#but for the most part AND with the right company and words he can stave his appetite.

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗮𝗯𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰, 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸, 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗲. Still, chalk it up to his thirst for knowledge, not so much for any thirst for power. Gale, a scholar—inquisitive, curious, and infinitely probing—boasts an insatiable desire to learn all that he can. However, as a follower of Mystra, he's from her sole Weave that he's encouraged to pull from; yet, despite this urging, this unspoken rule, the chasms of the Shadow Weave yet bubble in his thoughts. It's powerful magic, of course, warped under Shar like bones or metal, but still, the arcane is mystery, and the arcane delights him, and even clouded by corruption, it still harbors its worth. Put simply, Gale believes that all magic is essentially fair game. After all, it exists on their plane, sits waiting there a touch like a well for your thirst, and so long as you're careful, what's the harm in sampling? In the Shadow Cursed lands, he'd felt the itch to indulge himself, to whet his need, and when he fashioned that lantern without his goddess' permission, there sprung a devilish delight that timidly gripped him. It was like, well, being a boy again, to be honest, with his hand in a jar of biscuits he'd been told to not touch. It was an act of rebellion, spurred a quiver by Mystra's spite, sure, but far more than that, it came from a weakness to feel its power, and to feel the heft of it and to taste its tang. If it's one thing about Gale, it's that he so thoroughly loves magic. And even if said magic is cursed and bedeviled, it'll always have a draw for him, tamable or otherwise. To be sure, there is some hubris at play here as well: he'll be careful, he tells himself. He can manage.

For better or for worse, Gale, though more morally aligned than not, can still find himself weak to temptation.

[avelera]

On the Study of Miracles

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character: Gale, gender-neutral Tav, pre-Gale/Tav

Word count: 1,635

Author Note: Just a little something that's been plaguing my brain since my first play-through. Somewhat envisioned as part of a series from each Companion's POV, we'll see how far it goes. Posting the rough here until I decide what to do with it.

Summary: The day before the Nautiloid abducted him was the worst day of Gale's life. Not the day of. The day before. How does one even explain that to any sane person?

--

Yesterday was the worst day of Gale’s life. 

Not the bit with the tadpoles and the sudden abduction-by-teleportation, no. Not the part where he woke up in a claustrophobic pod and pressed his hands to the glass, looking about wildly as his all-too educated brain already knew what his stomach did not yet want to admit: that he was on a mindflayer ship and his gruesome end, from that point, was all but a certainty.

No. 

All of that happened after midnight, in Waterdhavian time. So he still considered that today. It’s important to be precise about such things. 

No, the worst day of his life was yesterday, sitting alone in his tower in Waterdeep, with Tara out fetching him another magical item to consume in the hopeless hope of staving off the inevitable just a little longer. Just until a cure could be found. Just until a miracle occurred. He’d loved a goddess, once, and a part of him deep down would never cease to. It’s just the sort of person he was. More importantly, she’d loved him, as much as any god can love what is mortal. Perhaps that was more or perhaps less than how much mortals could love other mortals.

Anyway. The point was, he’d been waiting for a miracle, and as the painfully-former lover of a goddess, he knew what a miracle looked like. He’d had one once, held her in his arms. And he grimly suspected that, like her, he would never know another miracle. It wasn’t for mortals to get more than one. 

He’d known that with a certainty he viewed at once with grim disillusionment and self-deceptive avoidance. So long as he didn’t think about it too much, he could pretend that there were still years before him rather than months. Weeks. Maybe even days, if Tara came up empty-handed, or empty-pawed, as it were.

He avoided the thought of hi approaching end with all the intellectual power he’d once poured into his studies at Blackstaff, under the fawning tutelage of his instructors, back when he was still a wise and precocious child, a “joy to have in class”, rather than a self-assured and (he could admit it) likely unbearable teenager, or worse, a young man. The lover of a goddess, just for his skill in magic alone. Gods he must have been a nightmare to deal with. Perhaps all of this was deserved, on some level.

Right. But back to yesterday. It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a singular worst day of his life. But they’d all blurred together by then, starting from the moment his new reality had truly sunk in, alone in his tower, when the frenzy of pain and soul-scorching hunger had receded enough for him to look around, sweat-soaked, sickened, and dazed, at his home in Waterdeep all but stripped of the magical artifacts that had glowed and chimed and made beautiful the rooms of his tower. 

His tower that swiftly became his prison. 

Part of the dreadful isolation that followed was his fault. Well, most of it. Turned out, he didn’t really have friends so much as he had colleagues. Colleagues who came ‘round once or twice when he first went missing, but upon being refused, made no further effort to contact Gale, and he could hardly blame them.

Technically there was nothing stopping him from making short social calls, even spending a night out, once he got the hang of how long he could last after each magical item consumed. Technically he didn’t need to be a shut-in with only his tressym for company, once the first firestorm of anguish and grief washed over him and settled into the doldrums of blank horror at how far he’d fallen. 

But that was wicked thing about hope. He had hope that any day, some miracle would descend from on high, Mystra with her forgiveness granted as magically as was her divine domain, and all of this would be some terrible dream. Or he’d stumble upon a cache of magical items enough to put Karsus to shame, enough to live out the rest of his days safely (how he planned to do this while going for days on end without leaving his bedroom didn’t precisely follow logically, he would admit, but then, it was a miracle he was hoping for). 

But to accept miracles was to accept that their opposite could occur. Catastrophes. Terrible streaks of improbable bad luck. One day being the lover of a goddess and the next facing his inevitable, shameful death, for example.

And, for example, he could all too easily picture going out to a party and discovering he’d left his arcane gate keys at home and was therefore stuck surrounded by thousands of civilians while the bomb in his chest counted down inevitably, as occurred in his more memorable and sadly recurring nightmares. If something good could save him, why couldn’t something awful occur just as suddenly to make him a danger to everyone he knew and loved— or at least, whom he marginally liked within a professional setting?

Well, as it turned out, a miracle did occur. It came from the sky, just like the best miracles did. It whisked him away quick as a blink. It took care of all, or rather most of his problems, in one fell swoop, replacing them with incredibly urgent but at least refreshingly different problems, like how to get out of this portal he was stuck in.

And true to his worst nightmares, it had also been a bloody awful catastrophe. Hundreds were dead, though that at least wasn't his fault. Thousands, perhaps millions more would die if they were not successful. It was utterly improbably—insane, in fact!— that he’d fallen in amongst the one group with any real hope of stopping the Absolute’s horrific plan from succeeding. They were, as one with far less education than he might say, in the shit, facing dangers that few but the greatest heroes had ever been forced to contemplate. By all accounts, he should be rocking back and forth in the corner of his tent, gibbering with terror. 

Instead, Gale was smiling. He hadn’t even realized he was smiling until Tav had glanced back and said:

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” 

Tav raised had an eyebrow. It wasn’t even a mean-spirited question. In the early morning hours, after a scrounged-up breakfast of whatever was left over from the camp of those tomb robbers they’d interrupted, it might have been the simple pleasantries he might have experienced from his once politely disinterested colleagues, except…. Tav was sincere. Perhaps faintly amused. The rest of the sentence remained unspoken, the laughter dancing in their eyes that took in all the misfortunes that surrounded their merry band, the Nautiloid, their bare-bones camp, their improbable and still highly doubtful survival. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Theirs. 

Gale looked around and for the first time in more months than he cared to really think about, he wasn’t surrounded by the warm, wood-paneled walls of his tower. The bookshelves. The feather bed and the balcony with his view of the harbor. All the comforts of home and all the bleak, unbearable solitude of those same walls over and over, day in and day out, as he woke up and stared at his ceiling and sometimes, if Tara wasn’t around, just rolled over and went back to sleep for as long as he could force his body down if it meant not facing another day like this. 

No, he was surrounded by cliffs and forests, dirt paths and the lingering burnt ozone smell of the crashed Nautiloid and the unfortunately building stench of stale blood and unwashed bodies that would only deepen with every mile they walked. He was surrounded by faces, unfamiliar, some friendly, some distrustful, but all of them desperate, all of them pulling together towards the same goal. 

He wasn’t alone. For the first time in so long he wasn’t alone, and awful as it would be to say aloud, the fact that he also wasn’t alone in facing the threat of his own destruction, that each of his companions were in the same spot, working on the same problem was… well. He hadn’t felt this sort of camaraderie since his school days. Perhaps… never. 

Perhaps never. 

Gale snorted, chuckling to himself, and met Tav’s eye. “I rather think you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

The corner of Tav’s lips twitched upward. “Try me.” 

Gale regarded his friend, his savior, the hand that had reached out to his while he hung suspended in a void of nothingness, after so long in a far more comfortable, far more terrible void of solitude, and thought about miracles. And how accepting the good ones could happen also meant accepting the bad ones. Or perhaps they were just two sides of the same coin.

Perhaps he was not so abandoned by all the gods as he thought, to be here, on the other side of his tower walls, on the other side of sanity, on the other side facing down almost inevitable doom. Maybe the key to a miracle was knowing when you had one, as he had failed to see when he had one in his arms. Never again. But then, he’d always been a quick study, and liked to think he knew how not to make the same mistake twice.

“Would you believe,” Gale said, “that yesterday, before the Nautiloid, was the worst day of my life?” 

Tav blinked. “Before the Nautiloid?” Gale nodded and rather than scoff, Tav appeared to consider his answer. “And today?” 

The answer stuck in Gale’s throat, a rare occurrence for him, all the more rare because the truth was bubbling up there already and it was too soon, far too soon, he didn’t want to sound like a lunatic, it was already crazed enough to say that their ordeal was the end of one far worse for him. “The day’s still young,” Gale remarked with a good-natured shrug, glancing towards the horizon as if considering the time and not the truth of needing a moment to gather himself. “Why don’t we venture forth and see what it brings, shall we?” 

The best, Gale swallowed back at the sight of Tav’s answering smile. The very best. Isn’t that the maddest part of it all?

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

read on ao3

*

On Friday nights, the Barrel is a loaded gun about to explode. Buzzing with people, drowning in booze, stifled in the sweat and rotten decency of Ketterdam's finest and most despicable alike.

On Friday nights, the Barrel is its cruelest and most honest version, and that is when Kaz loves it most.

He’s leaning on the banister of the Crow Club’s mezzanine, watching the crowds at the tables below. The sound of the Makker’s Wheel turning becomes white noise in his ears as the ice in his whiskey slowly melts. He doesn’t need to be here – he has an excellent hall manager, a keen-eyed sixteen-year old Shu girl who is not afraid to make use of the brass knuckles in her pocket when it’s necessary. But he comes over anyway, more often than not. It would be bad for the business for people to forget who runs it.

So he takes another sip of whiskey and notes with a quiet contentment that Wylan has managed to keep Jesper at home tonight. Good. All good.

When he was getting ready to go out, he passed Inej in the parlor; she had recently started to spend more time outside her bedroom, but the sight of her was still unexpected enough that he stopped on his way. She was sitting barefoot on the couch in her dressing gown, a picture book with Kerch descriptions he had set aside for her in her hands. Jesper, who had been coming over to teach her reading, told Kaz that she was a quick study and suggested she should practice whenever possible.

Kaz really wishes Jesper would stop telling him things he already knows.

He recalls her profile, illuminated by the lamp on the table by her side: her braid tossed over her shoulder, the slope of her nose, the way her lips parted when she mouthed words to herself.

All good.

“Brekker!”

Or not.

“Popov.”

Truthfully speaking, Kaz respects the stray cats that hunt mice in Fifth Harbor about a million times more than he respects Count Sasha Popov. But ever since he fled Ravka in fear of Queen Zoya’s rightful wrath, he has spent the equivalent of the famed Lantsov Emerald’s worth in kruge at the Crow Club, so Kaz has learned to tolerate him to the best of his abilities.

Popov might be a leeching, gambling piece of shit, but he is also a generous spender and a huge gossip. It is usually worth suffering through his company for a few minutes to gain some interesting information in return – even if his sudden appearance on the stairs has just ruined Kaz’s particularly nice evening.

“Just my luck to stumble upon you tonight.” Popov smells strongly of kvas, but there is an unpleasantly sober glimmer in his green eyes. A lot can be held against Ravkan aristocrats, but at least they all know how to hold their liquor, crosses Kaz’s mind.  

With a swagger, the man steps onto the mezzanine and leans on the railing beside Kaz. “I was looking for you, truth be told.”

“Oh?” Kaz raises an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“You see, I heard you got married.” Popov’s grin gets a bit wider, one of his teeth flashing gold, and Kaz swallows a sudden wave of nausea at the sight.

Oh, so this is what he wants to discuss. Well then.

“You heard right.” Kaz takes a sip of his whiskey. “What about it? It is not exactly a secret.”

“No, not a secret at all. Whole city just cannot get enough of this news.”

Even with his eyes on the crowd below, Kaz can feel Popov’s gaze on his face. It feels sticky, as though a slug was crawling up his cheek.

“You haven’t brought her with you tonight, by any chance?”

“No.” A fight breaks out between a few men around the Blackjack table; before fists start flying, Isani is already standing her ground in the middle of the commotion, her brass knuckles on in an instant. “She wanted to rest a bit.”

“Ah, makes sense. I suppose she must be very tired indeed.”

When Kaz turns around to face him, Popov sends him one of the conspiratorial winks that men often exchange on West Stave. I see you, brother; good for you.

“You know, I was so very disappointed you whisked her away from the Peacock before I could pay her a visit. I only heard glowing reviews.”

It is funny; this is not the first time Kaz has heard such words spoken about Inej. Isn’t that why he chose to marry her in the first place? Because of her glowing reviews?

But his mind twists before he can stop it, conjuring an image of Sasha fucking Popov and Inej – Inej barefoot, with a book on her lap, wishing him good night as he was putting on his coat. Her braided hair. Her small hands, turning the pages.

Ten years at the Menagerie. How many Popovs, how many fingers on her, in her; how many pairs of eyes staring at her and seeing only what they wished to see? How many men were sweating on top of her as she was wasting away? And now, all these tongues waggling. All these tales of her making their rounds throughoutKetterdam.

Kaz takes a deep breath. Well, so be it; she has had bad luck in life. She is not the first and definitely not the last. Just let him provoke and do not react, Brekker.

But then Popov charges in full speed, leaning closer and closer, as if the kvas completely shut down any self-preservation instincts inside him.

“I was thinking, maybe she could still take me for a ride? We can strike a good deal, Brekker. I know you are a businessman first and foremost, and why marry a whore if not to earn on it? Listen, let me tell you–“

Kaz never got to hear what Count Popov wanted to tell him.

**read more on ao3**

[mythboundmuses-archive]

@nightmarecountry continued from here.

The Corinthian's eyes are wide open, their gleaming teeth parted; colour drips from his tongues like paint, trickling down his cheeks and collecting at his jaw. Even for a nightmare, who sees more than any mortal thing could hope to, it's a lot: there are colours he'd never dreamed of, colours that fill a place in his understanding similar to discovering a new, important word for the first time; colours that spin off of Delirium and into him and back again, stretching between her hands and his face. "Tell me what that tastes like," he breathes, trying to will the right colour back to her. "This one. Like red-black-paper. It looks like it tastes like a volcano."

Delirium's fingers flex gently where they rest against the Corinthian's cheeks. She knows exactly which colour he's talking about and she takes a moment to consider it. Her hair and nails are suddenly that same hue, and her eyes sparkle; they don't contain the night sky like her brother's do, their mother did not offer her that particular gift, but they are quite obviously not human eyes. They see too much, beyond colours that most living things do not see. Suspended in the air around them, she sees strings of intention too, things that she can tug to bring a creature a little bit closer to her own realm. Humans are so easy to influence, and suffer so nicely when they find themselves trapped in Madness. Sometimes, she thinks that she's setting them free of their boring, grey little lives. They must find it so monotonous: work, sleep, do their silly little self-imposed chores. There's more to life than that, and she can offer it to them. Not to the Corinthian. Though her friend, he belongs too thoroughly to the Dreaming and to her brother. She has thought, on the odd occasion when she is feeling especially lonely, that she could make her own Corinthian. One that hunts humans in the Waking, sends them fleeing into her waiting arms. A hunting dog, one that can keep her company and stave off loneliness that threatens to swallow her whole. She's not entirely sure that she won't. For now, this Corinthian, the original, has her attention. She likes that she has his, too, and she is enjoying the opportunity to share this little bit of her power with him. She focuses on him once more, and gives him a little smile. "It tastes of... Have you ever licked the top of a match? The little red bit on top, I mean. It's... sandpaper and hot and destruction. Do you know what those things taste of? I suppose not. You could achieve the same sort of thing if you stuck one of your tongues in a volcano, but I wouldn't recommend it. It's like..." She scrunches up her face as she tries to find the words. "Do you know what paprika tastes like? It's a bit like that. But... more. Everything is always so much. I love it."

[floraliaison]

[ melodrama ] ― track i | homemade dynamite

political au. ushijima wakatoshi x fem! reader.

3.1 k 

masterlist. next.

If there’s any one word you would prefer people to describe you as, it would have to be unquestionably loyal.

After all, it’s just past seven, and you haven’t yet drunk enough whiskey as you would like to, but when Oikawa tells you about a new guy you must hate, you don’t even think twice before agreeing.

He shifts the drink in his hand, ice cubes clinking together while he side-eyes the group of men from across the veranda, no doubt burning holes into the back of his intended target’s head as he mutters, “And there he is.”

You whip your head to the right, not caring enough about subtlety because this is your house and you can and will look at whoever you damn please.

His directions don’t really help much, you soon realize, because there are a hundred and one of Eita’s friends huddled around the end of the buffet table where the drinks are located.

“There are a bunch of ‘he’s over there, Oiks. Which one?” you hiss under your breath, craning your neck to see if you can pick anyone out from the crowd.

There’s Leon, Kenjiro, Hayato, and a handful of other people you recognize but can’t recall the names of. All that matters is that they’re all annoying, and they’re all here.

You’d think Oikawa’s taste in men has improved in the six years you’ve been gone, but if he actually says it’s one of them then you’ve apparently thought wrong.

“The tall one, Y/N,” Oikawa says as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. His rings glint in the dim light as he discreetly points at one in the far back. “The one with the white jacket.”

Finally, you spot whoever it is he’s referring to, and the next thing out of your mouth is a crisp “What the fuck?”

Oikawa snorts in derision – why he would when he’s the laughingstock in this particular situation, you’ll never know, but that still doesn’t stop you from echoing the sound back.

“I leave my best friend alone for a few years, and when I come back you’re suddenly all broken-hearted about Ushijima Wakatoshi?” You say, equal parts incredulous and disappointed. Said best friend only shrugs in response, chugging the rest of his rum before slamming the empty glass down on the table.

“Save it, princess. Iwa’s already lectured me about the whole ‘you have terrible taste’ and ‘you should stop going after guys who you know are only going to break your heart’ thing,” he shoots back, his use of air quotes telling you that no, he didn’t – and probably still doesn’t – follow Iwaizumi’s advice. You roll your eyes, comeback already on the tip of your tongue, when —

“Hold on,” the boy next to you suddenly sits up straight, eyes wide open and staring at you. “How come you know him?”

“Well who doesn’t know him?”

Although you deliver it in a way that comes off as mildly sarcastic, all of his prominent social, athletic, and political embellishments have served to establish Ushijima Wakatoshi as a household name; both in Tokyo and throughout the rest of Japan.

But while that’s true, you for one can’t say that you know the man in the way that Oikawa is implying. Despite belonging in the same political circle, what with both your fathers’ professions, you have yet to properly interact outside of the social niceties required for the few parties and fundraisers you’ve seen him at.

From what you are able to discern the first few times you have been able to talk to him though, you are one hundred percent certain that you disliked the man to an almost frightening degree. His stoicism, apparent indifference and boundless pride rub off of you the wrong way, and you’ve been actively ignoring him at every meeting afterwards.

Your friend lets out another snort – you’ve half a mind to change his contact name to horse at this point – while you raise an eyebrow at his accusatory finger-wagging, almost daring him to say what’s so clearly on his mind.

Because despite wearing a short white number to stave off the summer heat that dominated the venue just hours prior, you have absolutely zero qualms about giving Tooru a thorough beat-down if necessary.

“There you guys are.”

Someone plops down into the vacant seat to your left, and when you turn to see a familiar, non-douchey face, you break into a smile.

“Hey, Haji,” you greet Iwaizumi as you lean against his side.

The faint blush that spreads across Oikawa’s face doesn’t escape you when you sneak a glance at him. Despite having his mind preoccupied by Ushijima, it looks like the brunette still hasn’t let go of his little crush on the final member of your trio. “Iwa-chaan, we waited forever. What took you so long?”

“Got lost, your house is fucking huge Y/N,” Iwaizumi explains, setting down his glass of his newest alcoholic concoction as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Good thing I ran into your brother, few more minutes and I would’ve lost my mind in there.”

You snicker at him, a low mumble of “and you claim Tooru’s the stupid one” escaping you because honestly, your house isn’t that big. He might just not admit it but it’s common knowledge that Hajime’s a bit... directionally challenged, to say the least.

Ignoring the glare he sends your way, you nonchalantly pick up his drink and take a sip. “Ah, very nice. You really should consider bartending, Haji, you’ve got the talent for it,” you remark, handing Oikawa the glass for him to taste. 

Iwaizumi’s skill in mixing spirits was one the three of you discovered during one of your first parties, when you and Tooru had complained about how shitty the drinks were. Hajime, in a true gentlemanly fashion, had grabbed a couple of bottles off the counter and kept the two of you well-provided for for the remainder of the event. (and for every other event that came after it.)

The spiky-haired lawyer only rolls his eyes at your words, plucking the crystalware out of Oikawa’s hands before he could finish it off amidst the latter’s ungodliest of whines. “What were you doing anyway? Looked like you were discussing some deep stuff when I came in.”

You separate from him, putting your hands on your hips and adopting a haughty tone, “We are slandering Ushijima Wakatoshi, and his ways of ill-repute. You, by declaration of the Mistress, which is me, and by Friendship Code 70040, is hereby required to join as well.”

“I’ll pass, Wakatoshi’s cool,” Hajime comments around a sip of alcohol, and the casual use of Ushijima’s first name is enough to give you pause.

“Okay, first of all how are you on a first name basis with him and second, you’re a guy.” you exclaim, throwing your hands up for emphasis. “Of course you’d think that!”

“First question: I worked with him for a bit two years ago, not gonna say anything more because company rules, but we talked and he’s really nice,” Iwaizumi holds up two fingers. “Second, sure I am, but even your brother thinks so, too.”

“The world doesn’t just consist of Eita.”

“Alright, you both better shut it because the topic of your very heated conversation is heading right here,” Oikawa interrupts, poking you in the side and sending a look at Iwaizumi.

You groan in response and shake your head. Even during your time abroad, you’ve been unable to escape his presence; from the posters promoting his team for the 2014 World League to the numerous brand advertisements three years later, Wakatoshi was everywhere.

But - and you’ll never admit to this out loud, not ever - even though all you’ve seen of him was in print, on the television, and in the occasional social media update, you could never deny the fact that the man was handsome.

Tooru is attractive, as evidenced by the sheer number of his admirers in high school, Hajime has received his own fair share of confessions and Valentine’s Day chocolates, and you have to admit that your brother is objectively good-looking as well.

And while it’s a confession you have to make under duress, Wakatoshi is a completely different case altogether. You’d thought you were stunned when Miya Atsumu came to your offices to help promote the newly rolled-out banking app, but even he can’t really compare.

Nothing can really do with perfectly gelled olive hair, pristine three-piece suit slightly strained against a muscular build, and the undeniable aura that exuded power and demanded respect.

One would have to be practically blind not to feel attracted to Ushijima (but even then, you think that the timbre of his voice can still make anyone weak in the knees), but because you have no shame and are definitely not above pettiness, you maintain a disgusted-looking sneer as you watch him make his way to your table.

“Hey Toshi,” Oikawa says, the red from before making a reappearance as he takes in the newcomer with eager eyes.

“Good evening, Oikawa,” Ushijima replies, but it’s clear that his attention is focused elsewhere; namely, on you.

Your skin crawls at the weight of the stare he’s pinning on you, but you veto the urge to flip him off right then and there because that would be against proper decorum. Your patience is running thin though, and he needs something else to stare at immediately or so help him God you will do it.

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi intervenes, bless him, and offers a hand towards the taller. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hajime,” Ushijima grasps the appendage and gives it a firm shake, but his gaze still hasn’t left you. ”It’s good to see you.” 

“Yo Ushiwaka! Get back over here!” One of the miscreants across the veranda calls out, standing beside what seems to be a set-up for a round of beer pong. You can’t help but make a face when you catch sight of it because what did they think this was, some messy Saturday night college party? These guys really had no taste.

Ushijima finally turns around to head back to his friends, but not without shooting you one last cursory glance over his shoulder; a glance that you dutifully avoid despite every single cell in your body pushing you to return it and have him catch sight of the hellfire burning in your gaze for doing whatever it is that he did to Tooru.

Because damn it, no one hurts your friends or family and gets away with it. Not even over your dead body, because God knows you will rise from the dead just to get retribution on their behalf.

The minute Wakatoshi’s out of earshot, you scoff into your glass of whiskey, hastily downing it in one go because you’d need more of it in your system if you wanted to survive tonight with him around.

In the entirety of your 26 years, never have you once thought yourself as unlucky. Horribly ill-timed, sure, but unlucky? Nope.

Or at least, not until tonight.

“If it isn’t Miss Semi,” a smooth baritone sounds from behind you, nearly causing you to drop the container you’re holding in surprise. “Good evening.”

You seethe, ready to give the person a piece of your mind for almost being the (however indirect) culprit to the destruction of a 20-year old piece of china, and you have the gall to be so confrontational because you actually know who it is. Only one person in this entire house can be in possession of a voice that deep.

True enough, when you turn, it is Ushijima Wakatoshi who stands at the entrance to your kitchen in all of his six-foot-three glory, eyebrow cocked in a perfect arch as he regards you. He’s holding an empty wineglass in his left hand, and it looks like he’s come in here to have it refilled.

You aren’t sure what exactly about the situation brings all the blood rushing to your face; be it the anger you feel at seeing him so callously walk into your kitchen like he owns it instead of going to the refreshments table outside, or the feeling of something else at the sight of him in only his deep purple dress shirt; sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone.

That, along with the fact that his hair is now slightly tousled, leaves you thinking that he looks positively sinful, if not for the smirk that’s painted on his stupid face. That one tiny detail pushes you to choose the first, and safer, option.

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, hello Ushijima,” you respond drily, slamming the cabinet shut to punctuate your tone. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

He simply raises the glass in his hand in response, and you are unable to get a biting comment in about how he should instead look for a refill outside instead of in here like some privileged dick when he speaks.

“Congratulations on the announcement,” he begins, stepping beyond the threshold and into the kitchen, thick carpet muffling the sounds of his polished Italian leather shoes as he makes his way towards you.

When he gets dangerously close to the boundary of the minimum three-feet you need to have between you and him at all times, you briefly consider getting violent and chucking the bowl at him just to be done with it, but he seems to have other plans when he stops by the marble island, a full one inch away from your protective perimeter.

Looks like your grandmother’s favorite crucible will live to see another day.

You see him eye you expectantly from his position, and realize that you’ve yet to respond to his statement. “Thank you. I understand that the same is in order for you as well, what with your succession of Madame Junko’s position.”

He nods, less confirmatory and more ‘I’ve found your answer satisfactory,’ and you cannot suppress the white-hot lance of annoyance that shoots through you at the memory that comes barrelling along with the simple gesture.

Suddenly, you’re both no longer OS Post Holdings or The Ushijima Telegraph and Telephone Corporation’s newly appointed presidents and CEOs, but mere fifteen year olds attending middle school at the same time.

Ushijima has always been the star student, and while your father has pushed you to make friends with the quiet boy, you’ve never found it in yourself to brush aside the vast difference present in the way he looks at Wakatoshi, with eyes and gestures full of a soft sense of pride, and then at you, all strict words and interactions that feel more business related than anything else.

You’re not stupid, never was and never will; you know that your father wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. And although he had twins - a girl and a boy - he saw Eita as more of a disappointment because of his unwillingness to live the life the patriarch of the family wanted him to.

So while your brother pursued his dreams in the music industry, you were left to shoulder the responsibility that came with the Semi family name. You studied rigorously, honed your talents, and polished your social skills until you shined, determined to be the brightest gem in the industry and the daughter your father would be proud of.

But even though you were not stupid, you were definitely naive. Naive to have thought that he would be satisfied with what he had, naive to have thought that he wouldn’t look somewhere else to fulfill his own personal dreams.

And that’s how you first met Ushijima, the son of Governor Utsui and your father’s new protegee, as he so proudly told you over dinner with him one Thursday night.

The only thing that kept you from breaking down then were the years spent at etiquette lessons, so you settled instead on gripping your silverware until your knuckles turned white. You could feel Eita’s eyes on you from across the table, and you didn’t have to look to know that they were apologizing for something that he didn’t even do.

The other two males in the room seemed oblivious to your imminent spiral, happily talking with each other and discussing whatever it is that they deemed important, and the fire in your heart that burned for the olive-haired boy grew into a full-fledged inferno.

That day marked the beginning of your lifelong grudge against Wakatoshi, and you still haven’t given it up to this day.

“Attention! I would just like to thank everyone for coming tonight -”

Your dad’s booming voice is what breaks you out of your reverie, and you realize that you have been staring - glowering, really - at the object of your ire for far too long than what can be deemed normal.

An open bottle of Romanée-Conti rests on the countertop by his elbow, and his previously empty wineglass is now half-full, the deep red liquid catching the fluorescent lights as he idly swirls it around.

Much like his wine, there is also something swirling in his sharp eyes, but you neither need to or wish to know what it is. You let out a disgruntled huff before heading out to the living room, shooting him one final glare as you round the corner and disappear.

Wakatoshi sighs to the empty room before he too, decides to head on out and meet with Representative Semi - your and Eita’s father - to offer him his congratulations.

He finishes the drink in his hand, wine tasting oddly bittersweet as it goes down his throat, and as he exits the kitchen, he wonders for the nth time that night how come you seemed to hate him with such a passion.

He’s not stupid, not like the way everyone seems to think he is just because he’s blunt, but if it’s taken him this long to realize that your feelings towards him go much deeper than a simple dislike, then he thinks that he may never find out the real reason as to why.

The thought doesn’t deter him though, and when he catches sight of the back of your head while you talk animatedly to Oikawa Tooru, laughing your heart out as though you weren’t staring daggers at him just minutes ago, he thinks that he will gladly spend a lifetime figuring you out.

You are a mystery to him, and one that he will stop at nothing to crack.

[ note ]  ― and there we have it! first time we’re meeting the cast, and if the overly zealous descriptions about ushi isn’t enough to display how whipped i am for him then probably nothing ever will. hope you all like this one as much as i loved writing it <3

also this is dedicated to @cafemiya​ for giving me the push i needed to make this entire series. hi issy i love you bae 🥺💖

[shorkbrian]

Problem

Prelude - Don’t come @ me pls I tried to be pOeTiC and artsy okay lol

Pairing - Keigo Takami X Reader

Warnings - no NSFW, religion, blood mention, nonconsensual touching.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/4SQ0ytpTP8v1Rx8FWR22cv?si=d_i0QJowT9yF-b6rZMOKvw

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

People often don’t notice the little, gradual problems.

Cluttered desks, dishes in the sink.

The thing that stands in the corner at night.

You only noticed it after it started to move, creeping closer, sitting in your chair, bright golden eyes piercing through the dark.

His name is Keigo, he tells you, and there’s no reason to be afraid.

Of course, that doesn’t stop fear from icing over your veins, stomach twisting, hands clutching at your blankets as if they were a shield to protect you from the strange entity that had haunted your bedroom for so long. You had done so well, pretending that the shadow was nothing but a trick of the light, that there was nothing there except a chair filled with dirty clothes.

He doesn’t come any closer, crosses his legs in the chair he occupies, tilting his head as the two of you stare at each other.

His name is Keigo, and he’s an angel.

-----

The angel has been with you all your life.

He is able to recount the days you’d spent in your room, crying and begging God for something different, to take your pain away. The moments you thought you had been alone, forgotten.

The troubles you’d overcome, the faint flashes of happiness that filled your life and made you feel light and warm.  Keigo even remembered the color of your bedroom walls in your childhood home, the small scribbles you’d made in the corners, near the baseboards. How you’d get in trouble for leaving your mark on your world, be punished for taking up space.

You were too young to remember that.

But Keigo remembers.

He was there for all of it.

When you confide in him your fears, small whispered thoughts, Keigo listens.

“I feel so lonely all the time.”

“You may feel lonely, but you’re never alone. The plants in your window love you, for you give them life. Your bed welcomes you with the arms of a lover after a long day, loves to hold you in it’s embrace. The ground welcomes the steps of your feet, how you shape it’s very existence just by being present. You’re an entire ecosystem, your flesh sculpted from the earth. Your blood is brewed from rainwater, thousands of creatures live inside of you and on your skin. And of course, you have me. I am never far from you, you’re never truly alone.”

Life doesn’t seem as bad.

-----

The angel usually only appears at night, when you’re tucked in bed, fresh from a shower. You’ve come to like his visits, no longer feel trepidation when he shows up in the corner, materializing out of thin air.

He doesn’t look like what you think he should. There are no heavy wings, no  countless eyes, no sharp halo adorning his head. No white robes or silken clothes, just tattered jeans and a hoodie.

But he doesn’t look exactly human either, with his golden skin and molten eyes. His fingers are long and slender, made for music and praise. The curve of his soft lips makes it easier for him to worship, to condemn or guide his charge.  Hair that looks too soft, like liquid gold that flows from his scalp. You want to touch, but you’re afraid to ask.

You notice that the plants in your house flourish at night, when Keigo is around. The tender stalks seem to reach for his presence, follow his form greedily, as if he has a gift that he’s withholding from them. Flowers bloom and vie for his attention, and Keigo laughs, touches the petals gently and watches the blossoms burst with color and growth.

His existence as an angel is unquestioned, not when he proves to you that he knows you to a degree that you don’t even know yourself. The freckles decorating your skin, those are all from him. It’s true that they’re angel kisses, given to the people they favor, that they watch grow.

They’d dusted across your nose as a child, light and varied. Darkened as you’d gotten older, appearing on your hands and peppered over your face in no particular pattern.

It makes you blush, and at first you don’t believe him, thinking he’s playing with you. But Keigo moves to the edge of your bed, gently takes one of your hands in his own, and lifts it to his lips.

A freckle appears when they press to your skin, a dark mark pushing to the surface.

You spend the next day looking at each of your freckles in the mirror, studying the marks that mar your skin. They’re sprinkled across your shoulders, you’re collarbone, your ankles. It’s strange to think that each mark is evidence of a kiss. Why would the angel kiss you?

When you ask him the next night he visits, Keigo pauses.

“Sometimes… there’s a hole in your soul, and that’s just the way things are. And you try to fill it with various things; songs that make your heart waltz, views that make your eyes long for more, raindrops against your skin. I’ve found the most effective way to fill it is with being with the person who makes the world seem less bad.”

How can an angel feel incomplete? “Are you not God’s perfect creation?” You ask.

Keigo sighs, and says no more.

-----

“Why is that book your favorite?” Keigo has read it before, scouring the pages to try and find pieces of you in it. He’s read all of your books, picked up every single thing you’ve ever touched, ever looked at, jealous of the way it had caught your attention.

You don’t know.

You don’t know why you love the book clutched in your hands. You just do. Keigo thinks he understands.

He’s been visiting earlier and earlier, while the sun still rests above the horizon. The angel never asks about your day, he’s there for every moment, just never visible to you.

He’s the warmth that soothes your skin when it’s cold out, when you’re afraid that your jacket won’t be enough to stave off the chill.  Keigo whispers reminders into your ear, a little tickle that helps you remember to turn in sale reports on time, or what time you’re supposed to meet with a new client.  He never gets the credit for all that he does, but that’s okay.

Your thoughts turn to him constantly, mind churning with questions. Why show himself now? Is that allowed? What is heaven like? Is God kind?

Keigo brushes these questions off, frowns when you ask them. He won’t talk about his holy father, nor his own role as a guardian angel. You learn to hold your tongue.

The angel prefers to talk with you, or sit in silence as you tend to your evening tasks. You think he might be lonely.

——-

You wake up sometimes with warmth still on your skin, more freckles dotting along your body.  But there’s already so many, the new ones go unnoticed.

Keigo is never around those days.

“Why do you not visit?” You ask him, saddened by his absence. Was it something you did wrong? Were you no longer worthy of his presence?

“I met someone that reminds me of warm toned skies. I’m afraid of what I might do to them.”

You don’t know what that means. Asking the angel to clarify results in a long silence, and you look out the window of your house to take in the stars, the clouds that try and hide them from view. You wonder if Keigo knows their names.

“I saw you in my dreams” Finally, the angel answers, golden eyes fixed on his hands folded in prayer in his lap.

“You dreamed of me?” You didn’t know angels could dream.

“At first…. Now I think of you. I..... I love you on purpose, I love you intentionally.” The confession is weighty, said slowly and quietly. Golden eyes find your own and search for acceptance.

What do you do when an angel confesses their love? 

When you stay silent, Keigo disappears.

Sleep does not come easy that night.

——-

“Nothing you humans do ever matters. All that really matters is what you do.”

He’d appeared after a time, a few weeks where you stared at the chair in the corner and saw nothing. You weren’t sure if you were glad that he was back.

Keigo was critical of your actions, hovering behind you while you tended to the plants in your home, lounging on the counter while you cooked meals, sitting near you while you read and making you nervous at his unwavering company.

“So the meaning of life is to give life meaning?” You had answered his subtle jab, and Keigo had shown you his teeth in a smile. It looked much less like a smile, more like a gesture of a puppet, a mockery of a human with too many teeth. He didn’t say whether you were right or wrong.

Safety was no longer the prevalent feeling when Keigo was around.

The angel does not have the same restraint he used to exhibit. He touches you now, unashamed of his needy nature, how he craves your humanity, fascinated by the intricacies of your life, the thoughts that run through your head.

It makes you uneasy, his hands cold as ice when they find your own. But who are you to tell an angel they are wrong?

He never misses a night spent in your presence, even when you think he does. The angel waits till you’re asleep, creeps past your defenses and indulges in human comforts.

You always murmur in your sleep when he slips into your bed, when his cold, cold vessel presses against your warm body. Keigo wonders if he could steal some of your warmth, carry it with him.

“You look perfect even when you’re half asleep and not speaking proper English. I am so in love with you, it feels like I’m floating all the time” You don’t hear his words, but he says them anyways.

-----

His residence is overbearing.

You find yourself spending more and more time away from your home, spent at work, where he doesn’t appear. Nights are spent with friends, drinking in their homes, sharing stories about romantic endeavors.

A small part of you knows that Keigo must be nearby, being your guardian angel. But he never materializes around other people.

The angel grows desperate for your company, invades any spare moment you have, while you’re using the bathroom, showering, when you’re early for a meeting and alone in the conference room.

His demeanor is casual, relaxed, but you begin to see the outline of his wings, blood red plumage displayed across his back.

Strong emotions bring out their wings, you had learned. A dropped glass had wings flashing behind Keigo as the angel was caught off guard, and you’d begged for him to show you them.

He couldn’t make them visible at will, he had explained. They only showed if an angel was experiencing strong emotions, strong feelings.

Their appearance now made you afraid.

You tried to talk to Keigo one rare night you spent at home, work out your differences and soothe his feelings towards you, the jealousy and the anger that sank deep into his being.

“I don’t know how to make this better. I don’t have feelings for you the same way you feel for me” You had confessed.

Keigo’s eyes had blazed, yellow fire flickering in the iris.

“My body forgot what it felt like to be warmth. You’re the sun that I step into, the rays that fall upon my back and warm my wings, the heat that fills my heart and spills from my lips.”

He was passionate, gripping your arms with too-hot skin, and it burned.

“Before you go to sleep at night, you water your flowers, your plants. In the light of your window I can see your body wrapped in your nightgown, and you’re indistinguishable from the blossoms.”

The pain seared deep into your bones, and you felt anger, true anger at the celestial body in front of you. Never had you asked for his affection, for his protection.

“I have thought about my love for you, and the ways I could describe it are innumerable. You’re so human and it makes me want, and I don’t know what to do with the fire burning within me. I love you-“

You’re screaming at him then, and the sky turns dark the same moment you thrash out of his burning grip. Harsh words are said, things you should’ve expressed months ago, when the angel broke your boundaries into pieces and did what he pleased.

But the courage was here now, the bravery to defy an angel, to say that it was wrong, that you didn’t want them around anymore.

The sky crackled with lightening, and Keigo’s wings filled out, full of sharp, dangerous feathers. You had wondered about the color, why they were red instead of white, but as it began to rain, the red sloughed off, dripping to the ground in thick rivulets.

His blood-red wings were colored with the spatter of the sins he’d committed. But Keigo never talked about his sins, never about heaven.

Now he did, shouting at you with his thunderous voice, telling you of the lengths he had gone to in ensuring his existence in your life. How he’d begged at the feet of God to be allowed to show himself to you, to express the desire growing inside of his traitorousus body.

How he’d been shamed, shunned.

He’d shown himself to you anyway, took each reprimand in stride. When another angel had been assigned to you after the golden one’s confession, Keigo had broken, fought with teeth and claws.

The blood of his brothers tainted his wings.

So much had been sacrificed to stand by your side.

There had been no grand plan, Keigo had seen you and knew he wasn’t like the other angels. He was different, able to feel and touch and learn.

The two of you scream at each other, you spitting hateful things, how you wish he would leave you alone.

Keigo doesn’t care, you’ve made him feel and he’s not letting that go.

Lightening strikes a tree and it erupts into flames, and the tears running down your face are hidden by the pelting rain.

You hate him, he scares you.

It’s said out loud, and the angel stops in his tracks, looking at you with emotions you can’t begin to understand.

He leaves in a rush, his wings still stained red despite the cleansing water streaming along them.

——-

Keigo leaves you alone.

Your flowers start blooming again, even without the addictive presence of a holy angel.

The freckles dotting your skin fade, and you don’t mind, you don’t miss the marks that litter your thighs, your chest, the marks you’d never allowed to be made.

Life is okay again. You can breathe.

“It’s cold again and I miss you” His voice makes you drop the glass in your hands, and it shatters against the floor.

His wings materialize for a second, red as blood, dripping.

But then the angel is waving his hand, and the shards of glass on the ground are gone, the puddle of water, his wet wings.

Keigo has something to say to you, and he wants you to listen.

“I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you. But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t - I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while.” He keeps stepping closer to you, until he’s in your space, heavenly body inches from your own. He feels like marble, a chill emanating from his golden skin.

“More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting out the things on the edge of my tongue, the things I’d never said, even though it was something I knew well enough without me saying it out loud to you like this….. which is, of course, I love you”

“This won’t work, Keigo.” You explain, voice small. “We aren’t the same. I have someone out there meant for me, and it isn’t you.”

He frowns, takes your hand in his, interlaces your fingers. The angel presses a kiss to your knuckles, the same as he did the first time you met him.

“If soulmates do exist, they’re made, not found. You build a relationship with the person that makes your heart happy. I demand the labor of love so that I may make it. Craft so that I may make it art. So that I may make it mine.“

You don’t get any more say in the matter.

-----

His love is all consuming.

It grows and burns with each moment he spends with you, leeching off of your warmth.

People often don’t notice the little, gradual problems.

They don’t notice until the problem becomes unfixable.

[lesetoilesfous]

Sending you a prompt from the Bad Things Happen Bingo! I'd be interested to see what you do with "Defeated and Trophified", for either a negative Handers OR an Evil M!Hawke. Thank you! <3

Oooh thank you so much, I hope you enjoy!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Pairing: dark, abusive Handers

Characters: Garrett Hawke, Anders, Alistair Theirin

Tags: post da2, evil Hawke, implied abusive relationship

Rating: Mature

The new viscount of Kirkwall has made changes at the Keep, and indeed in the city in general. No longer are there any mages to be found anywhere, not even in the city-state’s infamous Gallows. Alistair had been struck by how few staves he’d seen anywhere as a result. He realises that he’d just sort of got used to apostates and presumably-legal Circle mages wandering throughout Fereldan. The absence of them here in Kirkwall is, well, stark. But Alistair is a king, and visiting his new trading partner is not the most burdensome of his many, many responsibilities, so he takes a deep breath and tries not to think about Kelton Amell, and climbs the stairs towards the viscount’s personal offices.

A servant who looks pale and frightened and flinches far too easily for Alistair’s comfort dips him a low, low bow and swings the door open on perfectly oiled hinges. Everywhere, the Amell family crest bleeds in red lines beside the emblem of the city of chains. Everything is spotless and silent, and even the air tastes clean, somehow - perfumed with what tastes to Alistair like elfroot and spindleweed. He’s led, with his retainers, into a large room with a long, beautiful dark wooden table. Behind it the Viscount of Kirkwall: muscular, broad, handsome Garrett Hawke, sits in state wearing an iron crown. Behind him, standing demurely with his hands folded and his head lowered, is the apostate who blew up the Chantry.

The first thing Alistair can find to think is that he recognises this man. He remembers gently encouraging Kelton to recruit him, almost a decade ago in Amaranthine. A young, frightened man whose brave face warred with his real horror at what the Templar order wished to do with him.

The second thing Alistair notices is the collar. It’s not ostentatious - of course not, if there’s one thing Alistair has learned from the immaculate Keep and the deathly silent streets, it’s that the man sitting in front of him does not go in for the obvious. But it’s a collar all the same: a thin, beautiful bar of rolled gold which hangs like a necklace around the apostate’s neck, darkened with dozens and dozens of finely engraved runes that makes it look stained black like an antique. Thin gold chains dip below the apostate’s neckline, under the loose, beautiful deep green silk tunic he’s wearing. There are matching, thick gold cuffs wrapped around each of his wrists. Alistair can’t see his feet from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t doubt there are cuffs there too. He swallows his bile, and refocuses his attention.

Hawke doesn’t bother to stand, which is technically a formal insult, but Alistair suspects it won’t be the last thing he tolerates today in the name of preventing open war. Instead he inclines his head, and waves at the frightened servant to pull out a chair. The servant does so, and Alistair thanks them softly, not missing the way Hawke’s mouth turns down in a sneer. The apostate behind the viscount, (the grey warden), says nothing. Alistair can barely believe he’s breathing, for how silent he’s being.

Hawke leans forward. “King Theirin. Such a pleasure to have your company so soon after our...troubles.” Behind Hawke, the apostate flinches, so subtly Alistair can hardly believe he noticed it. But Hawke’s jaw clenches, and the apostate’s already pale skin pales further.

Alistair thinks about facing down a broodmother and sits a little straighter in his chair. “Of course, Viscount. I was sorry to hear the news of your predecessor, and,” Alistair pauses, picking his words as carefully as stepping between landmines, “...confused by Knight-Commander Meredith’s interim occupation.”

Hawke laughs, and again, the apostate flinches. “Yes, well, Stannard always did have delusions of grandeur. But she wasn’t wrong about the mage problem. Worse than a nest of plague-ridden rats in this city and just as rotten. It was poisoning us from the inside out.”

Alistair lets the comment past him, and keeps his features neutral. He’d gotten good at this, as a child, under Isolde’s harassment. He asks, neutrally, as politely as he can, “Is it true, then? That you took part in the annulment personally?”

Again, Hawke laughs. Alistair feels a thorny kind of heat coiling in his chest. Hawke says, “Damned right I did. I was the only one left in the Blighted city with the fucking guts. Got every apostate too - all the criminals and infected children. I lanced the boil that this city had become and I burned out every bit of rot. Except this one,” Hawke gestures to the apostate behind him, then looks back at Alistair with a wide smile of perfect teeth, “But he’s pretty.”

Alistair fantasises about breaking his nose. Instead, he follows Hawke’s gesture to look up at the tall, broad man beside him. He’s older than he was, when Alistair had met him, lines printed across his face in deep crevasses. But he’s clean shaven, and his hair is brushed and soft around his head. Alistair listens to his own racing heartbeat for a moment before he speaks. “I heard he was a Grey Warden.”

Hawke’s eyes narrow, and there’s a flash of something there in the brown and gold of his irises that reminds Alistair terribly of the bird after which his family took its name. Something bloodthirsty, and cruel. “Like you? I told Vael, and the blighted Divine, Anders stays here. He’s mine.”

Alistair raises his hands in surrender and wonders whether Hawke can see that his palms are sweating. “Of course! Wouldn’t dream of separating you. It was only innocent curiosity. Now, I believe you have a Fereldan apostate to deliver to me?”

The blatant threat on Hawke’s face melts into a smirk, and he leans back in his chair. Behind him, Anders, the apostate’s shoulders lower, fractionally. Hawke clicks his fingers at the servant, and a few minutes later there’s the clatter of armour as a pair of templars bring in a wounded, starved looking elvhen girl.

Alistair thinks hard about exactly how much worse war would be for all his people and truly, deeply hates being king. Hawke gets up, circling the table to lift the girl’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. She glares at him, and Alistair hates that he’s heartened by this remaining spirit.

But then Hawke looks at the apostate in the corner and lifts his hand. The gold ring on his wedding finger, similarly blackened with runes, burns red, and Anders flinches as the jewellery on his wrists and neck glow, too. All Hawke says is, “Anders.”

The apostate moves faster than Alistair thinks he could have followed even if he were prepared for it. His hand flicks, and a silent bolt of lightning crosses the space of Hawke’s private quarters and connects with the girl’s skull. Her body slumps almost immediately, shuddering in a death rattle that is all too familiar to Alistair. He makes an effort to close his open mouth, and for the first time gives up the poker face.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Hawke smiles at him, close lipped and shrewd. “A lesson, your majesty. We won’t tolerate apostates in Kirkwall. Try to keep them on your side of the ocean.”

Alistair looks up at the apostate, Anders, but his hands are already folded in front of him again, his head bowed. Alistair swallows past the dryness of his mouth and the thick lump in his throat, and gets to his feet with an agonisingly loud screech of the wooden chair legs on stone.”Well, Viscount. It’s certainly been...educational.”

Alistair turns and tries not to imagine the entire darkspawn horde at his heels. Hawke doesn’t stand, and his pet apostate doesn’t move. But when Alistair gets to the door, Hawke speaks again. “Come back any time, your majesty. Anders can do wonderful things with his hands.”

Alistair doesn’t turn around. The doors swing shut behind them, and both the Keep’s guards and two servants usher them forward. But Alistair hesitates, listening for a moment.

Through the wooden doors, there’s a crack of skin on skin, and a soft cry of pain. Softly, deadly, Alistair hears the Viscount whisper, “Killed her quickly, didn’t you? Any suffering you spared her I’ll deal you, later.”

Alistair doesn’t realised he’s curled his fingers into a fist until one of his guard’s touches his forearm, her eyes wide with either fear or concern. Slowly, Alistair uncurls his hand, listening to the crunch of metal, and follows the soldiers and servants out of the Keep. He makes a mental note to write Zevran, later.

There’s a warden in need, and a state leader in desperate want of assassination.

[subbing-for-clones]

She Who Walks the Line Between Part 3

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Word Count: 2682

WARNINGS: blood, fluffy fluff starts picking up

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       The few hours of sleep he was able to achieve were filled with nightmares that consisted of his memories returning. His life played out behind his eyelids charging his sadness, terror and his fury. Yet before his mind could plummet to unreachable depths, he sensed a calming presence in the back of his mind. A hand that reached out for him to hold onto. He had no idea that during his rest he became quite vocal and Y/N stood in his doorway using the force to ease him back into a relaxed state. Pulling him further away from the unseen dangers that threatened to pull him down and drown him.

    He woke with a start, not remembering where he was. His first thought was why it didn’t smell like fire and burning fuels mixed with humid gasses. When he felt his legs shift under the blankets the events that took place yesterday flooded back to the forefront of his memory. He smelled the sweet sugary aroma of a plate towering with baked apples and honeyed meat sitting on his night stand but before he indulged his groaning stomach, movement from outside the window caught his eye. It was his savior.

    Not covered in the same make of dress she wore yesterday. Today she adorned a fitted white cloth binding across her chest and beige trousers that bagged around her thighs but were tight just below her knees. Barefooted, she dual wielded white lightsabers in the Ataru style. Dodging quickly and lunging aggressively toward an invisible attacker. Gracefully she connected the two sabers so they appeared to be a single double sided weapon. Twirling them so quickly and dancing on her feet so lightly his eyes had trouble keeping up. She was working through forms he both recognized and ones he had never seen before. He could see a light glimmer of sweat slicked across her form catching in the early morning sunlight. She must have been training for hours already. Strands of hair falling out of the bun she had tied up to keep the majority of her locks out of her eyeline.

    He took and ate the breakfast she prepared slowly, studying her through the glass with admiration. Obviously satisfied with her efforts she hung her now sheathed sabers from the gate and tended the goats and chickens within the pen. Despite her hostile training they were calm and trotted up to her as she passed through the gate. He watched her feed the animals and her mouth form words he couldn't hear, assuming they were praises as they danced around her.

 ~~~~~

      The next two weeks were more of the same every day. You meditated and trained in the mornings before tending to your animals. You knew his eyes were on you while he ate the food you always left for him, always watching. You feigned ignorance and never mentioned that you caught him staring, surprising yourself with the fact that you kind of liked the attention. When you had finished your morning routine you would find him dressed in his room practicing the basic movements and exercises you assigned to him for his physical therapy. Satisfied he was actually doing them you would go shower and dressing in your usual slitted dresses that you preferred.

    You would eat again together and continue helping him work his legs. After the first few days he joined you in your afternoon meditation followed by more exercises or flipping through one of your many books, light music always on in the background. The longer he was in your care the softer his eyes looked, the stronger his legs got and he came to be more comfortable in your proximity. You had both gotten used to one another's company. You had spent so much time alone on this planet you had forgotten what it was like to have a companion. A rather agreeable one at that. It was nice.

 ~~~~~

      Now able to walk on his own with only the help from a cane he joined Y/N outside every morning. Still unable to train as she did, he practiced walking around the pen surrounded by the animals. He could see a smile grace her lips when he interacted gently with them. When she had finished, she strode over to him leaning up against the fence with her arms crossed and her brows furrowed.

"What is it?" He asked, honey eyes filled with concern that he had upset her somehow. He tended to revert back to the frightened apprentice she realized he had been at one point in his life if she wasn’t careful. Despite the fact that he had never one been the cause of even a slight frustration within her.

"I have to leave for a day or two, stock up on some things this planet doesn't have. I need you to stay here, I fear a storm is coming and I don't want to leave the animals unattended. Would you be alright with that?”

Sighing with relief he agreed and watched as she boarded her ship and took off.

      The next day after she had left, he must have looked up to the sky every hour impatiently waiting for her to return. He ate much less without her, swearing to himself that it didn't taste as good if it didn't come from her hands. He did however keep up with his exercises and spent much of his free time with the goats and chickens. That night he had even more trouble falling asleep than he usually did; missing her company. After tossing and turning until daybreak he made a daring move, striding toward Y/N's room without his cane for the first time.

    He had never been inside of it but he had caught glances after noticing she had been sleeping with her door open, starting a few days after his arrival. Sheer white curtains hung in front of the transparasteel panes that overlooked the garden. Like the rest of the house, not a single chronometer in sight. The need to keep time didn't really exist in this place, he enjoyed that small detail over the past few weeks. It was starkly different from how he was raised, every moment of every day planned down to the second. Even a slight deviation always resulting with a beating. He had to keep reminding himself that she was not his master. When he did forget she would always lend a kind reminder she was master of nothing and no one.

    The pine-colored rug under foot was exceptionally plush and extended across most of the floor, the polished dark wooden flooring peeking out only around the edges of the room. A long desk was situated beneath the large viewport. Atop it lay several data-tapes and empty books. She must be copying the information by hand he assessed. Actual paper writing was extremely rare and her home was filled with paper sheeted books bound in various leathers. One of the books sat open with a pen resting on it, the entry was short but he loved seeing her handwriting nonetheless. Without lifting the journal, he stood and read the page entry, curiosity getting the better of him.

Maul- Day 17:

‘He is recovering faster than I had originally anticipated but I am also not surprised. He has to be strong to have survived as long as he did on his own in the condition he came to me in. Already walking on his own supported only by a cane by day 10. He is gaining weight slowly but is starting to look healthier. He will snap back quickly once he can walk on his own again, unaided by a crutch. His eyes aren’t nearly as blood shot and the lighter shade of color in his horns and nails indicates he is getting proper nutrients and that his hormones have balanced out.

His mind seems to be healing as well, I haven't asked about his memories but I know they come in the form of nightmares. He responds well to my attempts to calm him in his sleep. They still come every night but he has gone from an excessive number of fits to only two or three a night. He is still wildly unbalanced but the scale is starting to tip in the right direction. I have come to realize that I enjoy his presence. He seems to be more comfortable with small talk. I like his voice, alas my mind wanders.’

    Maul hobbled over to her bed and hesitantly laid down on top of it not daring to mess up the bedding too much. Several realizations crossing his mind. One, she had actually come to care for him as he was starting to care for her. Two, he learned why she slept with her door open now. His hearts raced at the thought of her standing in his doorway calming him while he slept. Three, she liked his voice. He had always been scolded if he spoke unnecessarily, taught to be silent as shadows. But she liked his voice. He could smell her on her pillows, a sweet earthy scent that lingered in his nose. Very quickly sleep took him.

    He awoke that evening as the sun was starting to set to the sound of thunder ripping through the sky. His belly growled, he had grown accustomed to several meals a day and his hunger had caught up to him. Being sure to straighten out the blankets on her bed he stood and made his way to the kitchen. Opening the cooler for the first time, he found a plate with a large cooked steak and a note.

‘You had better eat this before I return. You have to eat even if I'm not there. -Y/N’

    He smiled at her sentiment. As usual with everything she made, it was like ambrosia in his mouth. The moment he finished eating he sensed the animals were distressed. Not bringing his cane he made his way slowly outside to the barn. The rain came down almost violently, lightning streaking across the now black sky while thunder crashed angrily.

    He was soaking wet by the time he got inside to check the animals who were immediately calmed when they saw him. Sighing he sat in the middle of the floor and began his meditation to stave away his and their anxiety of the storm. He had hoped she wasn't flying in this but she was already away longer than she said she'd be. That didn't help the knot of worry growing in his belly.

 ~~~~~

      When you came out of hyperspace and entered the atmosphere you realized you must have put the coordinates in a digit off. You were on the wrong side of the planet, jungle stretched out as far as you could see. This wouldn’t be the first time you had accidently come home in the wrong hemisphere. You sighed at your own antics. It was too dangerous to fly back out to space so you had to navigate through the storm down here. Your ship seemed to attract the lightning but you managed to sense it a split second before it struck, narrowly dodging the persistent bolts. Before long you could just make out the break that gave way to the grasslands. You started lowering out of the sky but were distracted to see Maul coming out of the barn. It was just a moment of distraction but an important moment, you didn't sense the lightning. You were struck and it killed the power sending you nose first straight into the soil with a loud crash. Your vision blacked out after hitting your head on impact knocking you unconscious.

 ~~~~~

 No...NO... fuck.

Maul watched as the bolt hit her ship and she crashed out in the field. Eyes wide with panic he ran as fast as his new legs would carry, almost giving out several times before he reached the fallen ship. He raised his arms, using the force for the first time in weeks he opened the door and lowering the ramp. It didn't reach the ground due to the crafts hazardous angle. Force jumping inside he landed on his feet with a shocking pain that radiated through his torso. Snarling he made his way to the cockpit where he found her starting to wake up.

 ~~~~~

 You felt strong hands on your arms gently squeezing, you sighed into the touch rubbing your head and your eyes. When they finally opened the first thing you saw were two brightly glowing golden orbs. Rubbing your eyes again, your vision fully returning, you realized they belonged to a very worried looking Zabrack. Who was covered in...straw?

    Remembering what distracted you in the first place you burst into laughter. Hard, rolling laughter.

    The worry on his face shifted into confusion. He slowly wiped the blood off your temple from where you hit your head. Then he lifted you bridal style and started walking out of the ship. Finding a new reserve of strength and determination he carried you all the way to your home. Although you stopped laughing you still giggled, picking pieces of straw off the back of his tunic. Finally realizing what you found so amusing he smiled, "the storm scared the goats so I meditated with them. I ended up falling asleep out there."

    He now stood in the living room, still in his arms you replied, "I kind figured as much." You pressed your forehead to his for a moment, butterflies dancing in both of your stomachs. He set you down on the couch slowly and fetched a cool wet cloth. Tenderly, he dabbed at the cut. You watched him closely, a slight blush fanning across your cheeks. He was so soft, so careful in this moment, so near you, a stark comparison to the man who had first landed in your field not long ago.

    He heard your heartbeat quicken and saw your blush, causing his face to deepen slightly along with yours. Quickly he stood, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck looking anywhere but at you. "I think you'll be alright," he stammered. "It's just a shallow laceration."

    You also stood, inches from him. He was taller than you were, not by much, but it was noticeable when you were this close to his body. "I could've told you that but noooo you had to cast aside your cane and come to the rescue... Thank you." You batted your long eyelashes at him and he gulped, gaze not leaving your own this time.

"I have a present for you."

"You do?" He asked now distracted from your devilishly plump lips.

"Yeah, quick stop on Naboo, few broken necks, spines and bribes later aaaaaaand.." you reached behind your back unclipping a third lightsaber from your belt. Still rough where it had been sliced in half you presented it to him. "Tada!"

"You did this for me?" He asked slowly taking it in his hands. It seemed.. heavier than he remembered. But it was his.

"Yes I did,” you stated matter-o-factly. Now that your obviously strong enough not only to walk but to carry me across the field, like the damsel in distress that I was, covered in straw no less. We will start training together. But for now, I'm exhausted. It's the middle of the night and I've had a maker damned day." You took a chance and leaned up into him, pressing your lips against his cheekbone with your hands on his chest, holding them there for a few seconds you felt him go ridged.

    Turning on the ball of your foot you wandered back into your bedroom. "Goodnight Maul." You called without turning to see his reaction.

    He held the place on his cheek where your kiss landed just before, mind reeling and melting at the same time. "Goodnight Y/N," he murmured. Not leaving his spot.

[spacedancer1701]

Only a Call Away (on Valentine’s Day)

A Star Trek Fic

Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series (TOS), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (AOS) Pairing: McCoy x Original Female Character (Dr. Jennifer Hope) Characters: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Jenny Hope Rating/Warnings: Explicit (M) Tags: Romance, Love, Smut and Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content Word Count: 2,798

Read it on AO3: Only a Call Away (on Valentine’s Day)      

Summary:

McCoy is away at a conference on Valentine's Day, but Hope won't let that stop them from having an unforgettable and very intimate evening nevertheless.

Or simply put: another (missing) Hope and McCoy smut scene.

(Although you don’t have to be familiar with my other Hope/McCoy stories to enjoy this little one-shot.)

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

Jenny cast a loving glance at the beautiful red roses on her desk, before leaving her office to get ready for the surprise she’d planned for Leonard. Today was Valentine’s Day on Earth, and the Enterprise was buzzing with people preparing for cosy dinners or poring over mysterious cards and messages.

Unfortunately, Leonard was away at a conference, hence the roses and a lovely card promising to make it up to her. So typical of the doctor. As if being away on Valentine’s Day had been his choice. Or his fault. But Jenny was going to make sure that it would be an unforgettable Valentine’s Day for both of them nevertheless.

Changing out of her uniform and stepping into the shower, she felt heat rise to her cheeks just thinking about what she had planned. She couldn't remember the last time seeing Leonard had made her nervous, but tonight, it certainly did. Because tonight, she intended to fulfil one of his secret desires. At least she hoped so.

And with him being so far away this Valentine’s Day, it was the perfect opportunity to get over herself and make this particular dream come true for him.

And with him being so far away this Valentine’s Day, it was the perfect opportunity to get over herself and make this particular dream come true for him.

And with him being so far away this Valentine’s Day, it was the perfect opportunity to get over herself and make this particular dream come true for him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Hi there, love,” McCoy smiled, sitting on the bed in his hotel room, his back comfortably propped against the headboard, as he transferred the call to the bigger screen on the wall, then did a classic double take. “Oh, wow, you look stunning! Are you expecting company?”

He was joking, of course, but couldn't deny actually feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy, seeing Hope wearing nothing but a flimsy see-through nightie without him there on Valentine’s Day. What if someone came to see her in their quarters? Had she even remembered to lock the door?

“All just for you, Leonard,” she laughed, giving a little twirl showing off her alluring body, before draping herself seductively across their bed. “It is Valentine’s Day after all.”

“Are you trying to kill me, love?” he groaned, desire and lust pooling in his groin at the incredible sight before him, his uniform pants suddenly seeming painfully tight.

“Actually, this is part of my Valentine’s gift to you,” she giggled, doing a teasing little shimmy into the camera.

The doctor couldn't suppress a low grunt, almost exploding with desire and the frustration of not being able to touch her. Hope knew exactly the effect she had on him, and she was obviously enjoying this.

“Why don’t you get a little more comfortable?” she suggested, innocently batting her eyelashes at him. “Maybe get rid of all those constricting clothes?”

“Stop the teasing, woman,” McCoy growled as he shrugged off his shirt and removed his pants, then settled back on the bed, satisfied to see the longing he felt mirrored in her eyes now, too.

“Do you remember when you were at this symposium a few months back?” Hope asked, her voice deep and sultry.

“How could I not?” he responded, a little damp patch forming on his briefs as he felt his manhood twitching excitedly at the memory. “It was the hottest night I’ve ever spent away from you.”

Hope gave him a smouldering look, her lips curling into a naughty little smile.

“Is that what this is about, love?” it suddenly hit him, a bout of intense yearning surging through him. “Would you like me to talk to you like that again? I knew you secretly loved it, even though you wouldn’t admit it, acting all coy and bashful. Did you think I wouldn’t notice how much it turned you on? Or that I’d forget how many times I made you come just with my words that night?”

“Not just your words, Leonard,” Hope added softly, her adorable blush and shy little smile setting his nether regions on fire. “You know exactly what your voice does to me.”

“My voice, you say?” McCoy drawled, savouring the way she closed her eyes, her body gently writhing on the bed. “So you wouldn’t mind listening to me for a while now?”

“I certainly wouldn’t,” she smirked, “but I was actually thinking of going first today. The other part of my Valentine’s gift, so to speak.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

“You mean, you…” the doctor left the sentence unfinished, his eyes growing wide and a soft moan escaping him as his hand moved down his body where Jenny couldn't see it anymore.

I’ve managed to surprise him all right, Jenny thought giddily, her own desire growing as she noticed his breathing pick up and his eyes flutter shut.

“Oh my God,” McCoy gasped, the longing and eagerness in his voice going straight to her core, “you sure?”

“Only if you’d like it, of course,” Jenny smiled, trying not to let her insecurity show.

“Like it?” he chuckled, opening his eyes again and looking at her with a tenderness that melted her heart. “Good God, girl! I’ve been dreaming about this ever since our very first night. Nothing hotter than you talking dirty!”

The doctor let out a groan that sent a wave of burning need from between Jenny’s legs up to her chest.

“Jesus, remember that café where we had breakfast the morning after?” McCoy went on breathlessly. “You said something like ‘make-up sex is supposed to be the best’, and that was all it took to make me want to rip your clothes off and take you again right there and then. It’s driving me crazy just thinking about it now.”

“Then you’d better buckle up,” Jenny grinned mischievously, “because I sure hope that with you as my teacher, my skills have improved a little since then.”

Up to that moment, she hadn’t been sure if her plan to surprise Leonard with dirty talk was really a good idea. Much as she loved to hear it from him, she’d always felt silly talking like that herself. It just didn’t come naturally to her. But seeing his eager reaction, she felt much more confident now.

-x-x-x-x-x-

McCoy squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips tightly together, frantically trying to quell his arousal before he lost control. Just hearing Hope talk about dirty talk did it for him, and he definitely didn’t want to tumble over the edge just yet. She’d just offered to do what he’d been fantasising about for the longest time, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to spoil her – and his – fun.

God, she was a never-ending well of surprises. The sweetest, hottest, most amazing woman a man could wish for. He’d felt so guilty and sad for abandoning her on Valentine’s Day, but Hope wouldn’t be Hope if she hadn’t found a way to turn what he considered a disappointment into a memorable occasion.

“Keep your eyes closed, Leonard,” her voice, soft and low, brought him back to the present. “Can you feel my lips on yours? Kissing down your chin, tracing your jawline, nibbling down your throat, your chest? Mmmmmmh, my fingers softly playing with the hair on your chest while my teeth and tongue gently tease your nipples? The left one first, then the right one?”

The doctor moaned and hummed, almost feeling her lips and teeth and tongue on his skin. Wondering when Hope had gone from someone too shy to talk dirty to someone nearly making him shoot his load at the first word.

“Feel me tenderly kiss my way further down your stomach, your belly…” she went on, her voice getting huskier as her own arousal seemed to increase along with his.

He had to reach down and firmly grip the base of his rock-hard member, which was straining painfully against his briefs, hoping to stave off his fast building orgasm.

“You’ll have to be my hands now, Leonard,” Hope told him, her melodic voice reaching him through a haze of unbridled lust and burning desire. “Help me strip you of your briefs, so that I can see you in your full glory and touch you the way I know you love.”

McCoy clasped his erection, almost bursting with need and desire, Hope’s voice edging him on and nearly driving him out of his mind.

“Feel my hands where you want them most, gently playing with your balls, firmly stroking up and down your shaft. Up and down, ever so slowly, while my tongue starts circling your crown. Lightly, exploringly. Mmmmmh… you’re oozing desire, and I love how you taste.”

“Easy, Jenny,” the doctor ground out. “I’m getting too close.”

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked abruptly, sounding a little embarrassed, and the doctor felt immediately bad for interrupting her while at the same time grateful to feel his arousal abate a little.

“I just need you to go easy, love,” he explained, trying to catch his breath. “Unfortunately, unlike you, I can’t come twenty times in half as many minutes, and I don’t want this to be over too soon.”

“I’m doing all right then?” Hope giggled happily, and he felt his heart swell with overwhelming tenderness at the joyful pride in her voice.

“All right is definitely not the term I’d use,” he chuckled. “More like phenomenal. Just like everything else you do.”

She was so incredibly sweet. He knew how shy she was when it came to dirty talk. Or rather sexy talk in her case – nothing dirty about it. While she would open herself up to him in every other way, give herself to him completely, she’d always been uncomfortable putting her feelings during sex, her wishes and desires, into words.

And yet, she’d done it for him today. Even though he knew she’d much rather do all those things to him than talk about them in such detail. The things she did to make him happy. He’d never understand why she’d chosen to love him of all people, but he thanked the powers that be every single day for being so blessed.

Hope had really just got into the swing of things when he’d stopped her, and he could hear her struggling to find the right words to get back to it now.

“Want me to take over?” he asked, taking pity on her, and almost laughed out loud at the sheer relief on her face, as she tried to casually nod and shrug.

No matter how much her ‘dirty talk’ had turned him on, it had nothing on the way his heart filled with love at simply watching Hope being Hope.

“All right, then,” McCoy smiled, “lie back down, close your eyes, and I’ll tell you what I’d like us to do next.”

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Okay,” Jenny agreed a little hesitantly.

She’d really wanted tonight to be all about him. But seeing as she’d brought him to the edge in practically no time, and feeling mighty proud about it, she understood that he wanted to draw out the experience as long as he could.

Besides, she couldn't deny feeling a little relieved to let him continue. What was so intensely stimulating coming from him, still sounded a little awkward coming out of her mouth.

“I wish you knew how much I love you, Jenny,” the doctor broke into her thoughts, and she could feel the warmth of his affection even across the distance. “Every time I think I couldn't love you more, you go and prove me wrong.”

“I feel exactly the same, Leonard,” she smiled, “and I can’t wait to have you back here and feel you for real.”

“Well, let’s make the most of it until then,” he replied softly, and she could practically hear the naughty grin spreading across his face without even looking up. “After what you just made me feel, let’s see, if I’ve still got it, too!”

Of course, he’d still got it, no doubt about that, Jenny thought fondly, feeling her panties growing damp just with the thrill of anticipation.

“Normally, I’d love to go down on you now,” McCoy drawled, and Jenny immediately felt her juices starting to flow and drench her panties, “savouring the taste of your wetness, exploring every little fold and crevice with my tongue, finding your little jewel and spending a looong time caressing it with just the tip of my tongue, nibbling on it, gently sucking on it with my lips, maybe carefully tease it a little with my teeth, before licking you to your first climax. The first of maaany.”

Jenny was rapidly losing all sense of time and space, her fingers frenziedly trying to put Leonard’s words into action, if only in a poor imitation of what the real thing would have felt like, the doctor’s erotic voice and the way he drew out his vowels exciting her no end.

“But,” McCoy continued softly, clearly enjoying teasing her, but audibly turned on immensely now, too, “I’m still teetering on the edge you’ve just put me on, and I honestly don’t know how much longer I can last. In fact, I’ll have to find some way to actively block out this memory after tonight, or I’ll have to spend the rest of the symposium in permanent arousal.”

That did it. The idea of her words having aroused him so helplessly sent her freefalling into her first, tremendous orgasm of the night, gasping and moaning, her body spasming in delicious release, Leonard’s flushed face, scrunched up as he tried not to follow her over the edge just yet, somewhere at the periphery of her lust-clouded vision.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Watching Hope tumbling over the edge like that was beyond words. There was no greater turn-on than knowing he had the power to ‘pleasure her to pieces’, an expression she had once used in an attempt to try and describe what his touch was doing to her, and which had struck him as exactly what he wanted to do.

McCoy was usually quite good at keeping his own arousal at bay to give Hope as much pleasure as possible. But after how she’d set him on fire earlier, his endurance was weakened, and his desire overwhelming. There was no way he could last much longer, he was already fit to burst.

So the doctor waited just long enough for Hope to recover a little, then asked, “What would you like me to do now, love? I’m pretty sure I’m going to join you the next time already.”

That elicited a wicked grin from her, the idea of having aroused him beyond control seeming quite a turn-on.

“If you were here, I think I’d really love to feel you inside me, now, Leonard,” she breathed, her cheeks glowing as she looked at him from lowered lids.

“And how exactly would you go about that?” he wanted to know, feeling a new pool of lust forming in his groin.

“I’d straddle you,” she replied softly, indulging his wish to coax some more dirty-talk out of her, “push my panties a little to the side, and slowly rub myself against your hardness while softly nibbling on your neck.”

Hearing her words, the doctor involuntarily started to grind his hips, the movement as well as his breathing growing erratic when Hope teasingly added, “You know, that little spot right behind your ear, that makes you break out in goose bumps and gets you mewling.”

Dear God, she’s good! McCoy thought, feeling the big O building at warp speed, powerless to delay his climax any longer.

“I’m so wet and ready for you,” Hope moaned, and seeing her fingering herself as frenziedly as he was jerking off now, was almost more than he could take.

“Nearly there,” the doctor gasped.

And when Hope whimpered, “Grab my hips, bury your face between my breasts, and let me ride you to the most spectacular orgasm you ever had,” her body arching and spasming as her own climax rippled through her, it only took one more thrust into his hand for him to explode into easily one of the most spectacular orgasms of his life, just as Hope had wanted him to.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Three days later, McCoy was finally back on the Enterprise, lying in bed and tenderly holding his darling Hope, fast asleep in his arms after reliving their Valentine’s fantasy for real.

The doctor was under no illusion that her talking dirty would become a regular thing between them. And that was all right. It just wasn’t her. Besides, it wasn’t important. Making love to her was beyond compare even without. But she’d indulge him again every now and then, he knew her that well. And those rare occasions would be infinitely sweet.

************ Disclaimer: Nothing of or associated with Star Trek is mine – it all belongs to Paramount / ViacomCBS (or whoever else is currently holding the rights). This is a work of fanfiction, no infringement intended.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Small Things

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil

More self indulgent Scott&Gordon fluff because I can and because this scene’s been living in my head rent-free for the past week or so.  Might be the last thing I write for a while, because uni’s just decided to let me know I need to do 390 hours of independent study for a single module with the deadline in eight weeks, and if you’re any good at maths you’ll realise there’s a problem there (alternatively, stress might drive me to writing loads like January; we’ll see).  There are implications of some level of depression in here, so watch out for that.

When an injury leaves Scott unable to do even the most simple things for himself and accordingly frustrated, it takes a brother who understands what it’s like to halt the slippery slope.

Scott was no stranger to injuries, or the frustration of the recovery period.  He’d broken bones, torn open skin, and endured worse still, but that never made it easier – and definitely not this time.  This time, he was arguably mostly intact, and yet found himself helpless nonetheless.

Burnt palms – both of them, and fingers to boot – meant he couldn’t do even the simplest of tasks by himself.  Couldn’t dress himself, couldn’t eat, couldn’t do anything except wait for them to heal as he watched his brothers keep going out on rescues without him.

His family did what they could, Virgil in particular weathering the storm of his frustrations when they spilled over, but no matter how many little gadgets Brains designed to try and give him at least some independence, the fact still remained that he was useless and helpless.

Virgil was conked out on the couch, dead to the world despite his attempts to stave off exhaustion with caffeine in order to keep Scott company as he watched yet another movie – the only activity he seemed to be able to do without help. He’d wake up later, apologetic for passing out as though he hadn’t been on back-to-back rescues with any downtime swallowed up by fussing over his currently-helpless big brother, but for the moment, Scott was more than happy to let him sleep.

Not only did he need it, but the constant smothering was wearing thin.  Scott was active, self-reliant and tireless.  Even the most well-meaning assistance from Virgil – the one that helped him dress, cut his food, and all the other mundane tasks suddenly beyond his capabilities – was grating.  He’d already snapped at him a few times, the most recent of which had been in response to a suggestion he did his hair, moments before John had called in another rescue and Virgil had had to leave before Scott could swallow down the ire, leaving him wallowing in guilt for several hours until he’d returned, dirty and exhausted but still patiently trying to help.

It was an honest relief to see his brother sleeping, even if it left Scott balled up on his own couch, trying to ignore the bandages wrapped around his hands and focus on the movie. He was failing miserably, all too aware that the healing process was still in the early stages and that it would be several more days before he could even think of using his hands. Even with the regularly-applied gel, they still hurt.

The movie was, in theory, one of his favourites.  Virgil’s choice, after he’d huffed when asked if he wanted to choose.  Right then, he just wanted to turn it off and-

The holoprojection paused, right in the middle of one of his normally-favourite scenes, and he blinked. That hadn’t been his doing. Despite Brains’ best efforts, telekinesis was still eluding him.

“Hey, Scott.”  He turned his head to see Gordon jump down into the den. “Reckon you can do something for me?”

Scott held up his hands, in case Gordon had somehow forgotten.  “No.  Get Alan to help you with whatever it is.”

“Gotta be you, bro,” Gordon insisted, catching his wrists and tugging insistently.  “You don’t need your hands for this.”

Despite himself, Scott found that he was intrigued.  The promise of being able to do something was a powerful allure.  “What is it?”

“C’mon,” Gordon insisted in leu of answering, and warning bells rang even as his younger brother successfully pulled him to his feet.  Agreeing to help before hearing the details was always a no with this particular brother.  His appetite for pranks was insatiable, and sometimes his timing left something to be desired. Scott couldn’t handle a prank. Not right now.

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

“Trust me,” his brother replied.  Two words that often came with warning bells.  Scott knew Gordon, though.  Knew when trust me meant imminent pranking and warned that he should be running, and when he could genuinely trust whatever plan his brother had concocted. This was the latter, full sincerity with a hint of a plea behind it.

Trust was important in their family.  It had to be, for International Rescue to work.  Gordon knew that as well as any of them, and when he used that voice, it was always true.  Whatever he had planned, he believed it wouldn’t negatively impact Scott.

He sighed, and let his shoulders sag, feeling the tension start to seep away.  “Where are we going?”

Gordon’s hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him gently through the house.  Towards the bedrooms, and Scott stumbled to a halt when Gordon stopped outside his room.  Of all the places he expected, his own bedroom was near the bottom of the list. “Gordon?”

“Come on, bro,” Gordon coaxed, opening the door and nudging him through it.  Scott let him, still confused, and found himself guided to his bed.  “Sit.”

Eyeing his brother, and still completely lost as to what he was planning, Scott obeyed.  His bandaged, useless, hands rested in his lap, and he glared down at them before glancing back up to see that Gordon had left his side and was rummaging around in his bathroom.

“Hey!”  What was he doing?

“Easy, Scott,” Gordon called back, turning around and returning.  In his hands were Scott’s comb and hair gel, two items that hadn’t seen the light of day since his hands got burnt so badly they couldn’t hold either.

Scott didn’t appreciate the reminder that, despite Virgil’s pleading, his hair was a sorry mess.

“What are you doing with those?” he demanded, starting to stand.  A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he found himself looking up into compassionate amber eyes.  Gordon gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but in that moment, it hit harder than his usual exaggerated expressions.

“Relax,” he said, clambering onto the bed and settling somewhere behind Scott.  Attempts to turn his head were prevented by gentle hands, keeping him facing forwards.  “I’ve got you.”

Scott’s mind was scrambling to work out what his brother had planned, and how this came into him doing anything for Gordon, but before he could finish putting the facts together there were gentle fingers in his hair, carding through softly and pulling wayward strands back from his face.

His immediate instinct was to pull away – he let his brothers do a lot, but his hair had always been off-limits, in no small part because it was an obvious target for Gordon and dye, but also just because it was.  Even now, he’d refused to let Virgil touch it.

“Gordon-” he started, and the fingers retreated, only for arms to wrap around his shoulders from behind. Soft, comforting, and a far cry from the crushing squid hugs his water-loving brother loved to dish out. A weight against his back, and then a cheek pressed against his.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strawberry blond hair, and amber eyes looking at him.

“Let me do this?” his brother asked, in that exact same tone he’d used earlier for trust me. Sincere, but a little pleading.

“Why?”  His voice cracked, an unexpected show of weakness, and he flinched.  Gordon didn’t acknowledge it, seemingly content to let him pretend it didn’t happen.

“I think it’ll help,” he murmured instead.  “Please?”

Help who?

Scott didn’t see how letting Gordon do his hair would help anyone.  It wouldn’t heal the burns any faster, wouldn’t give him back his independence any sooner.

But he’d never been able to say no to a brother when they asked like that, all quiet and sincere.

“Don’t mess it up,” he caved, looking away.  He felt Gordon’s smile against his cheek anyway.

“Thanks, Scott.”

The arms retracted slowly, the cheek also leaving his, and he felt the mattress dip as Gordon shuffled back into position behind him.

Then the fingers were back in his hair, teasing out the tangles and knots that had formed with infinite patience and care.  The motions were soothing in their repetitiveness, Gordon’s fingers dexterous and nimble as they preened out the worst of the mess, and despite himself Scott felt a little more tension bleed away.

Fingertips found his scalp and dragged across lightly, almost a massage, for a few brief moments, before retreating entirely.

Then it was the teeth of his comb, running through strands slowly but steadily and pausing whenever they nudged a tangle Gordon’s fingers hadn’t completely erased.  Those, the comb bit into lightly, coaxing and cajoling the strands and never once tugging at his scalp.

Scott had no idea where Gordon had learnt to be so gentle with hair.

There was no mirror in view from where he was sat, but Scott didn’t need one to feel the weight of his hair slowly shifting, leaving its unkempt and chaotic tragedy and falling into the familiar style he favoured.  Without gel, the strands at the front attempted to flop forwards, over his forehead, and he resisted the instinct to swipe them back.

His hands wouldn’t thank him, and the hair would inevitably get tangled in the bandages, but what actually stopped him was the sensation of Gordon interchanging comb with fingers as he continued to smooth the hair back until it fell just right.  Gordon had asked to do this, and despite his initial misgivings, Scott found he was enjoying it.  No-one had done his hair for him since he was a kid, Mom fussing and asserting her right as his mother to do so.  Not like this.

Distracted by sudden memories, he missed the moment the comb left his hair for good, and startled slightly when the cool sensation of gel seeped through his hair.  Gordon had returned to using his fingers, smoothing his hair into position with a precision no doubt born of seeing it so many times, and Scott closed his eyes.

The touches steadily grew lighter, lingering for longer and ghosting over what were presumably stray strands that needed a little more gel to keep in place, until they left all together.

He opened his eyes as the mattress shifted, turning his head to see Gordon slipping off the bed, rubbing his hands with a towel to get the gel off his fingers.  Amber eyes surveyed his hair sharply, before Gordon gave another small, tender smile.

“Come on, bro.”  Hands cradled his wrists, carefully away from the bandages, and drew him to his feet.  “Now you get to judge my work.”

Scott let Gordon lead him to his bathroom, where the mirror hung above the sink.  It was something he’d avoided looking at for the past few days, aware of his deteriorating hair yet unable to fix it and unwilling to let anyone else until Gordon wormed his way in with softly pleading sincerity, but a light nudge over the threshold had him reluctantly facing his reflection.

He looked like himself.

There were still bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights, and his skin was still pale and a little haunted, but his hair was gelled back just the way he liked it – the way he laboured over it every day even when he forwent other aspects of self-care because he didn’t have time – and while it was only one thing, it was enough to banish the unkempt shadow he’d become and replace it with something blessedly familiar.  Blessedly normal.

Unconsciously, his back straightened, leaving him standing tall once again.

Gordon’s reflection joined his, standing alongside him as a hand rested on his shoulder.

“Any better?” his brother asked, worry in his eyes.  Scott tore himself away from his reflection to look down at the flesh-and-blood young man next to him.

“Yeah,” he admitted.  “Gords- what-?”

“When everything goes to hell, it’s the small things that make the difference,” Gordon said.  The reminder was bittersweet – Gordon, too, had once been unable to do even the most basic of tasks unaided.  “It helped me.  I thought it was worth a try for you.”

A sense of normality amongst an ocean of uncertainty.  Something to hold onto when he had nothing else.

Scott raised his arm, resting it lightly around Gordon’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking back at the mirror where the man that looked much more like himself stood, arm around his little brother.  In hindsight, it was obvious; a lack of self-care was a slippery slope – one he’d seen Gordon fight before.

“I know you’d rather do it yourself,” Gordon continued.  “But remember, we’re here to help you.”  The hand on his shoulder squeezed for a brief moment.  “You just have to let us.”

Gordon looked relieved, Scott realised.  He hadn’t noticed how worried his younger brother had been until it was gone, but the story was there, behind smiling eyes and a steadily growing grin on his face.

“Thanks,” he said again. There was nothing else he could say.  Nothing that properly appreciated what his brother had done for him.  Was offering to keep doing, if Scott was reading him right.

He was usually pretty accurate when it came to reading his brothers.

“Could-” he started, mouth ahead of his brain.  “Could you-” He couldn’t quite get the words out, instincts still rebelling against asking for help – asking for this – despite it being freely offered.

“Keep doing it for you until you can do it yourself again?”  Luckily – in this particular instance – Gordon could read him, too.  Scott nodded jerkily.  “Of course.”

The hand on his shoulder moved, arm reaching around him until Gordon had him in a half-embrace.

“Welcome back, big bro.”

If Virgil had any thoughts about Scott letting Gordon help when he’d been refused at every offer, he kept them firmly to himself when he was woken by the pair of them returning to finish the movie.  Scott did, however, find himself subject to a bear hug, and relieved brown eyes looking him over.

In hindsight, it was obvious Virgil had seen what was happening all along, and Scott regretted getting snappy with him about it.  Virgil waved off his apologies, but did consent to go and get some proper sleep in his bed as long as Gordon promised not to leave him alone while he did.

The insinuation that he needed a minder should have grated.  Would have grated, half an hour before, when he was still a miserable mess curled up in the corner of a couch.  But as Gordon promised, solemn sincerity that Virgil could trust, and settled more comfortably on the couch with his arm around his shoulders, Scott just found himself thankful for how much his brothers cared.

[nikkithebard]

Your Angel Ellipsis

Geraskier short fic, post S1E6, post mountain-break up, hurt/little comfort, fix-it-fic, angst, angsty thoughts, featuring HSK, open ending, 2.6k words

Rating: T (Mature language)

A/N: I am totally 100% open to fic ideas if anyone wants to share some. Feel free to send an ask with a prompt, I don’t mind in the slightest. (I have never uploaded my work here before)

The bard moved with about as much grace as a broken-legged turtle, holding his lute case close to his chest. It was the only thing around him that felt even remotely real. Everything else had faded into whispers across his skin. The wind, the dirt, the others who remained on the mountain still. The soles of his boots had been worn thin, slipping over the rocky dust of the ground. Jaskier ignored it. He was far too disinterested in anything that wasn’t the very person he was distancing himself from.

Jaskier cared for Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And all he had gotten was shouts, demeaning language, and a wish fit for a djinn.

Oh, how far he’d thrown himself into this wolf’s den. He feared he’d die of heartbreak--again--if he didn’t die from the hunger and dehydration that came with getting lost climbing down a fucking mountain. How far had he gone? Felt like he had been descending in circles rather than going straight down.

Jaskier heard his own words in his mind, reverberating.

You did your best. There’s nothing else you could have done.

Who would have known the words were better suited to him and not the witcher? But, it was true. There was nothing else the bard could have done to change the outcome of this dragon hunt. He tried to talk Geralt out of this, tried to convince him this was too dangerous a task. As per usual, Geralt cared little for Jaskier’s opinion and carried on. Was that his fault, too?

His foot slipped on a larger boulder and he fell. Catching himself before he could do any serious damage, Jaskier decided to take a seat, the sun beating down on his back. Rivulets of sweat pooled around the collar of his chemise. Opening the case, Jaskier made sure his lute was alright. Of course it was, but a peek wouldn’t hurt.

The lute, as it always did, sang back at him through its dark wood, enchanted to no end. Pointless to think it would ever break, really. He withdrew the instrument, strumming the melody he had been crafting for weeks now. It had started out as a metaphor for some sort of unrequited love. As of late, it had been slowly turning it into something much sourer. With naught but the help of a sorceress he watched portal herself away nearly an hour or two ago. Jaskier was still dumbfounded that Geralt was so entrenched in the most awful example of the fairer sex.

“The fairer sex,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, strumming to the opening melody of his latest tune. “How, when she’s as unfair as a thief? A bandit?” He tilted his head, pondering. “A crook?”

Very rarely did lyrics fall into his lap so perfectly, yet the poet learned early on in his life to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking out his pen and notebook, he scratched off the first line of his original ballad, writing in the better one.

Jaskier sighed, unable to keep his mouth shut even if there was no one around to listen, “Bollocks, there I go again, rewriting yet another love ballad. Not that it matters, when you spend over twenty years stooped in what others would refer to as a pile of shit, perhaps every tune comes off as identical, yeah? All the words collide and all the notes fall into unbridled repetition--” He stopped, his own voice crashing into his ears, “Twenty years? Is that right?” He scoffed, fingers absentmindedly moving over the strings of his lute, “Can’t be, I don’t even--I can’t be over forty, can I?” He tried to shake the thought from his mind, yet he simply couldn’t get away from the passage of time. The time he had spent trailing a witcher that threw him away like a tankard of spoiled ale. “What...am I doing?”

Over twenty years, Jaskier had spent chasing a man for nothing. For nothing, because there was nothing else he could have done. The years dripped into his mind, at first a simple leak. In seconds, a stream. In minutes, a broken dam of thoughts and images dancing across the landscape of his brain.

At first, he had only longed for a muse after a particular dry spell of wordless thoughts that had plagued him after he arrived in Posada all those years ago. Jaskier had been coming down from a small bout of fame he founded for himself and the money had run out too quickly. And it was then that he had caught sight of the White Wolf. Only, then, he had nary a clue of who the man was. Jaskier saw armor, swords, a very interesting shade of hair. He was intrigued. As the day passed and Jaskier crafted the song that shot both of their names into the stratosphere, he realized he cared little for the money, the recognition, the women. Yes, it was damn welcome, but he found himself missing something.

It didn’t take him very long to admit the thrill of the adventure--wanderlust, to be specific--was the answer to a question he asked himself too many times. And so, when he and Geralt found each other again, he made it a point to tag along. Geralt didn’t appear to care all that much and let Jaskier do as he pleased. Only when Jaskier droned on and on about any random crap that came to mind--which was purely to spur any sort of response from the silent witcher, he wanted to get to know him--did Geralt stir enough to shut him up.

As time went on, years apparently, Jaskier found himself caring less and less for the songs. He just wanted to follow the witcher. His friend, though Geralt refused to verbally reciprocate the fact. After a while, he only wished for his company, to hear the incredible feats and adventures that befell the witcher. It wasn’t until they started to become tight on money and ended up sharing rooms together that Jaskier realized his fascinations went beyond friendly. When they were alone, with a roof over their heads and safety in their minds, Geralt would always relax a bit. He would speak, joke, smile even.

Jaskier thought he was insane in the beginning. To think he could feel anything more than a curious nature. But, no, it became quite apparent.

Jaskier cared for Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And it had become his fatal flaw.

Geralt, it seemed, truly cared nothing for the troubadour that brought him fame and coin.

And it was painful. Of course it was. The two had fought a multitude of times in the past, but this was different somehow. To blame his own destiny on the bard that had only wanted to leave this damn mountain, to leave the witch to her inevitable demise, wanted the witcher to be safe.

Perhaps that was why he had very obviously confessed himself to the witcher. Using the excuse that he had to work out what pleased him when he had done so years before. All to stave off the knowledge that his confession had been viewed as material for his next song. That his love was nothing more than musings to be ignored.

Jaskier never thought he would be faced with his unrequited affection so harshly, though he figured it would come down on him eventually. He strummed the lute, an acute anger creeping up his spine.

The fairer sex, they often call it.

But, her love’s as unfair as a crook.

It steals all my reason,

Commit every treason

Of logic with naught but a look.

He had written a majority of it a night or two ago, when Sir Eyck had gone off to shit in the woods and Yennefer had gone off to “get her beauty sleep”. Scratching off lines and writing over them, as he had gotten so used to for a long time.

Never getting the chance to tell Geralt how he felt, what he wanted, what he needed. Came to a point where he no longer thought it was ever going to happen. Watching Borch, Téa, and Véa fall to their presumed deaths--and nearly watching Geralt follow suit--changed that. He knew there would never be such a delight as “the right time”, especially if this hunt had proven to be so deadly. Jaskier wanted to say his feelings outright, hoping a song would help him in that regard. Alas, nothing ever worked out that way.

Jaskier settled for asking Geralt to allow him the opportunity to prove himself as a worthy travel companion, stretching his tone across the word “companion” to give it a different meaning. Geralt did not catch on and if he did, made no move to show it. And he was shot down.

It made him upset, knowing he had lost the battle for the witcher’s affections long before the bard had even agreed to take part. Rigged and unjust, but he should have known better than to love someone he knew damn well now didn’t care.

A storm breaking on the horizon,

Of longing and heartache and lust

She’s always bad news,

It’s always lose, lose

So tell me love, tell me love,

How is that just?

But, Jaskier cared for the witcher before they had met the witch. And, still, he had lost. He had nothing else but their friendship, and even that was gone now. It wasn’t his fault. Not this time. All at once, everything had gone to shit, more so than it had before whenever Yennefer’s influence on Geralt made his vision turn red. Always lashing out at everyone, always angry, never ever good for him.

The lute was strummed harder, the instrument making the troubadour’s emotions known to anyone within range.

But the story is this,

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss.

The bard repeated the line, filling the melody appropriately. There was nothing else he could do but let the song continue. He was a bard, all he knew was to let the music escape him, else he might explode. Jaskier heard rustling behind him and chose to ignore it, too caught up in his emotions to stop the tenor of his own voice. If he could just finish the damn song, he would feel better.

He wouldn’t be so angry that he had completely wasted over twenty years of his life. Destroyed his own path whilst following Geralt down his. Getting them free rooms, free meals, making him famous, helping him scrounge up coin for better armor, making him hair tie after hair tie from the leather of old strappings. Fixing baths, cleaning and stitching up wounds, sleeping in the same fucking bed together. And he still lost to a lusty bitch with a hankering for destruction.

Jaskier had lost to a woman that never spent more than a few hours with the witcher at a time. A woman that caused him pain, not healed him of it. A woman that would outlive him and still cause Geralt heartache without respite. Melitele damn her.

Her current is pulling you closer

And charging the hot, humid night.

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool!

Better stay out of sight.

The troubadour's tune faltered, voice breaking as memories of the past flooded through him again. Asking Geralt a favor in bodyguarding him while being told he was not the White Wolf’s friend, which stung despite the bard’s nonchalance. Learning that Geralt needed nothing out of life. Jaskier telling the witcher that someone--the use of a gender-neutral pronoun had been a flirt, but still remained true to his heart--may want him. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting.” Jaskier’s tone changed, filling with longing and desire. He knew he had a penance for lofty things. Good clothing, fine wine, upstanding company. But, he steadily gave it all up, choosing a life of grime and dirt and blood. The rustling behind him came closer.

If this is the path I must trudge,

I welcome my sentence,

Give to you my penance,

Garrotter, jury, and judge.

And his chorus repeated over and over, driving home his emotional distress at losing the one person in this godsforsaken world that was still willing to deal with his bullshit. Jaskier knew, now, that Geralt had never truly been willing and was only ever acting in line with his morals. Geralt only saved him from the djinn because it was the right thing to do. Geralt chose not to harm Jaskier out of pure annoyance because it was simply wrong and unjust.

Yet, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Geralt sometimes acted outside of his moral compass. The banquet, the event that had really changed the course of the witcher’s life, had been the only inexplicable act Jaskier could not explain. The witcher had helped him free of his coin, in the most minute way. Nothing in their initial understanding of the event had even the slightest to do with what was the textbook definition of a witcher.

Was it due to the fact that, even if Geralt would never admit it, they truly were friends?

Jaskier had little time to continue his reverie, a soft hum from behind breaking through his thoughts.

“I will never understand why I am oft referred to as a ‘garrotter’.” Gravelly voice, low toned, and calm. Jaskier froze, music stopping. How much had he heard? And even more, he caught on to the metaphor immediately.

Jaskier cleared his throat, refusing to look, “It also means ‘killer’ or ‘hunter’.” He said plainly. “Not to mention your name matches the sound of the word a bit.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said, “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

It was a wonder they were even speaking. Jaskier was always so quick to forgive the witcher, though. Yes, he was still hurt and angry. On the other hand, he would fight to keep their friendship and wouldn’t let their squabbles get the better of them. He would just have to bottle his pain, again. Well, maybe put the cork back on the bottle if he was being truthful. He’d let enough spill out of him over the last few days and the song didn’t help.

Geralt walked, moving in front of the bard, gear in hand, “The long way down is safer, but we have a lot of ground to cover.” Face emotionless, golden eyes stared down at the distraught bard.

The bard shook his head, not knowing how to proceed, “Geralt--”

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” The witcher cut in before the troubadour could make a long-winded speech. His name always sounded intimate when it crossed over the witcher’s lips. Never casual, always private and personal.

Jaskier gave a pained smile, blue eyes still rimmed red with sadness, “Good, that’s all I wanted.” No, it wasn’t. He kept that bit to himself. He stood, placing the lute back into its case and placing the strap on his back.

Geralt gave him another straight look, but his eyes always displayed the man’s thoughts and emotions. He knew Jaskier was lying, especially if he had been paying attention enough to know the truth behind the bard’s lyrics, “Hmm.”

They continued down the mountain together, both silent for once. It wasn’t until they had reached the bottom that Jaskier finally fell into a mindless chatter. His thoughts were becoming too heavy and it wasn’t appropriate when he had company.

They didn’t talk about the song, not for a long time. And when they did, there was no turmoil or miscommunication on either end.

There was only an understanding.

[absconditum-imaginaerum]

Off Limits | Juyeon

Juyeon | Off Limits Words | 4,900 Notes | Professional!AU, Female!reader, in which the reader attends a work party with Juyeon whose coworkers can’t help but approach. Notes of relationship issues and jealousy, but only minor. Fluff with a dash of angst. 

Summer was the busiest part of the year at work for Juyeon. Summer kept him away from home a lot, kept him occupied when he was at home a lot; it was a time when the highest amount of trading and activity took place within the business he worked, so summer was pretty much an all-hands-on-deck for as long as possible three-month-long event. He was lucky to have someone as understanding, and patient, and compassionate as you by his side to come home to every night. The biggest perk of this job, you claimed, were the elaborate and expensive dinner parties that were thrown at the end of summer to celebrate a job well done, to commend everyone who stuck through it for all their hard work and for surviving yet another year—for those who had been there for a while, including Juyeon. Naturally, you were his plus one to these events, and what a happy significant other you were.

A soft touch slithered across Juyeon’s middle as he stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, fixing up some final things while his tie hung around his neck, intending on being the last thing finished before heading out. Aside from feeling them, he could see your hands in the mirror slip around his middle while a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His large hands, warm and inviting, engulfed yours against his middle with the intent to relish you half pressed against his back for a little while longer before you were tugging your hands out from under his. Finally, he turned around to face you, and you looked him over.

He donned a suit that was somewhere between baby blue and light gray, it could be mistaken as both in any change of light, and a printed shirt that definitely pushed some values of blue, which made his suit appear far more blue than it was. You eyed the tie hanging around his neck while you could feel his eyes look you over—noting every detail of your patchwork lace topped dress, elegant yet simple, knee length flare at the bottom and the baby blue ribbon that hung untied around your waist.  

You ignored the way he moistened his lips for a moment, tapping your index finger against your chin as you thought about what to put in place of his tie while he begged to kiss you. His mouth was in view, so it was hard to miss the way his jaw shifted, the way his lips puckered trying to bring your eyes a little bit higher. You tugged the tie from around his neck, completely dismissing his otiose attempts and disappeared back into the bedroom to return with a small gold chain that would fit nicely in the button holes of his button-down shirt, but not without listening to the way he pouted from the bathroom awaiting your return.  After affixing the chain around his neck, you placed both your hands against his chest and leaned up as far as you could to place a chaste kiss against his pleading lips before turning him around so he could see your work.

“It’s a work party, but it can’t be all business,” you muttered from behind him while you watched him reach up to touch his new accessory that went with his suit a lot better than any tie he would be able to find in the closet.

“How is it you always know just what’s needed to bring everything together?” he asked, slowly turning himself around again to lean up against the countertop, but not without taking the two long strands of cloth ribbon that dangled playfully around your hips up into his hands to tie the most immaculate bow you’d never be able to do on yourself—that was good enough replacement for not getting to tie some complex knot he’d seen on the internet days prior.  “And you always have just the right amount of subtlety to make us match,” he added with a smile, taking both of your unsuspecting cheeks with both of his hands to place another kiss against your mouth, unsatisfied with the first one, before kissing your forehead.

“We’d better go so we’re not too late; and while I don’t like the idea, we’re supposed to mingle, but if any one of my coworkers so much as looks at you sideways—”

“Darling,” you cut him off, “it will be fine; I can take care of myself.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want you to have to take care of yourself, especially at my work function,” he almost growled, pinpointing the exact guys who would most likely cause problems in his mind so he could be prepared.

You cupped a hand around the back of his neck, albeit he was quite a bit taller than you, and gently tugged him down enough to press a soft and lingering kiss against his forehead. “You worry too much; let’s get going,” you muttered into his skin before turning to leave him in the bathroom to follow you out.

Juyeon had never mentioned anything to his coworkers about a long-term significant other, so arriving with you was a bit interesting. You put on your best jovial smile, trying to leave a good first impression to anyone you met coming through the door to the ballroom the function was taking place in. There were decorations littered about, big congratulations signs with balloons—the works for a half-decent celebration.  In the back on a buffet table was an assortment of hors d’oeuvres, appetizers, finger-foods, charcuterie, and anything alike that a handful of people were picking over.  While Juyeon had already gotten caught up with a coworker as they exchanged sighs of relief about the most intense quarter of the year finally being over for the most part, you made your way to the punch table to help yourself to half a can of grapefruit sparkling water.

“When I said mingle, I didn’t mean ditch me right away,” he muttered from your side, able to escape his coworker long enough to relocate you as he stood to your side, fixing a cup of his own which was much the same since neither of you were drinkers.

“You were busy, and I was thirsty,” you said, clinking your cheap plastic cup against his with a smile.

“You haven’t even let me introduce you to anyone,” he almost complained and reached out to lace his hand with yours. He liked that you were so independent, so willing to make your way through this function without being attached to his side at all costs, but just to reiterate his point about you not having to take care of yourself at his work function, he wanted to let you know that you were allowed to be at his side if you wanted to be.

“You’re right, I should have waited for you,” you replied, earning a chaste turn into your temple for a quick kiss before he was ushering you over to a very important looking man who you assumed, correctly, to be Juyeon’s boss.

Your nerves set in a little bit as you stood in front of him, letting Juyeon introduce you before you exchanged pleasantries and told him a little bit about yourself including how long you had been with Juyeon and what you did for a living and a handful of your accomplishments and commendations, resulting in Juyeon’s boss looking over at him with what you assumed to be an approving look.

“Seems like you’re the one who keeps this ball of fire a little grounded,” he said to you with a teasing wink. Juyeon couldn’t stave off the blush that pricked his cheeks like a thousand needles and you could feel his hand tighten on yours for a moment.

“Sometimes he gets a little lost in the clouds, but I think he always knows when it’s time to come back down to earth,” you replied sweetly, looking over at your man with the most affectionate gaze. “Besides, we both keep each other in check.”

Juyeon excused himself to the appetizer table when it felt it was appropriate, offering to get you something while you mingled a little bit. You didn’t wander too far, striking up conversation with other girls who were there as plus ones, talking about your significant others who were all coworkers, but some split off in divisions. A couple of them, including some men whose significant others were a part of the company, spoke of how difficult it was sometimes dealing with the long hours and spontaneous business trips and how rocky it had made some relationships. It made you reflect on yours, about how even-keeled you and Juyeon were, that you knew it was the two of you as a team and that you could talk about anything and everything. Granted, the two of you had your problems, and there was no counting that out, but when you were put on the spot, being asked how you dealt with it, you froze for a second.

“We often forget that just because they’re the one who is away doesn’t mean that they aren’t feeling the separation too,” you started after your tongue reconfigured how to function in your mouth. “Sharp words are often exchanged because we think of how we’re feeling, but seldom think about how they’re feeling.”

“This is the first function I’ve seen you at,” one of the wives mentioned, a significant other of one of the higher-ups.

“We both work,” you replied with a smile, although it was a bit forced, “which makes the distance even harder. I typically work evening or night shifts which offsets our schedule and makes it more difficult. I’m typically not able to make it to these functions, so I’m glad I could make it this time.”

A wide palm touched against your low back—a touch you would never mistake for anyone else as he alerted you of his presence to your side, joining the circle as it went quiet. A paper plate littered with all kinds of things was held out in front of you for you to pick off of to fill the new silence.

“And you, Juyeon? How do you deal with it? The distance and demands of the job?”

You could feel Juyeon’s nerves in the air, and he looked at you as if he was being quizzed just to meet your encouraging nod.

“Sometimes, it’s not easy. I won’t lie and say we don’t fight. It’s frustrating; sometimes all the time we get with each other is three hours of sleep before someone’s getting up to go to work, or after just getting home from work. As long as you can look into their eyes and know for certain there’s a place for you, I think everything’s okay, everything’s right. It’s both of you versus the problem, not you versus each other.”

The way his eyes glittered as he looked at you while speaking sent a shiver through your spine, a shiver he could feel in his fingertips still soothingly pressed into your back. Fingertips that soon rose to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear that was hanging in front of one of your eyes.

“Funny the things we can learn from people half our age or less,” an unfamiliar voice mentioned as it entered from the side to take the waist of one of the women you were speaking with to press a chaste kiss against her temple. “The air felt too serious, this is supposed to be a celebration!”

Juyeon’s lips broke into a smile, and so, subsequently, did yours as you finally broke the somewhat intense gaze between the two of you to lean into him for a comforting armless embrace before picking at a couple of things on his appetizer plate as the conversation lightened significantly.  

You got to know a few people quite well, and were introduced to their significant others too and you all spoke easily about mindless and trivial things, about your thoughts and opinions on certain things and playful banter about why this was better than that; it didn’t matter as long as the air was light and there was a smile on everyone’s faces. But soon the group broke so you could mingle with others, and you reassured Juyeon you would be fine on your own if there were people he wanted to talk with.

You followed one of the wives from the previous group to a new group, being introduced to her and her significant other; you were quickly finding yourself on the ins with the girls in the company whether they were spouses or employees. It was only natural at a company party with a group full of younger plus one ladies that there would be some interested looming going on. A couple of boys you’d only seen in passing since arriving to the party joined the circle to join in on the conversation—ladies laughing with each other was like vultures circling prey to the wrong types of guys.

One of the boys was a handsome and well-built man; he looked a little bit older than Juyeon but you couldn’t be for certain. You offered your name and shook his hand as he offered his: Sangyeon. He didn’t do much talking in the beginning, just trying to pick up on the conversation where it had left off for a moment to invite more people in.  While you typically weren’t the type to be mistaken for naïve, the way you let Sangyeon settle in close and close to you may have had people second guessing. He brought you away from the conversation for only moment.

“That’s a very lovely bracelet,” he commented, noting your sterling silver set opal bracelet.  

You glanced at him for a second before looking down at your wrist, and brought it up to shift the cool metal against your wrist. “Thank you,” you replied.

“Let me guess, it was your mother’s?” he asked suavely.  You had to chuckle, too. It was a very mother-esque bracelet for you to be wearing, but you shook your head.

“Juyeon got it for me for my birthday,” you replied with a sweet smile, and he seemed to be taken aback by that reply.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear; Juyeon emerged from behind you, giving a startling touch against your hip and you jolted against his chest.

“Speaking of my doting man,” you said, and looked up at him. He looked down at you tenderly, noting your empty hands that were occupied with the bracelet around your wrist. “We were just talking about this pretty bracelet you got me for my birthday.”

He smiled a bit, eyes closing gently. “It looks very lovely on you,” he replied before acknowledging Sangyeon, someone he knew well, and greeted him appropriately. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m okay for now, thank you, darling,” you answered, feeling his warm plam against yours as he took your hand for a fleeting moment, giving it a squeeze before heading over to the refreshments. You turned back to Sangyeon to continue your conversation but the look on his face was different for obvious reasons.

“You and Juyeon seem very close,” he commented, giving one more gauging observation.

“We’ve been together for a long time. Since before he started working here.” You could see the math going on in the glazed over expression he was giving you. It had been quite a while indeed, if he could remember exactly when Juyeon started working with them. He gave you an affirmative nod, being reabsorbed into the general conversation since his purpose with you was through, especially as Juyeon took his place at your side again.

“Your bow is coming loose,” he mentioned and handed you his drink for a moment so he could fix it up. “What did Sangyeon want?” he asked you, even though he already knew the answer. You looked for Sangyeon who had already made his way away from the circle again before choosing your words.

“He wanted to pick me up; asked if my bracelet was my mom’s. It didn’t get far before you showed up, with the usual impeccable timing,” you chuckled back and handed his drink back as he fixed your bow properly.

“I knew these guys wouldn’t leave you alone; this is why I never want to take you to work functions in the first place, some people here have one goal and sometimes won’t stop even if you ask,” he replied.  

You rolled your eyes playfully at him and turned into his side to place your hand against his chest and your head against his shoulder as you casually listened to surrounding conversation. For the time being, the contact soothed Juyeon’s nerves. He was less concerned about you—he knew you weren’t the problem, but he knew sometimes you liked to play naïve a little bit more than you should which he sometimes considered opening a door you didn’t want to open.

For a bit, you followed Juyeon from circle to circle as he found someone knew he wanted to speak with, or who wanted to speak with him. You held on to his arm as an intellectual addition with actual knowledge about the company and what they did, so it was easy for you to keep up with conversation where other plus-ones would just daze off into the abyss and disengage with the conversation.  Juyeon appreciated the way you contributed to conversation; it really illuminated just how much communication the two of you shared, almost as a warning sign to not step in between you because it would never work anyway. He couldn’t take enough precautions after the antics already started with Sangyeon.  

Once a few circles were dried up for conversation with him, Juyeon excused himself to the restroom to leave you to your own devices for a moment.  You made your way to the punch table again to refresh your beverage, meeting the presence of a man about Juyeon’s age you hadn’t paid much mind to, although you’d seen him looming around.

His smile was somewhat greasy, but dashing for the right person all at the same time. His eyes were charming as he looked over at you, watching what you were pouring into your cup. His voice was melodious as it exited his lips and fell into your ears, giving you a soft greeting and offering some small talk about your grapefruit sparkling water until your gaze was finally meeting his.  His eyes were swirling pools of amber that attempted to captivate you almost immediately, but he could tell you weren’t the type to be so smitten by that alone as you took half a step away from him and crossed an arm against your body. He offered his name, which made the conversation a little more comforting—at least you knew who he was.

“Charmed, Hyunjae. Have you been with the company long?” you asked him, attempting to divert the conversation to something a little more relevant, especially since it was a one-on-one conversation with a man you’d never interacted with before.

He spoke loosely about his affiliation with the company, not offering up any information of some real substance, but you could tell he was trying to perpetuate the conversation even as you left the punch table with him in tow. He asked about you, about what you did, but never bothered to ask who you were here with.

As Juyeon made his way back into the ballroom from the hallway, his eyes scanned the vicinity for you, and when they fell on you, he caught a displeased noise in his throat. He could tell you were holding your own with the way you were standing, disinterested, but if he knew anything about Hyunjae it was that he was persistent and didn’t typically take no for an answer the first few times.

“Pretty girls like you typically aren’t interested in guys like us or the job we bring home with us, you must have come as a favor to someone with a lot of persuading,” he mentioned, “and to look so dazzling. They must have really wanted to look good arriving with you. Baby blue is really your color—”

You unceremoniously slapped his hand away when it touched at the playful ribbon tied around your waist with care. Your chin tilted up to look at him over your cheekbones with a quirk of your brow, as if to question what exactly he thought he was doing.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to touch things that aren’t yours,” you jeered, “to not beg so pitifully for things you can’t have.”

Hyunjae scoffed with a sneer on his face and spent a few seconds licking his wounds but he was bound and determined not to give up. “Perhaps I overstepped,” he offered to try and smooth over the situation. “But can I just say your personality is positively fiery. A man would be lucky to have you.”  

You were about to reply, something else sharp queued in your throat when a familiar aura washed up against your side. His grip was a little tighter this time, tugging your far hip into him, into a body a little tenser than it usually was. Your hand almost fumbled your drink.

“I’ve been looking for you, my love,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just witnessed Hyunjae attempt to put his hands in places they particularly did not belong, which was anywhere near you, and pressed a searing kiss behind your ear that made your eyes flutter. It was unusual for Juyeon to use terms of endearment with you, so you knew he had seen what happened. “I think we’re getting ready to settle down for dinner if you want to find our table?” he asked, pressing another kiss against your temple, and took your hand to press another kiss against the back of it to really drive the point home that you were off limits.  

You took the hint, and left Juyeon to deal with Hyunjae as you made your way out of that particular ballroom to the one across the hall where dinner would be had. But not without giving him a particular look, sliding your hands down his forearm to lock hands with his for only a moment before you were giving him the space he was requesting. Juyeon watched you go to make sure you were out of ear-shot before he turned to Hyunjae.

“I like you as a person and coworker, Hyunjae,” he began, “don’t jeopardize that.” It was the most patronizing, threatening, and offensive three words he’d ever said to Hyunjae, followed by a couple of pats on the shoulder before turning on his heel. “In case that’s not clear, don’t ever touch her again,” he paused to say over his shoulder before following after you.

He made it into the ballroom across the hall and glanced over the tables until he found you. There were a few other couples among the room who had enough of the mingling much the same as himself and were just looking to escape for some quiet time. His legs glided him over to you in an instant and he took a seat. He could see the look in your eyes, like you’d disappointed him.  

You waited for him to speak first, but he didn’t seem interested in talking. Instead, he occupied himself with your hands, noticing the redness on the back of your right hand which swatted Hyunjae’s hand away from you and soothingly rubbed over it with his thumbs. He looked down at it, few thoughts running through his mind, just that he wished he was there to prevent the whole thing—albeit, also pleased it wasn’t worse.  You watched the way he gnawed at his lip, the gears turning in his head.

It boiled Juyeon’s blood when he thought he wasn’t there for you the way he should be. He leaned forward against his legs, resting his elbows against them as he brought your hand up to kiss the back of it, against the knuckles that were reddened. You knew he was micro-focused on that, on the fact that you displayed signs of having to defend yourself, so you pulled your hands from his and gingerly cupped his jaw, sliding soft hands against his cheeks, against his neck, through the hair on the back of his head—anything to soothe him with your presence even if it was just a little bit.

Little needed to be said between the two of you as a majority of it was understood, but nothing was said as he relished your touch, finding comfort and the ability to center enough to get through dinner, at least for a moment.

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” he muttered into the pad of your palm as he turned his face into it.

“Hush,” you soothed with a gentle shake of your head, the worry knitting your brow together—he didn’t need to apologize for that, none of it was his fault; Hyunjae overstepped a boundary knowing that you were uninterested and that had nothing to do with Juyeon.  

“That’s the trade off, I guess, for having someone as smart and beautiful and dazzling and charming as you by my side,” he whispered, looking up at you with those gorgeous glimmering eyes to flash you a subtle wink.  “Let’s just go home and have takeaway and a warm bath and a movie in bed?”

It didn’t take any more convincing, and the both of you left Juyeon’s work party without saying so much as goodbye to anyone to meet your takeaway at home—it was far better than any over-the-top expensive food you could get in the ballroom of any hotel served by the tens, anyway. And a warm bath with your love, having hot water run across your achy muscles as you rested against him was far beyond any conversation you could be having with anyone you had met in your time there. It was the right call, to be spending time one on one with the little time you did have together.

Juyeon’s chest expanded and contracted behind you, his even breath against your shoulder as his head tilted to rest against yours, a few of your flyaway hairs tickling his nose now and again. His hand was threaded with yours beneath the water’s surface—all was serene, all was right. The relaxing rose essence that wafted through the water was making the both of you even more sleepy.  

“This is so much better than some stupid work party,” Juyeon’s deep voice reverberated in your ear before he kissed behind it. “I can’t even remember the last time we took a bath together.” His lips grazed across the top of your shoulder, from your neck over to the curve, leaving little kisses in his path.

“My birthday,” you replied.

“Too long ago,” he answered. Whatever your answer was, he would have said that anyway.  You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that fell from your lips, especially with the way your head leaned back to rest against his shoulder. The smile on your face would have melted him into a puddle, if he could see it, but he was too busy peppering every inch of skin he could reach with gentle kisses until he popped the plug on the bath as the water was getting a bit too cold.

He put your robe around you first after stepping out of the tub, fluffy bathmat under both your feet. Not even slightly taken aback, he leaned into your kiss when you took the lapel of his robe, embroidered with his initials, and tugged him down to meet you.  You danced around each other’s feet after he turned to maneuver you back to the bedroom, kissing all over your face until you were giggling mess and lying beneath him, against the cool duvet of your shared bed.

“Next time I ask you to go to a work function, tell me no,” he purred against your forehead before giving it a sweet kiss.

“How about I ask if you’d rather stay home,” you reasoned with him, watching the way his eyes glittered in the pale yellow light of the bedside lamp, the only light illuminating the room, and the way his eyes sparkled was like all of the stars in the night sky compacted into his beautiful irises.

“Where did I find you?” he asked rhetorically.

“At the laboratories in the south district,” you replied anyway, referring to your work place.

He wanted to be disappointed in your answer, but the more he looked at you, the more a smile broke on his face even though he tried to bite it back.

“Let’s put pajamas on and pick a movie,” you suggested quickly, watching the gears turn behind is eyes as he thought of something snarky to say to your previous comment, and immediately his expression softened as he gave a gentle nod and lifted you back up from the bed.

[vennilavee]

to build a home - ch 3

from dusk till dawn

attack on titan masterlist

check out this story on ao3

Pairing: levi x reader (attack on titan)

Summary: a modern au where you and levi both work for the Survey Corps, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the youth of the Underground District.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, harassment, smut- 18+!!!

Word Count: ~8800

A/N: there is smut, mentions of harassment (in a flashback) and kenny makes an appearance! ENJOY THIS IS 18+

***

“Why do I have to go?” You groan, rubbing your face, “Isn’t it Hange’s turn to go? Or Levi’s? Anyone but me? Can’t we all go together?”

“I don’t think all of us need to go for this one,” Erwin offers, “And it would be a good learning opportunity for the new hires. You can pick one or two of them to accompany you.”

“Lucky me,” You mutter, glancing at Levi. He’s looking at you with a small upturned smirk, clearly gloating at Erwin’s specific insistence that you go.

“These are all the rich people that you have the most experience with,” Erwin explains and you groan again, “They’re your favorite people, remember?”

You glare daggers at him when he grins at you.

“So now I have to babysit the rich guys and the new kids?” You say without any real heat in your voice.

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Levi,” Erwin says, grin still plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

“God forbid,” You throw your hands up in the air, “We’re showing up in a limo and everything will be on the company card.”

“I expect nothing less,” Erwin confirms.

“Good, you know me so well.”

***

The door to Levi’s office is closed and locked, because you’re trying to convince him to come to the ball with you. Your eyes are dark and coy, lips only a breath away from his, and Levi could scoff. But he’s enjoying your groveling.

“You can hold your own with them,” Levi says, poking your forehead, “You know you can.”

“Of course I can,” You sigh, “Is it so much to ask for you to come with me just because I want you to?”

Your hands are flat on his chest and Levi tugs your wrists into his, rubbing circles. You already see the agreement on his face, in the turn of his lips.

“Not at all,” Levi promises, “I’ll tell Erwin I’ll be coming as your plus one.”

As if he could ever say no to you. As if he could ever say no to a night of being on your arm, both of you dressed to the nines. Even if that meant listening to rich men and women speak to you both in a way that annoys him to no end, in a way that makes your blood burn.

You both usually manage to make nights like this fun. He’s sure you have something up your sleeve. A memory of the first time Erwin had assigned you both to one of these donor’s galas resurfaces, maybe from ten years ago at this point-

Levi had barely paid you any mind, and you were quite annoyed with it all. You didn’t know why Erwin thought this was a good idea, pairing you up with him to tag team this gala.

You would probably have more success on your own anyway. Since you would be focused and your thoughts wouldn’t be filled with ire for the man who was accompanying you.

But just because he doesn’t pay you any mind doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a gentleman. He held doors for you and had even gotten you both a drink as soon as you had entered the ballroom.

There’s no way he could’ve known that you needed something to hold in settings like this to stave off your anxiety.

You had offered him a smile and a ‘thanks’, to which he had waved off. You had wanted to tell him that he looked nice, but refrained from doing so when he seemed to not even want to look at you.

What an ass. That’s okay, you’ll pretend like it doesn’t irk you. That one of your coworkers who you’ve worked with for as long as you’ve been part of the Survey Corps seems to not even want to breathe in the same general vicinity as you.

You had only just gotten his phone number, and you’ve worked with him for almost five years now.

With a scoff, you tell him that you’ll go and mingle with the crowd. You advise him to do the same and he has the gall to roll his eyes at you.

Fine. Two can play at that game.

He dislikes these events, but he knows how much it benefits the organization to get into the pockets of these rich types. Knowing that their money was benefiting something good for the Underground soothed their egos, after all. He gets frustrated when he sees these people talk about themselves like they're something to be worshipped for a simple donation. Maybe simple is the wrong word. But to Levi, spending the time with the kids meant just as much.

Considering that he was one of them.

But as Erwin often says- they need both to function. They need the resources and they need interest.

Levi hates this. Making small talk with people. Specifically, making small talk with people who don’t give a shit about him. Or you. Or anything outside of the walls of their unattainable realities. He decides to keep to himself and watch you plaster a sweet, unassuming smile that nearly makes his skin crawl. Because with that smile, you could convince anyone to do anything.

Him included. Probably.

You place calculating touches over the shoulders or forearm of whoever you’re talking to, bursting out in laughter at the perfect time, and Levi wonders when and how you got so good at this. When and how you got so good at schmoozing.

No wonder Erwin prefers that you come to these galas. You’ve got these fuckin’ losers eating out of the palm of your hand so effortlessly. It’s like clockwork- your dark eyes are wide and shining, smile easy and sweet, hands open and friendly.

These people will have nothing but good things to say about you at the end of the night. You had clearly done your homework- you knew who the big families in attendance were and you had their profiles nearly memorized as talking points.

That begs the question- why the fuck was Levi even there then?

You manage to excuse yourself, promising the people around you that you’d be back soon enough. Levi watches your smile fall as you roll your shoulders back. You’re exhausted, things like this clearly took its toll on you.

Levi has a glass of water ready for you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, unable to pull your muscles together for a smile.

“Think you need more than just a water to deal with these fuckers.”

“Tell me about it,” You sigh and then realize it’s the first full sentence he’s said to you all night, “Gonna go to the bar. You want somethin’?”

He shakes his head and you shrug, heading to the other side of the room. Levi watches you walk away and picks up on the tension building in your shoulders.

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all of the forced smiles, forced laughter, and forced conversations. You want to go home, but you have a duty to fulfill. After you order a drink, you find yourself in conversation with two women, asking you about what it was like to work in the Underground.

It’s one of the few genuine questions you’ve received, and yet you’re almost too drained to answer. One of the women leans in closer to you, nose only millimeters away from yours.

“You’re somethin’ else aren’t you? Survey Corps finest and all,” She muses, “Erwin only sends his best to these things.”

“Uh,” You reply, your head suddenly filled with air. You back away a step, but she’s somehow closer to you than before. Her fingers dance over your bare arm and you reflexively yank your arm closer to you but she pays no mind to your reluctance.

“His prettiest, too,” She says and you wish you would melt into the floor. Away from her. Away from this.

“Can’t you tell when you’re making someone uncomfortable?” A voice comes from your right and you can barely hear it over the slamming of your heart against your ribcage. It’s Levi and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Or do you have a stick so far up your ass that you can’t tell what’s right in front of you?” Levi continues easily, ignoring your wide eyes and the woman’s flabbergasted look.

Levi stands next to you, nearly shielding you with his body.

“Do you even know who I am?” She says rudely, arms crossed across her chest. As if she hadn’t just touched you with those same fingers.

“No,” Levi says in his bored tone, “Don’t really care.”

“Levi, let’s go. It’s fine,” You whisper, trying to plead with him.

“You won’t get my money then-”

“We don’t fuckin’ want your shitty money,” Levi says coldly, already turning his back on them and you follow him. He’s walking fast and you have to call out to him to wait up for you at the coat check. Your head is spinning, a sure sign of a headache that will be coming.

“Which coat is yours?” Levi asks once you catch up.

“That one,” You point to the black peacoat that you want nothing more than to bury yourself in. You stay silent as you walk to the entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone and texting Erwin that you’ll be heading home.

“Tell me that was the first time,” Levi says, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Comes your eloquent answer.

He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh. Uh… It happens sometimes,” You shrug, “Doesn’t really get too far. These rich types just like what they can’t have.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m gonna kill Erwin,” He mutters.

“Why? He didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not worth it. Do you think it’s worth it?” Levi asks, more emotion in his voice than you’ve possibly ever heard before.

“Levi,” You murmur, “It’s fine. Just drop it.”

He looks like he wants to protest but he abides by your request. Levi can’t get your hesitance, your fearful eyes, your flinch out of his head. It reminds him too much of his mother, and he can’t get it out of his head.

Levi takes a cab home with you, telling the cab driver to stop at your apartment first then his. The ride is mostly silent, save for the cab driver’s small talk. Your hands are twisting in your lap as you look out of the window.

“Hey,” You murmur, “I’m glad we’re coworkers. Friends, even.”

“Tch,” Levi replies easily, “Don’t get any ideas.”

But you smile at him and Levi doesn’t look away. He has to make sure that the look that reminds him of his mother is gone.

***

Tonight’s gala is at the castle in Wall Sina. Coming here still puts a bad taste in your mouth, but it’s not so hard to manage as it was before. The decorations are more tasteful than they usually are, bronze and blue streamers and banners hanging throughout the large ballroom.

“How are we supposed to blend in here?” You hear Jean mutter under his breath.

“By getting that stick out of your ass and mingling,” Levi replies easily, shooting a sideways glance.

“It’s not so bad,” You muse, “It’s not so bad now . Just be yourself, Jean. These people love talking about themselves. Just charm them. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.”

Levi rolls his eyes at Jean’s surprised expression.

“C’mon, Jean. We can go talk to that noble family over there,” You suggest, looking expectantly at him.

“What about Ca-, I mean Levi?” Jean asks.

“Levi has his own list of people Erwin wants him to talk to,” You wink at him and Levi rolls his eyes.

“Meet you back here in an hour or so.”

***

A voice that you haven’t heard in years breaks your reverie, your heart sputtering as you turn around to face him. You try to face him as neutrally as you can, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he bothers you.

“Kenny,” You breathe, surprise morphing into irritation, “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t check in on my favorite nephew and niece to be?” He smirks in that way that you know gets under Levi’s skin.

“He’s not- we’re not-” You sigh, cutting yourself off, “You shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“He’s playing hard to get, huh?” Kenny says, lips twitching and eyes trained on you. You feel exposed, as if he’s burning you from the inside out but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. His cool, grey eyes are unforgiving but you hold his gaze. He seems satisfied with his assessment of you and you pretend like your skin isn’t crawling.

You’ve never liked Kenny. Even if he wasn’t such a dick to Levi, you’re certain you wouldn’t like him.

“I said he doesn’t want to see you,” You repeat firmly. The longer he stands in front of you, the more disgusted you become.

“Aww, he doesn’t want to see his ol’ man?” Kenny pouts, “I’m sure I’ll run into him at some point. Give him my best will you?”

“Wait,” You call out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in, what, four years?”

“You miss me, sweetheart?” He grins wolfishly and you visibly recoil, “This whole thing. I’m one of the people they’re honoring.”

“Oh, really? This is for donors, for good, upstanding people of Wall Rose and Wall Sina who give money and resources to help us-”

“I’m hurt that you don’t see me as one of those good, upstanding people.”

“Kenny,” You scoff, “ Good and upstanding isn’t in your fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“Ouch,” Kenny says, “You kiss Levi with that mouth?”

You swear you’re about to lunge at him, hands ready to throttle his neck and wipe the stupid grin off of his face. But then you feel Levi’s presence before you see him and his hand brushes against yours. In an attempt to reassure you. He doesn’t look at you, only concentrating his gaze upon Kenny.

His uncle. Uncle Kenny.

“Oi, Levi. Lookin’ the same as ever,” Kenny drawls and you see red.

“Shut up,” You hiss, “Shut the fuck up -”

Levi quiets you with a look before turning back to Kenny. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he can’t believe that his Uncle Kenny is standing in front of him.

“You’re here because of the weapons business you have,” Levi says, voice perfectly even. Only you can catch the small inclination of fury beneath layers of iciness.

“You somehow wormed your way in with these people. Convinced them that you’re like them,” Levi continues with piercing eyes, “You’re not. You’re a weasel. A shitty little weasel with no place here. You’re nothing like them. At least they can sleep at night, but you? You don’t deserve to.”

Before Kenny can say anything, Levi’s turned his back on him and you walk side to side with him. Tension radiates off of him in waves as he stews in his quiet anger and you let out a soft sigh.

“Levi,” You murmur, “Come with me.”

You touch the inside of his wrist and he follows you to an empty room. Boxes upon boxes sit on the sides of the walls. The room is illuminated by drowning sunlight creeping in through a window. You lock the door behind you and take his hand, drawing circles in the inside of his wrist.

“Levi,” You whisper again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He says nothing in reply, only looking at you with that same piercing gaze. Iciness has chipped away from the corners of his eyes, and instead he just looks lost for a moment. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you’re sure it’s a look he wore often when he was a kid.

“I’ll tell Erwin we have to leave,” You say, “He’ll understand, Levi. It’s not worth it.”

His eyes flash at you but you stand your ground.

“Do you want to stay?” You ask, sensing his hesitancy, “We can leave, Levi. We can go home.”

Levi pulls you in without a word and presses his face into the crook of your neck. His breaths are heavy against your skin, trying to calm himself down with your woodsy scent. You run your fingers through his undercut and over the base of his neck, lightly scratching with your freshly done nails.

You just want him to feel safe and you know he doesn’t. Not when Kenny is around.

It’s a few minutes before Levi speaks again, and his voice is even but tight.

��I need to know why he’s here. And how.”

“Levi,” You say softly, cupping his cheek, “Does it matter?”

“Yes,”  He says sharply, turning his icy gaze to you. Levi winces when he sees you pull your hand back in alarm. He reaches for your hand again, rubbing circles over your thumb.

“He raised me,” Levi says, “I need to know.”

You nod, eyes round with understanding. But you see a crack through his armor and you press your forehead to his, allowing his shaky breaths to fall onto you.

“Why is he here?” He whispers, eyes trained on yours. You hear the silent question- why is he here now? Why wasn’t he here before? Levi pulls you closer to him by your waist, hands firm and searching for comfort.

“I don’t know, Levi,” You murmur, “But I’ll kick his ass outta here, you know that. If he even looks at you the wrong way-”

Levi cuts you off with a kiss, pouring all of his frustrations, his anguish, his love for you and for life into you. Your startled gasp is muffled, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“I know,” He whispers when he pulls away, “Saw you about to throttle him earlier. Who do you think you are?”

Levi’s offers you a crooked smile and you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Kenny Ackerman’s niece to be, apparently.”

“Is that what he said?” Levi says mildly. You hum and Levi pulls you closer for another stolen kiss. He breathes compliments into your skin with his lips and with featherlike touches of his fingers. You coax his nerves out of him, whispering honeyed promises with your tongue and your touch to his warmed skin.

“We should go,” Levi mutters, pulling away, taking in your heaving chest and swollen lips, “Before people notice that we’re gone.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you nod reluctantly.

“Or we could stay here and make out for the rest of the night,” You protest feebly, already smoothing your dress out and taking his arm as he leads you out of the room.

“We have family business to attend to.”

***

You keep sneaking glances at Levi, unsure of what he’s thinking. You want to hold his hand and rub his back but refrain from doing so. Instead, you reach under the table and touch the palm of his hand to reassure him and before you can pull away, he holds on to your fingers. He’s rigid in his seat, face betraying no trace of emotion. But you know better.

Levi tenses up immediately when Kenny walks across the stage to receive his commendation for being such an esteemed donor. Kenny spots him immediately in the crowd, narrowing his eyes with a smug smirk.

Poor Jean. He probably has no idea what’s going on. A drop of guilt blooms in your chest. He’s supposed to be here to learn. You mentally promise to make it up to him.

Jean looks at you, then Levi, then the stage. He’s no fool- he can tell how tense the air has become. There’s a crease in Levi’s brow that he’s never seen before.

You’re certain you’ll all receive a scolding from Erwin, but at this point, you truly do not care.

***

“I’ll get the car keys from the valet,” Levi promises, “It’ll take a second.”

His thumb brushes your chin and you nod. He didn’t want to wait for valet to bring his car around, he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. Even if that meant going on a wild goose chase for his car within the parking lot.

“Wait,” You reach for him, “What about Jean? The least we can do is take him home.”

Levi groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine,” He sighs, “I’ll look for him inside. If I don’t find him in a minute, I’m leaving his ass here.”

You stifle a laugh but nod at him. He leaves you with his blazer when he sees goosebumps on your skin as well as another brush of his thumb against your chin. You admire him from behind, the way his navy colored waistcoat hugs him. As you’re tugging his blazer on and crossing your arms for warmth, you see Jean walking out of the entrance. You’re about to text Levi and tell him that you found Jean, but then you see Kenny following him outside and you swallow.

You thought you could make a getaway without running into Kenny once more. The number of times you’ve seen him tonight is already one too many. Dread fills you, leaving you rooted on the spot as he approaches you with his cool, unassuming smirk.

“You could knock someone dead with that look,” Kenny muses, “I suppose that’s one of the many reasons why my nephew is with you, huh?”

You say nothing as your cheeks flare.

“The silent treatment? That’s not very nice…”

He’s close enough to you that you can see the steel of his eyes. It’s the same steel in Levi’s eyes and you swallow your nerves once more to face him.

“Don’t talk to me about being nice, Kenny,” You scoff, “What do you want from me? What do you want from him?”

“Nothin’,” Kenny shrugs, “Can’t I just say hello to my family? See how everyone’s been?”

“No,” You say bluntly, “Leave us alone, Kenny.”

Jean is nowhere to be seen and you breathe a minuscule sign of relief. You don’t want him to listen to this.

You try to move away from him and get back inside the venue, but he grabs your shoulder. Your head snaps back in surprise and then irritation. Shrugging your shoulder out of his grip, you step closer to him. Close enough that he takes a step back.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ touch me again, Kenny,” You seethe, “You don’t need to worry about Levi beating your ass. I’ll break your wrist on my fuckin’ own.”

To your surprise, he laughs.

“She’d like you, you know. Kuchel,” Kenny laughs, sudden fondness in the lines of his eyes. He pokes your forehead, almost teasing and you ache for Levi. This was the man who raised him. And then left him when he was barely a teenager.

“Leave us alone, Kenny,” You murmur, taking a step back, “If he wants to see you, he will. But leave us alone until then.”

“He’s doing okay?” Kenny asks, and you see a familiar crack in his armor. It reminds you of Levi, when he lets his guard down and allows the perceived luxury of vulnerability.

“Yeah,” You reply, “He’s doing okay.”

“You’ll take care of him,” He says, his voice hard. Steel returns to his eyes, but you’re used to it.

“Always,” You reply without missing a beat. Your heart is out in the open on your sleeve, bleeding and beating for Levi. You wonder if Kenny can sense all of the things you want to say to him.

Kenny pokes your forehead once more, eyes lingering on your face. As if searching for a shred of doubt or reason for disbelief.

As if he has a right to.

***

Levi was about to give up on looking for Jean when he bursts into the entrance as if he’s seen a ghost. His eyes are wide and he sprints to Levi when he finally spots him across the room.

“Spit it out, Jean,” Levi says with a raised eyebrow.

“Some guy- There’s some guy out there,” Jean pants, “Looks kinda like you except smiles more. But in a scary way. Talking to her. Figured you should know before I intervened.”

It’s not fair for Levi to be annoyed that Jean left you, but he closes his eyes in irritation.

“And you left her there with him ?” Levi asks, walking long strides to get to you.

“All due respect, sir, but she can handle herself,” Jean says easily and Levi stops to give him a look.

“You questioning me, Kirstein?”

“Well, no, sir-”

“Shut up, Kirstein.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go find my car, Kirstein. Pull up to the front when you do,” Levi says, tossing him his keys. Jean looks flabbergasted for a moment but sprints off to the parking lot.

Of course Levi knows you can handle yourself with Kenny. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

***

Defiance is written across your features, in the furrow of your eyebrows and the crossing of your arms.

He sees Kenny poke your forehead and he sees you wince. It’s an action that reminds him of when he was young, when Kenny would approve of something he did. He would always receive a poke to the forehead as a thank you, or as a job well done.

Seeing Kenny touch you, no matter how small or fleeting, sends him into a rage that he’s been struggling to contain all evening. Your dark eyes widen when Levi roughly clasps Kenny’s shoulder to pull him back and away from you.

He’s so close to the edge, about to fall off an invisible precipice and you both know it. Levi pulls his arm back behind him as his hand curls into a fist, just like the way Kenny taught him all those years ago, but before he can land a solid punch on Kenny’s sneering face. Something pulls him back.

“Levi,” You whisper, your arms tight around him, “Do you need this, Levi? Is this what you need?”

Smoke slowly lifts from his eyes as he focuses on your quiet breaths against him and your fingers tracing his chest. The sound of his blood flooding to his ears quiets with each breath of yours. Levi un-clenches his fist and instead, pushes Kenny away in the same breath. He looks at Kenny long and hard, his eyes calming from a raging, stormy sea. Your cheek is still pressed against his back, arms locked around his waist.

Levi offers him nothing more than a scoff and turns his back on him. You peel yourself from his back, giving him a small smile and dare to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, Levi,” You murmur.

“Kirstein’s getting the car,” Levi says and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Really? I’m surprised,” You muse, “You must trust him.”

“He wishes,” Levi scoffs.

Just as you’re about to comment that you would be surprised if he ends up finding it in this sea of cars, he honks at both of you.

Jean can tell that something has happened, from the tired look on your face and the tension in Levi’s shoulders. He hops out of the driver’s seat when Levi barks at him and you scold Levi for his tone.

“Thank you, Jean,” You murmur, “You’re a good man.”

You kiss his cheek lightly in gratitude and Jean feels his face heat up. He touches the spot you had kissed in wonder.

“Oi, Kirstein! If you don’t get in the car in the next five seconds, I’m leaving your ass here,” Levi threatens with a glare and you stifle a laugh behind your hand in the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet, save for music playing as background noise and your small talk with Jean. Jean notices you looking over to Levi every so often, gazing at him as if you’re looking for something.

“So,” Jean says, to try to lighten the tension, “Do you come to these often? Do you come together? ”

Levi looks like he’s about to say something scathing to Jean but you send him a sizzling glance that keeps him quiet.

“For the last nearly six years… If that’s often, then yes,” You reply, watching in amusement as Jean’s brown eyes widen in shock.

“Six years?!”

“Close your mouth, Jean. You look like a horse,” Levi says plainly and you roll your eyes.

Jean wonders if anyone at all will believe him when he tells them about this evening.

***

As soon as you kick your heels off of your aching feet while leaning against the front door of your apartment, Levi’s arms are around you. Inhaling you in deeply. You relax in his hold, leaning your head against his shoulder as his fingers trace over the delicate veins of your neck.

You can sense his need through the rough calluses of his hands.

Levi tilts your jaw towards his lips, eyeing you for a few moments. Your honeyed eyes are swirling, patient and waiting for him. Your lips are slightly parted and he can’t take it anymore- he can’t take how you still look at him like that. As if he’s pulled the stars from his bleeding heart. His blood has turned to fire, eyes molten and smoky as he pulls you in for a rough, searing kiss. 

You turn in his hold, arms wrapping around his head as fingers slide through his inky hair. Levi gives you half a second to breathe before he’s pressing another kiss to your lips and swallowing any thread of a thought that you have. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping your hips and your soft sounds hardly register in his mind. He hears you say something, but ignores it, in favor of pushing his lips to your neck. Your sweet spot, the spot that makes your knees go weak. He pulls a small sound from your throat, barely aware of your nails scratching his chest from over his clothes.

Then he hears your voice again.

“Levi,” You say softly, barely above a whisper, “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, muffling your concern with the cool press of his mouth to yours. Your hands are firm against his chest this time, pushing him away lightly. Just a few breaths away. Not too far.

“Levi,” You press, “What do you need Levi?”

He can’t take the sweet sound of his name on your lips. The way it sounds like honey, dripping from your tongue and into the air. His eyes are uncharacteristically wild, tendrils of vivid affection swirling together.

“You,” He finally says raspily, “It’s always you.”

You give him a small smile with glowing cheeks, and he wants to drown in your adoration.

“C’mere, Levi.”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, tucking his face in your neck. You rub his back gently while your other hand runs through his hair the way he likes.

“Today was a long day,” You breathe into his ear, nipping his earlobe lightly. He hums into your neck, his breaths evening out. You pull his dress shirt out from the hold of his pants while still rubbing circles over his back.

“Did you see Jean’s face? Poor kid,” You laugh lightly, “Think he’ll come to one of these things again?”

Your honeyed voice anchors him, and he wants to sink into you.

“He’s a good kid,” You continue, “Like you. Like I know you were. Like I know you are. I know your heart. You gave it to me, remember?”

You snake your hand to his chest and lightly scratch at his left side.

“I need you, Levi,” You murmur, tipping his chin from the crook of your neck to meet his eyes, “Can you feel how much?”

You move his hand first to your chest, where he can feel your heart beating fast. Like a hummingbird. His gaze is sharp, eyes boring into yours and you don’t falter. You lift the skirt of your dress to your waist with one hand and take his hand, allowing him to brush his fingers against your panties.

Levi’s throat goes dry at your unwavering, hazy eyes and rubs you over your panties. He swallows when a soft sigh escapes your pretty lips.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it or what, Levi?” You drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. He sees the plea in your eyes, your plea for him to come back to you.

His thumb circles your panties once more, avoiding where you need him the most. Your smirk crumbles into a pout quickly and you try to buck your hips into his hand to get him to touch you. You watch him rub circles over your panties, finally getting the friction you so crave. He noses your neck, pressing his searing lips to yours fiercely.

His eyes aren’t so wild anymore, but his touches are.

You fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers slipping with every touch of his lips to yours. You’re uncoordinated and clumsy, getting frustrated with yourself. How is he so good at doing things with his eyes closed?

Levi senses your frustration and lets out a breathy chuckle. His hand is still under your dress, lazily teasing you’ve and you finally open your eyes to unbutton his waistcoat and dress shirt with shaky fingers.

You’re suddenly taken back to a memory of the first time you had seen him. You were one of his firsts and he was far from yours. He wanted to do right by you, and it took time for him to learn what you liked and how to please you and make you sigh in that sweet, breathy way.

Levi pushes your panties to the side, thumb circling your bundle of nerves. You gasp in surprise at the sudden but welcome warmth.

You manage to pull his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving his chest bare in front of you. Hunger floods your senses, hunger for this man in front of you. For your man, who has given you his heart despite his heart being so heavy for so long.

You feel your panties being pushed down your legs when Levi crouches on the floor. His fingers squeeze your thighs and your calves lightly as he looks up at you. You step out of your panties as he tugs you by your hands.

“Come here,” Levi mumbles, pulling you into his lap.

Levi reaches behind you to search for the zipper of your dress with his fingers. He peels the dress off of you easily and you can’t say that he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess in his arms because he looks at you like this every day. All the time. But that’s what this look reminds you of. Before, when you were in your early stages of your relationship, it intimidated you. The depth of his devotion.

But now, it surrounds you and you welcome it.

Just before he sets your dress on the couch to keep it off of the floor, you stop him.

“Let me put it in the hamper,” You murmur, “We’ll forget about it and then I’ll wake up in the middle of the night because it’ll be bothering me.”

That’s one of the many reasons that his love for you runs deep. You can keep up with his need for cleanliness. Levi follows you into the bedroom with his shirt, waistcoat and your panties in his hands. And his eyes on the arch of your bare ass and the curve of your spine.

“Give me that,” You say, turning around to take his dress shirt and waistcoat. You place it in the special hamper, the one designated for dry cleaning.

Levi tosses your black panties into your hamper with an unassuming smirk and you can’t help but wonder how a simple action like that turns your stomach over in arousal. Levi pulls you towards him, littering your hips with fleeting touches before squeezing your ass firmly.

His lips are on yours in an instant, pulling you even closer into his chest. Your fingers spread over his scarred shoulder, fingernails pressing into his skin. You pull a groan from him and trail your fingers down his chest. Scratching where you see fit, scratching over the smattering of dark hair leading into his pants.

Levi snakes a hand in between you, fluttering over your chest. His fingers are replaced by his lips quickly, as your breath hitches with each bite of his lips to your skin. You can’t get enough of his mouth on you, or of the way the shadows fall over his broad shoulders and taut muscles. His other hand brushes against your heated center and your hips buck into his hands involuntarily.

You can taste his longing, hidden in the crevices of his lips, the roughness of his touch against you. The way he slots himself with you, molding into every curve of your body. You hear your own soft moans and calls of his name as his lips touch every part of your soul.

Without a word, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you up. His lips are still on your skin, wherever he can reach. You lock your arms behind his head, tugging his hair back tight enough that it pulls him back. An audible groan escapes his throat when you pull at his hair.

Something you had discovered early on that he liked.

He stumbles for just a step before regaining his balance. You let out a breathy laugh into his neck before pressing a kiss there. Then behind his ear. Close to his collarbones. Along the expanse of his chest.

Levi gently drops you to the bed, drinking you in from above with wide eyes. The voracity in his darkened eyes nearly makes you look away but you hold his gaze. He surges forward, unable to fathom another moment of not touching you.

He grinds into you lazily, your bare center seeking more friction than the roughness of his pants.

“Levi,” You nearly whine, pulling at his belt buckle, “Take it off, Levi.”

“ You take it off,” He drawls, voice low. Your heart flutters and your throat goes dry.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest and pull him closer to you by his belt. Your movements are slow as you unbuckle his belt and toss it to the floor, and you yank his pants and boxer briefs down in one swift motion.

Levi can’t deny that the way your eyes always widen when you see him strokes his ego.

“Off, Levi,” You say softly and he tosses his pants into his hamper before ducking down to meet your lips- your chest- your navel.

Levi presses a hand to your center and you gasp, the pretty sound floating into the air and reverberating in his ears. He holds your hips steady with his forearm as he circles your clit with his thumb. He hoists your legs over his shoulders while gazing at you with that same tenacious look.

Lust and love mixes together to make your eyes a darkened brown.

You gasp his name breathily, back arching slightly with the first flick of his tongue against your center. He maintains his gaze, eyes piercing into yours and your toes curl at the added intensity. You struggle to keep your eyes open but Levi squeezes your hips every so often as a reminder. He squeezes your breasts, pinching and tweaking.

He pulls his hand away to rub your clit with his thumb as his tongue laps you up. Levi wasn’t always this good with his tongue and with his fingers. It took you both some time to get in sync with each other, in terms of what you both liked.

Time and patience, which you both had infinite amounts of for each other.

Stars are beginning to dot your eyelids, your hands bunching up in the sheets as urgent, broken whispers of his name float into the air. Just as your thighs begin to shake and your toes curl, he pulls his lips away from your aching, empty center and you could scream .

Levi does this often. He brings you to the edge, only to back away. Only to take you there once more. Like clockwork.

The smug smirk on his face makes you want to kiss him. So you do. You pull him into your arms, grinding into his hardened length and hungrily bite his bottom lip. Your stolen release burns in the back of your mind but you give it no attention. Levi groans in pain at your bite and you smile against the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You lock your legs around his waist, holding him in place and reach in between your bodies to stroke him in your hand. Levi bucks against your hand with a low moan.

“I want you, Levi,” You whisper into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. Warmth pools in his belly at that and he looks dazed for a moment before snapping out of it. Your lips are parted and swollen, brown skin glistening and warm, dark eyes wide and wanting.

“Fuck ,” Levi mutters, “I need to be inside you right now.”

You nod vehemently, parting your legs for him quickly. He looks to your dripping center and guides himself in one swift glide. Both of you groan in unison and Levi stills for a moment when you pull him in for a kiss. You run a hand through his hair, smiling when he groans as you clench around him.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, playfully biting at your shoulder.

“Why? You gonna cum or somethin’?” You tease, earning yourself a squeeze to your hips.

“Shut up.”

Before you can say anything back to him, he lifts himself up over you, arms around your head. His hair falls into his eyes, tickling your heated cheeks and he shallowly thrusts into you. It’s the sweetest burn, the way he fits in you.

Your eyes begin to water when his thrusts get deeper. You subconsciously tilt your head to the side, away from him and Levi kisses your neck. He nudges your jaw with his nose to pull your eyes to him. You crane your neck up to press a kiss to his lips but he pushes himself into you particularly roughly and you moan into his mouth.

Levi pulls you up into his lap, arms tight around your hips and you hum. His lithe fingers are everywhere- cupping your neck, holding your thighs steady on either side of his waist, your scalp.

You’re gasping his name as he pushes into you and murmurs soft notes of encouragement into your neck. He watches as he slides in and out of your wetness with darkened cheeks. Nails scrape his back and he winces for a second but pays it no mind. Your soft breaths and whines of his name against his neck are distracting enough.

Levi rubs your folds lazily as he thrusts up into you. All you see, hear and feel is him and you’re overwhelmed. You raise your head to meet his searing eyes with an arm hooked around his head and sloppily press your lips to his.

Heat pools your belly once more, and you can nearly see stars about to burst behind your eyelids once more. Levi can sense that you’re close, in the way your legs quiver around him and in the way you clench around him. He rubs your clit in tight circles, coaxing you to the edge. Where he’s right there to catch you.

“Good girl,” Levi whispers, and your eyes widen like they always do.

He holds you tightly when you cum with a soft gasp and shaky legs. You’re panting broken notes of his name into his skin. Levi peppers your face with kisses. He’s still inside you and you give him a devilish smile.

You push him down to the bed and dig your nails into his chest teasingly. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. You stretch your torso, your hands skimming your sides and brush your fingers over your clit to tease yourself. Levi groans and plants his hands firmly on your hips. Squeezing your ass and your thighs as he pleases.

“You feel so good, Levi,” You breathe, as if it’s a secret only for his ears. You start to rock against him, hips dragging across his heated skin. The friction from his skin sends a shudder up your spine and Levi slides his hands over your sides before squeezing you.

Levi loves the way your eyes shine with desire and an undercurrent of trust. He loves the way your brown skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, the way you’re clawing at him for something to hold on to. Levi pulls you close to him, kissing up and down your chest.

You find a rhythm and ignore the way your thighs burn as you take all of him in. The only sounds in the four walls of the bedroom is the sound of your skin slapping on his and his shaky breaths. Levi is always so composed- seeing him come undone by your hands sends another pool of heat into your belly.

“Shit,” Levi groans, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on your thighs. His hooded eyes are trained on you, watching you bounce as your legs slowly begin to tire out. But you’re determined, he can see it in your face. He loves watching you like this- determination and desire mixing together. Levi rubs your clit with his thumb and you gasp, your legs beginning to shake once more. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against him, thrusting into you.

You clench around him without meaning to and he moans breathlessly in your ear, feverishly pressing his lips to your throat to stave off his climax until yours. You can feel how close he is, in his sloppy thrusts, the way his legs jerk against yours and you breathe him permission for him to cum inside of you.

Levi gasps your name into your skin as he cums, his stomach tightening as you feel warmth inside of you and beginning to leak down your thighs. He’s about to pull out but you stop him with a tug of his wrist.

“Stay,” You mumble and he swallows. He’s sensitive, but he stays. He flips you over so you’re under him and rubs at your clit lazily while his lips find your salty skin. Your senses are deliciously overwhelmed as Levi engulfs you.

“Levi,” You nearly cry, water gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re overwhelmed by the love you have for him, by the love you feel and see in his grey eyes. Your nails are piercing against his bicep but he hardly feels it. You’re so close , and he needs to feel you come apart under him.

Your grip is tight around his arms, lips parted as your back arches when you finally cum for the second time so far.

“Good girl,” Levi murmurs again, kissing your hairline, your heated cheeks and your chin.

You rub your foot up and down his calf with a small smile. You hold him close to you, enjoying his warmth as it lights you up from inside out.

“We should go shower,” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face.

“Why? You thought we were done?”

“You’re right. How stupid of me,” You muse, earning yourself a pinch to your waist.

“You’ve said worse.”

***

Fatigue settles in your bones after the fourth, or was it fifth, orgasm of the night. Your eyes are heavy, both from the events of the day as well as the events of the night. You hear Levi panting next to you, exhausted as well.

But you can’t rest. Not yet.

“Levi,” You nudge his shoulder, “We have to shower.”

“Give me a minute,” He says hoarsely.

“Can’t believe you seduced me into sex before washing up after the gala. You’ve made me lose my marbles.”

“Me?” Levi says, flabbergasted.

You hum, closing your eyes for a few minutes. You feel Levi’s weight shift and he carries you to the bathroom on shaky legs. Once you’re under the warm water, you groan as it soothes your sore muscles. You feel heavy, but weightless at the same time. Levi holds you up with your back to his chest and washes you down with his shower gel quickly but effectively. It smells just like him and you inhale deeply.

You swear you could fall asleep like this, and Levi knows it. You’re beginning to yawn widely enough that your eyes water. But you open your eyes to take the gel from him and lather him down slowly, taking your time with the dips and crevices of his body.

You even manage to sneak a kiss onto his bruised lips in between.

Levi holds you under the spray of the water for a few moments, with your head over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. His heartbeat is even and steady, so close to lulling you back to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Levi says softly but firmly, “Still have to towel off.”

You give him a noncommittal answer but pull away from him and wait for him to give you your towel. His dark hair is slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water and from you . You can’t help but run your fingers through his hair as he wraps a towel around his waist and around you. Your limbs feel pliable, and damn, you are so tired.

Levi holds the implicit, unwavering trust you have for him in the palm of his hands and carries it carefully but confidently. He moisturizes the both of you, knowing that you hate waking up to dry skin.

“Raise your arms,” Levi murmurs and slides a sleep shirt over your head. He pats your head when you look up at him with a sleepy smile and nearly closed eyes.

“C’mon, it’s bedtime for us,” Levi says, carrying you to bed and drawing the covers over both of you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder as a goodnight and wraps himself around you. His legs intertwine with yours, and he draws you close to him. You’re fast asleep in minutes, your hand loose around his.

***

It’s the middle of the night when you wake up to a cold bed. You rub sleepiness out of your eyes and stretch your muscles, feeling every inch of the delicious soreness. Especially in your legs.

A soft but unsurprised sigh leaves your lips when you see the empty bed and the faint glow of the lights in the living room.

Levi is sitting on the couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly. His eyes are tired but you can tell his mind is spinning.

You wordlessly take one of his favorite teacups from the kitchen cabinet and start making tea for him. It’s a teacup that you had bought for him, painted black with gold accents. It reminded you of him.

He lifts his head a little at the scent of his favorite tea.

You bring his teacup and the teapot in a tray to the coffee table and tuck your bare legs under yourself to sit a few inches next to him, unsure if he wants space. When he says nothing for a few minutes, you assume he wants to be alone and you press a kiss to his hair. To leave and go back into the bedroom.

But he tugs your hand gently and so you stay.

“Come back to bed, Levi,” You murmur softly, fingers in his dark strands of hair.

It’s 3:18 AM and Levi drinks his black tea in his overhanded manner, leaning into your touch.

“Can’t stop thinking,” Levi finally says, “About Kenny.”

You’re not surprised.

“He asked me if I would take care of you,” You muse. Tension immediately fills his shoulders but you press your fingers into his muscles to calm him down.

“He told me that your mother would like me.”

Levi cracks a small smile at that.

“I told him to leave us alone, unless you want to see him,” You reply, “Then I told him I’d break his wrist if he touched me again.”

Levi kisses your cheek.

“Do you? Do you want to see him?” You ask, pressing a finger to his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Levi says honestly.

“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need anyone’s permission or justification but your own if you do want to see him,” You say firmly.

“Come with me. If I decide that I want to,” Levi breathes.

“Of course,” You nod determinedly.

He presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his forehead on yours.

“He did this, too,” You murmur, poking his forehead, “Oddly affectionate for a man with asshole tendencies.”

Levi lets out a soft chuckle.

“I saw,” Levi says, “He used to do that when I was a kid.”

“I figured.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, tracing patterns over the scars on his chest. Sleep is threatening to overtake you with the steady hum of his heart against your ear.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

[dirthavarens]

so i’m sick and that means i’m thinking about my warden, champion, and inquisitor when they’re sick and how their LI’s react

Warden Ghilana Surana: 

What sickness? This woman could have the actual plague and still be going. She feels like she’s going to pass out? Lmao guess again. She’s downing a lyrium potion and getting right back to business. During the Blight, she caught a cold and Alistair was severely worried because she lost her voice, thus incantations were out of the question. However, in her discomfort, she found great strength, especially as an Arcane Warrior. What she could not use through incantations, she used through her blade, through wards scribed, through sheer intent. She conjures ice to keep her fevers down and when that isn’t enough, detonates the heat as flames around her.

After the Blight (and Alistair leaving her lmao), she spends a great deal of her time adventuring and recruiting with Nathaniel Howe. This means exposure to the elements that is far less than kind. A rogue doesn’t know healing as a mage does, but that doesn’t stop Nathaniel from trying to help. 

He’s tender in his care of her, despite her abject protestations. She’s fine. She’s always been fine. She always will be fine. Such resolve can play into her downfall at times. 

Just a year before the Breach formed, she took ill while she and Nathaniel were far, far to the North, closer to Tevinter than she’d ever ventured. They had to take shelter in a small, abandoned hut and Ghilana had no energy to do much of anything. She had been staving off the illness for nearly a two weeks through magic alone when it finally caught up with her. She collapsed during a hunt and Nathaniel took her to the nearest shelter he could find. 

She slept for days, waking only when he begged her to drink, eat, and down concoctions. The ratios of his potions were almost right, leading her to sleep for too long or have too vivid of dreams. 

After all of that, she got out of bed, cleaned herself, and carried on as though nothing had happened. Nathaniel was very, very unhappy, but he knows better than to argue with his angry elvhen wife.

All in All: Very Capable of Handling Herself. Will fight and throw fire as her temperature rises. Will do anything to keep others from worrying, laughs it off when she has to. 12/10

Amelia Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall:

Her boyfriend is Anders. Her symptoms are never allowed to go beyond a stuffy nose. 

Just Kidding. There are times she tries to hide it from him. Having Eldest Sister syndrome, taking care of herself usually isn’t high on her priorities. Making sure that her friends stay out of trouble and that her mother is alright are her top priorities. She’s the Mom Friend and her own ailments can wait. When she’s sick, she does her best to mask her symptoms. A light cough can pass as dust from the Lowtown streets. Her stuffy noses can be attributed to allergies.

Oh? That pale, clammy appearance with her glassy eyes? Probably ate something bad and didn’t she say it was allergy season?

Even at her worst, she makes sure to get her rounds in, often collapsing in bed the moment she gets home. Her mother, Bodahn, and Sandal are the only ones who ever see her sweat with fever. On those nights, her mabari stays close. It isn’t often she sees Carver since he left for the Templars but she still sends a care package when Cullen makes mention that he’s ill. Even if her brother hates her, she does what she can. 

Over the years, Anders would notice how she would change when she slept. What had been a minor cough turned into a deep rattling in her chest that roused him from sleep. Most times when he heard such a rattle, the outcome was unfavorable. Winter fever was a hard case to cure, but luckily he had the fortune of catching hers early and was able to treat it. Her mabari acted almost like a nurse hound instead of a warhound. For once, Anders was grateful for the dog’s presence. 

From that moment on, he made her swear to tell him when she was ill. With great reluctance, she agreed. 

All in All: What Sickness? Eldest Sibling Syndrome to the max. She even still takes care of Carver, despite him being a shitty Templar. Big Heart 10/10 

Inquisitor Mirani Lavellan:

She sleeps heavily and often when she’s ill. The Fade has always been a comfort to her, even when demons encroach on her weakened body. Naturally, this causes some concern within the Inquisition for the Inquisitor to “sleep on the job” so to speak. But she’s there when she needs to be. Potions, herbal teas, sweaters, and thick pants abound, but she’s there. 

Solas is more than happy to comfort her and keep the demons at bay while she rests. He fills her dreams with small secrets and memories of a time long since passed. He knows he shouldn’t but the contented sigh she lets out is worth it, even if it’s through wheezing snores or a stuffed nose. 

Mirani is more emotional when sick. She is an Empath with deep connections to the Fade and the forgotten feelings that dwell there. Being ill makes her no small victim to strong emotions, either. Battle is where she feels the strongest, where her magic is purest and most powerful. 

Being a Rift Mage gives her access to powers untapped by nearly everyone, save her Trainer and Solas. But calling on the Fade takes a great deal from her when she’s ill, as she has to be wary of manifesting her intentions as energy and not invitations to demons. Her focus and emotional state causes her mana to drain quickly between powerful spells. So much does she expel from herself that Solas stands at the ready to catch her should she fall and sound the retreat.  

During the times she had exhausted herself and had to be carried back to camp, she would protest vehemently, saying that she was okay. This gained her nothing but stiff-lips and furrowed brows from her companions. Except for Cole, whose panic was palpable. 

She’s naturally freckled and has a great deal of color to her light olive skin. This color increases tenfold when she’s sick. The tips of her nose and ears turn red and her cheeks nearly glow from fever. When sickly and nauseous, her olive hue turns closer to that of pallid elfroot. This doesn’t happen often, though, and she’s thankful.

Mirani never stays sick for long. Only a couple days at most. The longest she was ill was after the fall of Corypheus. 

She was down for two weeks, doubtlessly in-part to her fatigued heart and melancholy. Even so, she would find herself dreaming in a place unfamiliar but comforting, like a forgotten lullaby from one’s childhood. A melody she can recall, but never remembers the lyrics. During the days, she’d drag herself from bed and do her best to ignore the ache in her lungs and the incessant pounding in her head. Varric often told her she looked like shit, Bull and Sera were not much kinder. Still, she had paperwork to fill out, memoirs to write, requisitions to approve and deny. The work of the Inquisitor was never done.

With the Anchor growing worse in the two years that pass, she notices her immunities starting to fail. Dorian sends special teas and potions of his own making for her that serve to invigorate her. They work for a while and when they stop being as effective Cole is more than content to keep her company, popping in and out of the Fade when he feels her hurt. It’s harder to help her, knowing that the Anchor is the infection eating away at her. 

IF AU HAPPENS: Despite having only one arm, she still holds tightly to her words to Solas and follows him into the Eluvian. Now weaker than before, she knows she has to find a way to restore herself without explicitly asking Solas to mend her. She’s gone two years without his help, despite what she feels for him, and she will continue to find her way. She taps into the natural magic of the Crossroads. Its energy is much like that of the Fade, but purer; its intents are whatever ones wish is and she channels it to build herself back to strength. Solas marvels at her tenacity. She controls old magic so freely, so easily, as though she had always known how to wield it. She feels better than before, healthier than she thought she could after dealing with the instability of the Anchor for two years. 

IF AU DOESN’T HAPPEN: After disbanding the Inquisition, Mirani is exhausted and finds that she just wants to be left alone. Now with only one arm, no Inquisition, and no Clan, she ventures deep into the Arlathan Forest. The old magic here feels familiar and she is content to feel it wisp around her like leaves being kicked up by an autumn breeze. Through careful practice and occasional mishaps, she’s able to rehabilitate herself. On her worst nights, however, she would be lulled back into sleep with dreams of foreign memories. The visions were clearer there and the tender emotion encasing her quieted her disturbed soul. The spirits there often seek to help her when she’s in need of aid and Cole occasionally appeared to keep her company, even if he was not explicitly needed. 

All in All: Naps, warm clothes, give her tea and a blankie. Very emotional but does what needs doing. Overall, very soft. 7/10 (but 100/10 in my heart)

[shieldedbythunder]

9 &/or 16 please <3 Either way, your drabbles are always enjoyable.

Thanks so much, Stormy! For the prompts, and for being so patient <3 I really enjoyed writing these! Both of these can also be found on my ao3 account :)

9. You took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one.”

i’ll get by with a little help from my friends

“Alright,” Natasha says briskly, “you need anything, just give JARVIS a call, okay?” An authoritative tap to his shoulder tells Steve to raise himself up long enough for her to fluff the pillows up a little.

“Is all this really necessary?” Steve grumbles, letting himself fall back once she’s done. Scowling at the thick, white cast that entombs his left leg, propped up on an extra two pillows, like it’s done him a personal wrong. Which, in some ways, it certainly has. “I’m probably gonna be fine by tomorrow.”

One lucky hit. One lousy, lucky hit, he thinks to himself irritably, and he’s out of commission. He’s going to kick the crap out of Batroc the next time they cross paths. Or maybe return the favour; see how he likes an iron girder pinning down his leg.

“Well, you heard the doc’s orders.” The innocent, sympathetic look Natasha sends his way would almost be believable, if it weren’t for the telltale gleam in her eye; she’s loving every moment of his sulking. “Let the serum do its thing with the broken bone, and help it along as much as we can. Which means plenty of bedrest, no negotiations.”

“Yeah, yeah… I guess,” he mutters darkly. With a sigh, he lets himself sink back into the bed properly, willing the knot between his shoulders to ease out a little. “Listen, thanks for the help, you didn’t have to.” General irritation aside, he’s genuinely grateful. Natasha looks just about as exhausted as he feels, and yet she’d never left his side, from their evacuation in the field to the medbay and back up to his room; just as stubborn and loyal a trooper as himself.

“No problem. You sure you don’t want anything else?” Her job done, Natasha hovers by the door, hands on her hips as she gives him one last once-over. “The others should be back soon, so I’ve gotta head to the debrief, but some of us can stop by afterwards if you want.” Even with the lingering traces of mirth, her eyes are as shrewd as ever, head cocked as she watches him carefully.

“Naw… it’s okay,” he says, managing a smile. “It’s been a rough day, you guys look after yourselves. The last thing you need is baby-sitting duties. Really, I’ll be fine.”

And he will be fine, he tells himself as Natasha leaves with one last inscrutable look, her footsteps quickly fading away. It’s not the end of the world, just a day or two of bedrest at most. Nothing to make a fuss about.

It’s just… it all feels horribly familiar. The long hours cooped up in bed, days at a time during his worst spells. At the very least, all he has to worry about is boredom, rather than how every rattling breath tightens up his lungs that little bit more. The helplessness, an old, distant, but never forgotten chill gnawing at his stomach. It seems even his new body and all its wonders could only stave it off for so long.

On that thought, he exhales sharply through his nose as he shuts his eyes; wallowing in self-pity won’t make his leg heal any faster. He just needs to rest up and let his body take care of itself, like any sensible soldier. Sleep takes a while to come, but when it does, it’s mercifully deep and dreamless.

***

He doesn’t know how long he passes in fitful slumber. But the first thing that registers as consciousness slowly creeps back in is how dry his throat is. The second is the feeling of something warm and heavy resting against his collarbone. And the third is a deep, familiar voice close by, words pitched soft and soothingly low. His parched throat aside, it’s an oddly comfortable situation to wake up to.

His eyes cracking open, Steve shifts around enough to get a look at his bunkmate. “Thor?” he croaks out, unable to manage any better between the thirst and lingering grogginess. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” Thor says lightly. Perfectly nonchalant as he sets down his book, reaching over to the bedside table to pass him a glass of water. Like this is just another Tuesday evening for them. “I should have thought that was obvious - you took all the pillows, so I’m using you as one. Speaking of which, would you mind holding still? I’ve just gotten comfortable.”

“No, I mean… what are you doing here?” Gratefully accepting the offered glass, Steve takes stock of his surroundings between gulps. He’s been out a while from the looks of it; it’s late afternoon by now, the sun low in the sky and bathing the room in bright golds and ambers. Casual in an old hoodie and jeans, Thor’s got his legs stretched across the empty side of the bed, as perfectly at ease as ever.

“Keeping you company.” Twisting himself around, Thor props himself up on one arm to give him a knowing look. “I know inactivity isn’t one of your stronger suits, so I thought you might like some distraction. And I talked to Tony, he’s arranging a movie night for you, so you can expect a full house tonight.”

“Thor…” Steve runs a hand through his hair, equal parts touched and exasperated. “I appreciate the thought, but you really don’t have to-”

“I know, I know I don’t have to. But… I still want to.” His smile losing its sardonic edge, Thor leans in a little closer. “Your first thought is always for others, for what they need before you. And…” He hesitates before laying one hand over Steve’s, squeezing it ever so gently. “I was worried for you, after your injury. Will you just… let me make sure you’re taken care of?”

… well. The prospect does sound inviting, delivered with such achingly heartfelt words. And with those soft, earnest blue eyes trained on him so beseechingly, Steve would defy anyone to resist. “... are you sure?” he asks, hedging even as his resolve crumbles. “I mean, Buck’ll tell ya, I get pretty crabby when I’m stuck in bed.”

In lieu of answering, Thor retrieves his book after a moment’s thought, smiling to himself as he finds his place again. “How features are abroad, I am skill-less,” he reads softly, the words almost musical in his smooth baritone. ”But, by my modesty, the jewel of my dower, I would not wish any companion in the world but you, nor can imagination form a shape besides yourself to like of.” His eyes are fond when he lowers the book again to look at Steve, with just a hint of amusement. “Does that answer your question?”

Ducking his head, Steve makes no effort to hold back his smile, even as his cheeks heat up. “You’re a real sap sometimes, you know that?”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m your sap, isn’t it?” Thor chuckles, leaning in close to press a kiss to his forehead. Honestly, with this kind of bedside manner, he could grow to like mandatory bedrest.

“Will you keep reading?” Steve asks, letting his eyes fall shut again as Thor settles back into place against him. “Just ‘til the others get here?”

“Anything you want, love. Now, then,” Thor murmurs, licking one fingertip to turn the page, “where were we… ah, yes, let’s see what Ferdinand has to say to that…”

~~~~~

16. “Can you please just hold me?” (This one’s more inspired by the prompt, rather than including it word for word)

just a little change, small to say the least

If there’s one thing Thor’s come to appreciate in his time on Earth, it’s the concept of central heating.

It’s nearly a week now since Manhattan woke to find itself blanketed in the first snow of winter, with little respite since. Just beyond the tower windows, a whirling cloud of white engulfs the city, the reds and golds of Christmas lights twinkling intermittently through the haze. And of course, with the snow and the driving wind comes the resulting drop in temperatures. Not quite on par with Johtunheim, but still enough to steal right down to the bone, even through the thick layers they pile on whenever one of them feels brave enough to venture out on foot.

And yet, thanks to JARVIS and various other innovations of Midgard’s technology, the temperature within the tower walls remains at a pleasantly mild warmth. Enough so that he can comfortably stand stark naked in one of Tony’s bathrooms, all cool chrome and marble tiling, without so much as a shiver.

Not that he isn’t capable of generating his own heat under the right circumstances, Thor thinks to himself with just a touch of self-satisfaction. All the same, the wet washcloth he presses to his brow is a welcome balm, drawing out a sigh of relief at the bracing damp. Moving quickly, he gives his torso a thorough wipe down before running the cloth under the cold tap again, giving himself a moment to catch his breath. To savour the warm, syrupy drowsiness, all the pleasant little aches he’s accumulated over the evening.

Strolling back out into the bedroom, a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of the figure still sprawled across the bed. “Comfortable, are we?” he asks, leaning against the door as he takes a moment to admire his handiwork.

Tangled in the rumpled sheets with one arm thrown over his eyes, his spent cock still half hard as it lolls in the groove of his hip, Steve looks every inch the cat who just got the cream. “Just give me a minute,” he murmurs, dreamy and languid as he stretches out with a groan of satisfaction. A far cry from the hoarse, desperate pleas for more he’d filled the room with just a few minutes ago, almost loud enough to drown out the slap of skin on skin. “Almost got the feeling back in my legs.”

Thor chuckles, allowing himself just a little smugness as he settles back down on the bed, washcloth in hand. “Here, let me,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow. With slow, sweeping movements, he wipes down the mess of their coupling, starting from Steve’s chest before gently working his way downwards to his ass. Watching the muscles shift and relax in response to the sudden cold, a trail of goosebumps erupting across the miles of pale flesh in his wake.

The sight would be enough to tempt a saint. Gods know it’s been enough for Thor, time and again.

Humming softly with satisfaction, Steve finally shifts his arm enough to look at Thor properly. Traces of his earlier flushed state linger, eyes half-lidded and hazy against the rosiness in his cheeks. His lips still slick and swollen red from the few frantic minutes he’d spent sucking Thor off, his fingers an iron grip digging into Thor’s hips as he’d fucked into that mouth, sinfully hot and wet, and gasped for Steve to touch himself. Thoroughly wrecked and utterly gorgeous, and a curl of heat reignites in Thor’s belly at the knowledge that it’s his doing. That only he gets to see their captain like this, touch him like this.

“Thanks.” Steve’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and there’s something inscrutable behind his satiated smile when their eyes meet again. “You don’t have to do all that, you know.”

“Well, I do owe you one for that rescue in Florence last week,” Thor quips, smiling at the chuckle the remark pulls from Steve. “But, really… it’s no trouble”. Not for you. He leaves the words unspoken, resting on the tip of his tongue even as his heart beats a little faster at the thought. But the quiet remains easy and companionable as he finishes his work, Steve’s eyes bright with mirth when he lets himself fall back on the mattress with a long sigh. Savouring the warmth radiating from the body next to him.

It’s one of his favourite parts of their trysts, these little silences as they allow themselves to just be in each other’s company. No world-threatening dangers, no responsibilities beyond the door. Just the two of them, sated and content.  A respite he’s always sorry to see come to an end.

As if in response to his thoughts, a jaw-cracking yawn swells up from deep in his chest; a reminder of the late hour, and all their exertions on top of it. “Well,” he sighs, heaving himself up off the bed, “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He hunkers down, even as his weary limbs protest at the effort, sorting through the scattered trail of clothing for what’s his.

“... does it have to be?”

Shaking his head, Thor grins to himself as he locates his underwear under the bed. “Don’t tempt me,” he chuckles, straightening up and casting an amused look back at the bed.

But Steve doesn’t return the smile, his expression thoughtful as he regards Thor. As if carefully measuring his next words. “I mean… it’s already late enough. You could stay, if you want.” He gestures towards the empty space next to him, watching Thor with careful, questioning eyes.

… oh.

It’s not an unpleasant thought. That much, Thor can parse out from the tangle of emotions the request sets off. But since they began this… whatever this is they share, there’s never been any expectation. Just an hour or two of pleasure and stress release between two friends, nothing more. And there’s something to be said for not upsetting the balance on a good arrangement.

It would be simple, to take the easy out Steve’s offered and be on his way. To let things go on as they have for the past few months. Just friends and teammates who occasionally fall into bed together whenever one or both of them need a good, hard fuck. Who always enjoy one another’s company, whether in sex or laughter or comfortable silences. Who set each other’s hearts racing with the merest glance or smile. Just friends.

So, all things considered… there’s really only one answer he can give.

“That… sounds nice. Thanks.” Even with his mouth dry, the words come as naturally as breathing. And though he tries to school his features, the sight of Steve ducking his head as he turns pink right to his ears sets an immense warmth surging in Thor’s chest.

Not that it quite assuages the hesitance he feels as he climbs back into the bed, eyes on Steve for any sign to withdraw or slow down. This isn’t new territory for him, or for Steve, possibly. But it is for them.

If nothing else, he clearly isn’t alone in his apprehension; Steve clears his throat awkwardly, eyes raised to the ceiling as they fix the covers. “Uh, JARVIS, could you get the lights please?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Sleep well,” JARVIS answers, smooth and discreet as the lights dim, until only a faint glow from the streets and snowfall outside remain. Leaving the two of them lying on opposite sides of the bed in near total darkness, a prickly, unsure silence stretching between them. The glint of Steve’s eyes is barely visible in the shadows as they watch each other. Waiting for someone to make the first move.

The spell is broken when Steve exhales sharply through his nose with exasperation before scooting in closer, and Thor has to bite back a laugh; leave it to Steve to step up first and take a dilemma by the horns. Throwing one arm across Thor’s chest, Steve settles himself along his right side, the crown of his head tucked neatly under Thor’s chin as he lays it down on his shoulder. Spurred on by the show of sheer stubborn confidence, Thor lets his arm curl around Steve’s back, his hand resting at the base of his spine. Noting how nicely they fit together, a thought that sends an odd little flutter through his stomach. Not an unpleasant one, though - quite the opposite.

“You okay?” There’s a familiar ring of the steadfast captain to Steve’s question, always checking in on his men. But it doesn’t quite mask the uncertainty of a man with his heart laid bare.

“Yeah, just…” He huffs out through his nose, smiling up at the shadows the snowfall sends dancing across the ceiling. “Trying to figure out why we haven’t been doing this part all along.” He strokes his hand up the length of Steve’s back, his palm spread broad and flat to his spine, and savours the shiver of pleasure that runs through Steve’s body. All of a sudden, he doubts he’s going to be using his own bed very much after tonight. Not alone, anyway.

“Well,” Steve finally answers, and Thor can hear the smile of relief in his voice, warm and content as the arm across his chest curls around him a touch more securely. Pulling them that little bit closer together. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time, won’t we?”

[wonderstvrs]

Keep You Safe | Damian Wayne x Female!Reader

Damian hires a bodyguard for Reader without letting her know. Unfortunately, it does the complete opposite of what he intended it to do.

WORD COUNT: 3,274

WARNINGS: Strong language, Mentions of kidnapping, Mentions of alcohol, Violence

This was requested by my baby @sidewalk-sidekick​. Thanks for being my first request babe uwu. I think I’m kind of worried that Damian is OOC, but you know what, that’s why I’m practicing. Damian is older than he is in the comics, around 19 or 20. I also really love New Alexandria (the bookstore/cafe mentioned here) so be prepared to be seeing that pretty often.

There is a man watching you.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes on you. You were on your way to the monthly open-mic being hosted at New Alexandria, the bookshop/café that you worked at. As one of their baristas, you were required to work the event, which attracted a pretty big crowd that composed mostly of pretentious poets or sad writers having existential crises. As your boyfriend, Damian, would describe them.

Usually, he would take you to New Alexandria himself, driving one of the fancy cars you specifically remember his father told him to never touch. But tonight, he had some mandatory family thing at the Manor. You always tell him that you could get to shop yourself, that he didn’t come all the way into the city to pick you up. He always shut down your protests, claiming that it wasn’t safe for you to be out alone at night, especially in a city like Gotham. Eventually, you stopped arguing, silently grateful that you could avoid all the creeps that lurked on the streets.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you try to stave off the panic threatening to overwhelm you. You tell yourself to relax. You were two stops away from the shop. Maybe if you don’t look at him, he won’t do anything. Right?

Not being able to help yourself, you take a look at the man with the corner of your eye. He was sitting a few seats behind you on your left. He had a plain black t-shirt with a black leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a green beanie on his head. If you didn’t know any better, he looked like any other person heading to open-mic.

What if he is just going to the open-mic and you’re being an overdramatic wimp? You take another look at him and wait. You recognized him. He was standing a few blocks from your apartment when you left earlier tonight. He was by the newsstand looking through this morning’s paper before he got into the bus with you.

Oh god. Are you going to die tonight? Shit. This man is going to kidnap you for ransom because he probably knows that you’re Damian Wayne’s girlfriend and then he’s probably going torture you while you wait and oh my god what if Damian won’t come for you what if—

Your thoughts are interrupted by your phone going off. You turn it over to see Damian’s name. Your finger hovers above the “Answer” button, debating on whether or not to answer it. You didn’t want to have to ruin his night if you told him about the guy. Maybe if you didn’t answer he’d think that you were at work already.

The need to hear his voice overwhelms that other part of you and you cave. You bring the phone to your ear and take a deep breath to collect yourself, focusing your attention on your boyfriend.

“Please save me from my family,” he says the moment the call connects. There were muffled screams from the background and what you think is Mario Kart music. The sound of the chaos makes you forget that, for a second, you could possibly be dead in the next few minutes.

“Is that Mario Kart?” You ask him, an amused laugh coming out of your mouth. He huffs on the other side. “And are you hiding out in the bathroom?”

“You would too if you had to suffer through Grayson’s high-pitched screeching,” he replies. You can practically see the expression of disgust on his face. You laughed again. There’s a pause from him before he says softly into receiver, “I wish I was with you instead.”

Your heart warms at the sincerity in his voice. Dick tells you that back then Damian wasn’t the type to freely profess his feelings. He had come a long way from the angry ten-year-old boy that Dick said he was. You knew firsthand how deeply Damian loved and the effort he makes in communicating his emotions.

“Me too,” you tell him, taking another peek at the man. The man had looked away from you and was staring out the window, seemingly admiring the view. You let out a breath of relief. Maybe he wasn’t following you. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

“Are you all right?” Damian asks. Worry tinged his voice and you didn’t need to see him to know that he’s frowning.

“Yeah, Dames. I’m fine.” The bus is slowing down and you look out to see the stop near New Alexandria. “The bus just got here. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course.” He pauses, then says, “Be safe.”

Over the last few months, you’ve learned that Damian says simple things, but with hidden meanings. It’s the most you’ve read in between the lines since your high school literature classes, but it paid off. You’re confident that you’re now fluent in Damian-speak.

What he says, “Be safe”. What he means, “I love you.”

You smile, heart so full of fondness for this grumpy man that you fell in love with. You tell him, “I love you too.”

“Tt. I didn’t say that,” he says.

You laugh, “It was implied.”

He scoffs again, but you know he’s smiling. The bus stops and you get up.

“Go, before you’re late again,” he orders. You tell him one final goodbye before you make your way out of the bus. Before you leave, you catch one last sight of the man, still seated with his eyes trained on the window beside him. Huh, maybe you were just overacting. With your heart still easy from the conversation with Damian, you get off the bus and make your way into New Alexandria.

-

“Is it just me, or was open-mic longer this time?” One of your co-workers, Rosalie, complains. You snort as you lifted a chair and put the seat on the table that you finished wiping. There were actually some really good poets tonight, some with thought-inducing work that would probably give you an existential crisis tonight. You place the last of the chairs on the table at the same time Rosalie rolls up the last of the microphone wires.

“I’m just glad to go home,” you tell her honestly. After the stalker scare, there was nothing that you wanted more than to curl up in your bed, sleep the night away, and wake up in Damian’s arms. You don’t know where he goes off to in the early morning, but you’ve learned not to question it. You trusted that he would tell you on his own time.

“Amen, sister.” Rosalie gives you a high-five as she passes by. You follow her into the backroom, where you hang both of your aprons, and get your things ready to go. Rosalie salutes you before she leaves, “Tell Boss that I’m heading out. I’ll lock the front.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.” You grab your bag and head to the office room where your boss/friend was putting her things away. “Hey, Rose is closing the front.”

“Ugh, bless her. I really don’t feel like walking all the way to the front.” She zips up her bag and looks at you expectantly. “Ready to go?”

The two of you lived a block away from each other. You suspect Damian had something to do with it, probably because she was dating Jason, his brother. You were just happy that you didn’t have to walk home alone, especially tonight.

You nod and the two of you make your way to the back door after shutting off the rest of the lights. After securing the back, the two of you walked out of the alleyway and onto the streets of Gotham. You make your way to the deli stand a few blocks away from New Alexandria and get yourself some sandwiches.

“Hey, how’s that internship with that company going?” She asks you. You take a bite of your sandwich before answering.

“It’s pretty good. My supervisor is kind of a dick, but at least he’s actually teaching me things.”

“Hm. Let me know if you want me to kick his ass,” she tells you. You laugh at that, shaking your head. Taking another bite, you glance around taking in the city, only to choke. On the other street, there was that same man from the bus. He was wearing the same clothing and he was walking in the same direction they were, looking at you every once in a while. Oh god. So, you were being followed. Shit.

You didn’t realize that you had stopped in the middle of the street until your companion stopped beside you, patting your back gently.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concerned. You almost tell her that everything is fine, but you could see the man on the other side of the street. He had stopped and was leaning against the wall of a building, purposefully looking away from you. She follows your gaze and frowns. “What are you looking at?”

“Do you see that guy over there? The one with the green beanie?” You whisper to her. She takes a quick glance and nods, her face serious. You steel yourself as you say, “I think he’s been following me.”

Her face hardens as she takes in your words, “Are you sure?”

“I saw him near my building earlier tonight and he was on the same bus as me. He didn’t follow me into New A so I thought it was just a coincidence but now he’s here and he’s definitely following us. Oh my god. What are we going do? We’re going to die. We are going to d—”

“Hey, calm down.” She puts her hands on your shoulders. She was tense, looking at the man as discreetly as she could. She turns to you, face resolute and a little angry. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go my house and see if he follows us.”

“What?” You exclaim. “But then he’ll know where you’ll live!”

You’re confused. Why would she even suggest that? You look at her, her face steely with determination and her grip tight on your shoulder. You’re about to refuse, but something in your gut tells you that she was going to do it anyway.

“I don’t like this plan.”

She smirks a little, something you have definitely seen on Jason’s face. It was the same look that he had when he was about to do something really stupid and reckless—like pouring his drink on some drunk asshole who was flirting with her during open-mic and starting a fight.

“Trust me. It’ll be fine,” she says. She puts her arm around your shoulders and begins walking again.

Soon enough, you pass by your apartment building. You cross the street and walk a little further, until you recognize her apartment building a few feet from you. Before you could make your way to the steps, she pulls you into the nearby alleyway.

“What are you doing?” You ask her, confused and just a little bit afraid. She puts her finger to her lips and motions for her to back up against the wall. You follow, watching her as she peeks her head out to the street, a look of concentration on her face. Oh my god. Was she going to confront the stalker? Holy shit. She was fucking crazy. “Please don’t tell me that you’re going to do something stupid.”

She only smiles at you, “Relax. I’ll handle it.”

She turns back to towards the street. The next thing you know, she’s reaching out, grabbing the man’s arm and pulling him into the alleyway.

“Holy shit!” You yell as she pushes him to the other side of the wall. The man tries to swing at her, but she simply ducks and kicks at his private parts. You move a little further away as the man doubles in pain, his hands going down to cup them. “What the fuck?!”

She ignores you in favor of grabbing one of his arms, twisting it, and holding it against his back as she pushed him into the wall.

“Who are you working for?” She demands from him. The man doesn’t answer, only groaning in pain. She presses against the arm more, “I said, who are you working for?!”

“Wayne! Wayne! He hired me to look after her,” the man answers. What? You exchange confused looks with her. Why would Bruce Wayne hire a bodyguard for her? He’s never done that before, not even when you went on that vacation to Japan a few months back. As far as you know, Damian’s father…wait.

You stand a little closer to the two, “Bruce Wayne?”

“His brat,” the man answers. “He hired me to follow you and keep you safe. Said something about not trusting someone’s concubine to look after you.”

You hear a snort from the woman beside you. You look to see her rolling her eyes as she backs away and lets him go.

“Sounds like Damian,” she shrugs. She looks apologetically at the man, who was rubbing his arm while glaring at her, “Sorry about that. You freaked her out pretty bad.”

“Whatever,” he says. He looks at you with contempt in his eyes, “Can you just make your way home so I can get the hell out here?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just say goodbye.”

He rolls eyes his eyes, but goes to stand out at the street. You turn to look at your friend with a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell was that?”

She laughs sheepishly, shrugging, “Jay taught me some self-defense moves for when I’m in trouble. They’re pretty basic, but I guess they worked, huh?”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Better not keep your knight-in-shining-armor waiting,” she says with a smirk. You roll your eyes at her and give her a little shove as she walks away from you. Oh, you are definitely going to have a talk with Damian about this.

The bodyguard walks you home in an awkward and stony silence. With one final goodbye, you head up to your apartment. You could barely walk up the two flights of stairs that lead to your place, the exhaustion of today’s events finally catching up to you.

Closing your door behind you, you drop your keys into the little bowl by the door and kick off your shoes. You head to the kitchen, not even bothering to turn on your lights.

“Hello, beloved.”

You almost choke on your water. Geez, what the hell was up with you and choking today? You turn around to find Damian lounging on your couch, smiling at you.

“Dames, what the hell? I almost drowned.”

He smiles at you, “I’m sorry. It’s a habit.”

You flip the light switch and stare at your boyfriend, arms crossed. You must have looked unamused because he stopped smiling and stood up.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He steps closer to you, frowning.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask the bodyguard that you apparently hired to watch me?”

At least he had the tendency to look a little sheepish.

“Yeah, oh.” You glare at him. “I thought I was going to get kidnapped, Damian. I almost had a panic attack on the damn bus.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you distress,” he says. He puts his hands on your arms, looking at you with sincerity. You can see the guilt in his eyes. He knew how anxious you tend to get in public spaces, especially when alone. He should have thought about what having someone watching you so intently would do to you. “I only meant to keep you safe.”

You sigh. Of course, you knew that. You had to admit that going out into the city at night, alone, was dangerous, especially in Gotham. There were so many crazy things going on in this city that he had a reason to worry about your safety. Still, you didn’t like that he felt the need to keep this from you. What if that person had turned out to be a real stalker? What if Jay didn’t teach his girlfriend self-defense and the both of you had been taken? That man had been an unknown variable, and you didn’t like not knowing who he might have been.

“I get it and I’m grateful that you thought of my safety. But, Dames,” you take his hands from your arms and hold it in yours. You look into his eyes so that he could see how serious you were about this, “You don’t have to feel the need to do it behind my back. I was so worried about what would’ve happened to me if he turned out to be a serial killer or a nutjob who was going to kidnap me. That bodyguard didn’t make me feel safe, if anything he scared me.”

You let go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. He instinctively puts his hands on your waist, still looking at you. You could see the regret in his eyes and you hated to see him so downtrodden, but he needed to know this.

“I truly am sorry,” he tells you. You nod, letting him speak. “I was simply worried for your well-being. I hate sending you out there on your own without me beside you. I know Jason’s partner lives near you and she is fully capable of protecting the both of you, but I wanted you to be safe. I didn’t know how you’d react if I told you that I hired a bodyguard, so instead, I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” You tell him. He smiles at you and leans in. You let him, your eyes closing as you feel his lips press against yours. He pulls you in closer, pressing your body against his, and tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It lasts for a while, neither of you willing to break it off. You did, though. The excitement of today’s events left you dead tired and there was nothing that you wanted more now than to just cuddle with Damian in bed until you fell asleep.

“Cuddle with me? At least until I fall asleep?” You ask him. He seems to consider it. You think that he’s weighing how late he could be to wherever he goes to in the middle of the night. You hope that he stays because he was really comfortable right now and you needed a little TLC.

He nods, “Of course.”

“Yay.”

After a few minutes getting ready for bed, you’re lying on your soft bed, your head on Damian’s chest and your legs tangled together. You close your eyes, sighing in content as Damian plays with your hair. The two of you reveled in the silence. You hope that the bodyguard wasn’t too sore from whatever she did to him. That reminds you….

“I think you should pay that guy extra. I don’t know that Jason taught her, but what she did looked like it hurt,” you mumble to him, half asleep. You feel his chest move his amused snort.

“All right. Anything for you.”

“Hm. Love you, Dames.”

It was quiet and you almost think that he’s not going to respond. Which is fine. You already know that he loves you. As you drift off, you don’t see him smile down at your sleeping figure. You don’t feel the kiss he leaves on your head. You don’t hear the quiet “I love you” that he says before he leaves for patrol. But he has a feeling that you know.