her next words carefully. If it were brighter, you might say this is the closest to nervous you've ever seen her get.

"I could lay down next to you." You blink. "My body generates a certain amount of heat due to -"

"Your powers. Yeah, I get it."

Slowly, you scoot over in the small cot. There wouldn't be enough room. You'd be touching regardless, but if you didn't turn over, it'd be okay. You could pretend instead of Carol, it was some space heater next to you.

"Come," you order.

You feel her weight in the cot, the warmth of her sinking in and spreading across the fabric. It hasn't even been a minute and already the cold has been dissipated. You could sleep if you wanted to. But, you don't. No matter how much you had wanted to pretend she was just some space heater, she was Carol. She felt stiff like a board and she was unbearably loud in her stiffness, her unwillingness to move.

"You can relax you know," you mumble.

"I sleep on my side."

You wonder now if she's smirking.

"No one's stopping you from doing that."

She moves and you know without looking that she's facing you. Her breathe tickles the hair on the back of your neck. You wouldn't be able to sleep like this. She's thinking so loud that whatever thoughts she's having are sure to interrupt your dreams. You turn over towards her - your faces are a hair apart. She's not smirking. Her lips are parted and her eyebrows raised, her expression torn between surprise and delight.

"You're making it difficult to sleep," you say simply.

"Am I?" She retorts. There it is. She's grinning. "That sounds like a personal problem."

You don't take the bait. "You know why you're making it difficult?"

She shifts her head slightly to imply 'no'.

"You're too far away. I'm still cold," you say.

She arches one brow. "This is too far away for you?"

You nod.

She shifts closer. Close enough that there's no room for you to glance at her lips. There's only her eyes staring into yours.

"This good enough?" She whispers.

"No."

"You're proving difficult to please, Y/N." And you can tell she's trying to be smooth, but right now, you just want her to shut up.

You barely have time to open your mouth to say as much before she's kissing you. Pressing her soft lips to yours, her hand finding its way to your hip and resting there. She tugs you closer to her until your bodies are flush against one another. The soft pecks growing longer. Light sparks from her fingertips, burning the trim of your jacket. She fists it as she presses you into her. Her touch still gentle if demanding.

You pull away slowly to breathe. To catch air. You forget why when your lips stop touching.

"Been wanting to do that for awhile," she says with a smile.

"I didn't know I wanted to do it honestly," you respond because it's true. All you knew was that Carol was infuriating. Still is. Only now you want to kiss her, too.

"Really?" Carol asks. "You didn't know you wanted me?"

"You find that hard to believe?"

"I do," she grins. "You know the raccoon and Groot have a running bet on which one of us would crack first. Groot bet on me."

"Groot lost, then." You mean to kiss her, but she pulls back.

"You're the one who invited me into bed with you."

"Because you offered your services."

"Because you complained about being cold."

You groan, snuggle into her chest so you don't feel the need to respond to her. Thankfully, she stops. Her spare hand strokes your back and slowly, you drift into sleep.

[sckyie]

word count: 1.9k

genre + warnings: bittersweet fluff + some angst?; timeskip!sakusa, drunk sakusa, kabedon, alcohol mentions

pronouns used: they/them

a/n: im sleepy omfg anyways hi im writing stuff on my other account after this

You were always the more affectionate type in the relationship between you and Sakusa. Well, that's what you would call it. Nothing was ever official the two of you but, he never minded when you held his hand in private, cuddled beside him, or even called him cutesy names. He was comfortable around you, it was almost as if he were a different person altogether.

Though he didn't mind the unofficial title, it did sting in your chest that you didn't technically matter enough for anything to be set and stone. It was hard to bring it up but also keep a cool head when talking about it. You wanted to be known as Sakusa's significant other, not just his best friend.

An upcoming MSBY dinner before the big game was approaching and Sakusa had asked you to accompany him as his date. You doodled on your notes as you looked at your calendar on your desk. Your mind wandered thinking about Sakusa. Why hasn't he asked you to be his yet? What would his teammates say when he introduces you as his best friend?

A few days before the dinner, you invited Sakusa out to a small lunch. You dragged him along to the grocery store to buy the food and drinks. You had your arm looped around him up until you arrived at the steps of the doors of the store. He shrugs you off him and looks away from you, something he always does. You sighed as you tugged his sleeve to drag him to the proper aisles.

He was distracted, to say the least, as you were picking out the different ingredients for your lunch date. Sakusa didn't even take notice when you disappeared into a different area. It wasn't like him to do such a thing but once he realized you were gone, he was sent into a panic. He quickly drifts into other sections, searching for you.

That's when he found you speaking to someone else. Speaking to another man in particular. You weren't flirting with him or anything, you were talking to him about which brand of spice would taste better for your dish. Turns out, the guy you were talking with worked as a head chef at a local restaurant. You say your goodbyes as you place your goods in your basket before turning to find Sakusa staring at the stranger. "Oh, sorry Omi, I lost you back there. I thought you were following me," You say.

"It's...fine- who was that?" He whips his head to look at you.

"Oh, no one, I asked him to help me find some spices for lunch, come on, I have to get a couple more things then we can leave okay? I know you don't like going out as much," You say.

Was he jealous? He was lost in thought as his eyes followed where the stranger left off. He denies that he ever felt that way yet he didn't notice you tugging on his sleeve."Omi?" You ask.

"Hm," He hums through his mask. He looks down at you, his chest pressed against your back.

"You seem like a puppy clinging onto its mom, you're never this close to me in public. Is something wrong?" You chuckle looking up at him. He takes a step back and tries to look away. You smile up at him before picking your final ingredients.

"Sorry Y/n, just..." You pat his side lightly before heading over to the cashier. He sighs before trailing behind you.

The entire lunch date it seemed like he was quieter than normal, uncomfortable to talk to you even. While you two shifted into watching a movie, he held your hand tighter than usual as you snuggled beside him. It was foreign to be this close to Sakusa, but you didn't mind the comfort being held in his arms. So much so, that soon after you found yourself slowly drifting off to sleep engulfed in his warmth.

Sakusa looked down at your now sleeping figure, his cheeks burning red, as he lowered the volume of the movie. How did he end up in this situation? Though he did like you having you beside him, he was thinking to himself. Why was he so clingy to you? Was it jealousy? It couldn't be, you technically weren't his significant other.

The next day, the two of you didn't talk about you falling asleep beside him. It was the first time he had let you gotten so close to him. Besides the point, tonight was the MSBY dinner at a night bar and restaurant rented out to the entire team. You joined the team and their respective invites to the tables as everyone greeted one another at the tables.

You sat beside Sakusa and across from Atsumu with his brother beside him. You smiled at the twins before turning to look down at the menu. "So how do you know Sakusa?" Atsumu asks.

"Oh, we're childhood friends, we were neighbors as up until we graduated. We reconnected recently when I moved back for college," You explained.

"So yer not...dating?" Atsumu raised his eyebrow. Osamu nudged his leg against his brother's but you paused to respond.

"No, we're not," Sakusa says, seeing you hesitate. You looked away from him, and awkwardly smiled back at Atsumu. "They're just my best friend."

Just a best friend. You couldn't wrap your head around those words. It was true, you were his best friend, but the feelings you had for him stung in your chest. You pinched your thigh to ignore the unsettling feeling in your stomach. You tried to make conversation with the boys, more so with Atsumu. Sakusa raised his eyebrow at this, but never saying a word to you.

When the dinner at the table ended, the team moved to the entertainment bar upstairs. You quietly followed behind Sakusa to where Atsumu and Osamu had gone to play pool. "Do you play?" Osamu asked, you shook your head as you watched Sakusa walk away to go get a drink.

"What's on yer mind? You seem down all of dinner," Osamu says. Atsumu seats himself beside you as his brother takes his turn at the pool table.

"Sakusa...He's..." You trailed. "To me, he's more than just my best friend. But I guess, that's all I'll ever be to him." You sighed.

"Oh he doesn't want to make it official, huh?" Atsumu nudges. You nod.

"He cuddles me, holds my hand- hell, he got jealous yesterday over a dude helping me buy spices, I don't get it. Now, look at him," You gesture. Sakusa sat himself beside Meian and the other players at the bar to drink almost as if he had forgotten about you. "It doesn't make sense. Now I just...Just wanna forget about my dumb feeling and move on."

You let out a sigh as Atsumu pats you on the back. The rest of the night, the twins spent playing while trying to cheer you up. It worked as you found yourself as well as two more players joining in, joyously playing pool and casually drinking.

Sakusa on the other hand, had decided to drink as he never wanted to admit he was jealous. He wanted you. He did, but he didn't want to tell you to stop talking to his teammate. Why didn't he tell Atsumu that you were his significant other? He takes another sip of his dark liquor before glancing behind him to see you and Atsumu leaning against a wall.

You two were smiling, laughing, being the happiest in the room. Why were you smiling so big? Only Sakusa was supposed to make you smile like that. No one else. His eyes watch as you playfully nudged Atsumu and that's what upset him. You weren't falling for him, were you?

Sakusa found himself walking towards the two of you. His cheeks were bright red, his steps were slightly off for his drunk stature. You turn to see the wobbly figure but before you could stop him or say anything to him, Sakusa had his mind set on one thing.

He had stood in front of Atsumu, nearly a step away from him. You feared for your life that Sakusa would hit him but you were frozen. Sakusa takes his hands and slams it against the walls behind Atsumu, encasing the setter in between his arms. You take a moment to pause.

"Who the fuck do you think you are talking to Y/n?" Sakusa mutters. Atsumu could smell the alcohol in his breath.

"Omi-kun it's not what ya think I- I-" Atsumu stuttered.

You couldn't make out what the two were saying but you were concerned. You heard the muttered arguments and you turned to Osamu who was talking to Bokuto. You tugged at his sleeve before showing him what was happening.

"Did- did my brother just get kabedoned by Sakusa-san?" Osamu tilted his head. You nodded and asked what to do. "Break it up. I'm not helping ya."

You approached the two conversing to overhear what they were saying to one another.

"I swear to fucking God- I'll break- I'll break-" Sakusa threatened. "If you were flirting with Y/n."

"I wasn't! I wasn't!" Atsumu pleaded.

"Hey hey! Omi!" You called out, trying to get Sakusa's attention. He glances at you but he turns back to Atsumu. This time his right hand moves closer to Atsumu's body to grab it. You approach the two. "Omi!"

"Omi-kun, we were just talking not flirting I swear! Just ask them!" Atsumu was sweating bullets. He had never been this close to Sakusa nor has ever seen him this infuriated. Sakusa had enough and grabbed Atsumu's shirt.

"Omi! Look at me, not him!" You called out, ran over grabbing Sakusa's wrist off Atsumu. He pulls off the fabric, allowing the setter to stumble away from the wall. "Omi, we weren't flirting. He was just cheering me up."

"Cheering you up? Why?" Sakusa scratches the back of his neck.

"Why? Because of you dumb dumb," You huffed.

"Because of me? Why because of me?" He asked.

"Oh my god," You groaned. You placed your hands on Sakusa's cheeks before pulling him down and placing a sloppy kiss on his lips. His mouth was soft despite what you'd expected. After waiting months, finally pressing your lips against his was a wave of relief. You could taste the bitter liquor leftover on his lips as you pulled away. "Because you...you failed to realized that I'm in love with you and you just abandoned me to hang out with your teammates and their guests. Now..will you hang out with me or are you gonna keep denying your jealousy like yesterday?"

Sakusa looks at you for a second before snaking his hand around your waist. He pulls you in for another kiss, prompting the team to give him a round of applause. His slips his tongue this time, letting you taste more of the alcohol in his system. You pull away, smiling and notice how much he was smiling too. "Sorry for being jealous," He says. He looks up to Atsumu who was now standing beside Osamu. "I may be drunk, but if you- if you flirt with Y/n for real, I'm break your nose Miya."

You giggle as you dragged Sakusa to an empty table by the bar where you'd sober him up. "Do you really mean that?" You say as you bring a glass of water to Sakusa. He leans against you, resting his head on your shoulder as he sips the water. "You'll beat up Atsumu if he flirts with me?"

"I'll beat up anyone. Do you really mean it when you say you love me?" He asks.

"Shhh, you're drunk," You laughed.

"Hey, I'm not that type of drunk, tell me," He persists. You take a beat of silence to answer.

"Indefinitely," You say. Your hand laces with his, thumb rubbing the back of his hand. "I can't see myself falling for anyone else."

"Me neither," He says.

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @just-a-siiimp @d0llpie @elianetsantana @snowsmuse

[awanderingtortoise]

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

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

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame.  Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol.  “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot.  Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.