#its nice... hidden in plain sight kind of thing

[satsuha]

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART X

—lay all your love on me

summary: two idiots who got their shit together and now love each other unconditionally.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.2k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). lots of smut, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, lots of fluff, cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, dual pov so watch out for that, and reminding everyone this is a work of fiction so just sit back and relax and enjoy! but if this isn't your thing, move along :)

masterlist!

February 25, 2023

London, England

London felt different this time. The city hummed with its usual, muted energy—the overcast sky casting everything in a soft, diffuse light—but for you and Pedro, it was like being in your own world, hidden in plain sight. The press tour for The Mandalorian had begun, but this time things had shifted. You were together now, and the stolen glances, soft touches, and subtle smiles painted your days in colors no one else could see.

Five days of interviews and cameras, but you didn’t waste a minute when you were alone. London became your playground, with dinners tucked away in quiet corners and late-night walks along the Thames. Photos of the two of you surfaced online, of course—your laughter caught mid-frame as you leaned into him outside a restaurant, Pedro’s arm draped casually over your shoulders—but to the world, you were still just friends.

There was an unspoken ease, an intimacy that hadn’t been there before. It was in the way Pedro’s hand would brush against yours when no one was looking and how you’d catch him staring at you with that quiet, knowing smile that made your heart do somersaults.

One interviewer joked about Pedro’s tendency to play father figures on screen. "It’s funny," they said, "you keep playing these fatherly roles. What’s the draw?"

Pedro chuckled, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, glancing at you before answering. He wasn’t just answering the question—he was letting everyone into his head, just for a moment. "I like the idea of it," he said, his voice mellow and thoughtful. "Being able to imagine that responsibility, that kind of love. It’s... comforting."

You nudged him playfully, lighting up the moment with a grin. "Comforting, huh?" you teased, leaning in. "You’re really gunning for that ‘World’s Coolest Dad’ mug, aren’t ya?"

He chuckled again, the sound low and amused. "Oh, absolutely," he replied, mock serious. "But, let’s be real—I’m already cool dad material. Look at me." He spread his arms like he was showing off some award-worthy masterpiece.

You shifted on your seat, eyebrow raised, and whispered, “Honey, they want you to be the daddy, not the dad.”

Pedro froze for a split second before bursting into laughter, his eyes crinkling in that way that always made your stomach flip. "Touché," he said, still laughing. "I’m multi-talented, I can be both."

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get you the mug.”

The room erupted in laughter, and the easy banter between you two was back, but there was a difference now. Every joke, every shared smile held a layer of intimacy that no one else could decipher.

March 14, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

The night was electric, as it always was, a celebration of film and glamour.

Pedro looked gorgeous in his black Zegna suit, the sharp lines contrasting with the softness of his hair, longer than usual, curling slightly at his collar. His face lit up in that way you loved, the crinkles around his eyes deepening as he smiled. You, too, had dressed for the occasion in a stunning black Oscar de la Renta gown, the fabric hugging your body like a second skin. But it wasn’t the dress or the cameras that made you feel beautiful—it was the way Pedro looked at you from across the room. He looks at you, not at anyone else. It feels very nice when he looks at you. It's grounding.

You arrived separately. The decision had been mutual—to keep your relationship private for just a little longer. Inside the Dolby Theatre, you texted each other relentlessly, your phone lighting up every few minutes.

Pedro: You look unreal.

You glanced across the room and spotted him, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the room worth watching.

You: Have you seen yourself? Ridiculous.

You watched him bite back a smile. You knew what he was thinking, that playful look he got when he was trying to be serious but couldn't quite manage it around you.

Pedro: Wanna trade seats?

You glanced over at your seating arrangements, aware that the cameras were everywhere. It was almost torturous not to be able to sit next to him, to lean into his side and steal private moments.

You: Don’t tempt me.

He raised an eyebrow from across the room, his smile lazy but full of warmth. You could practically hear him saying, "Try me," without even needing the words.

At one point, your phone buzzed again.

Pedro: I think the guy next to me just tried to flirt with me.

You: Well, tell him he’s got competition.

Pedro: Should I let him down easy?

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head and glancing toward the stage.

You: Maybe let him sweat it out first.

The night wore on, and he presented an award with Lizzie Olsen, and you couldn’t take your eyes off him—his smile, the way he owned the stage with that effortless charm. Every now and then, you’d steal moments—walking to each other’s seats under the guise of casual conversation—but there was thrill in the secrecy. It was fun, this private world you shared, just for the two of you.

Later, during one of the commercial breaks, the both of you managed to slip away backstage, away from the sea of people. The hustle and bustle of the theater seemed to fade as you both found a semi-dark corner. The dim light cast shadows on the walls, but all you could see was him—the soft smile on his lips, the playful glint in his eyes.

Pedro wasted no time. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close until there was barely any space between you. His scent, familiar and warm, wrapped around you as he leaned down, stealing a kiss from your lips. It was quick but full of tenderness, his lips brushing against yours as if he couldn’t help himself.

You laughed softly, half-heartedly trying to push him away, knowing you had only a few minutes before you’d be called on stage to present the next award. “Pedro, stop,” you whispered, your hands gently resting on his chest. “We only have a few minutes, and I have to go soon. They’ll call me any second.”

But he wasn’t deterred. His lips found yours again, a bit more insistent this time, kissing you deeply before pulling back just enough to breathe. “A few minutes of you,” he said in a low, almost reverent voice, “would be enough to keep me going for years.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, the world outside your little bubble disappearing as his thumb grazed your cheek. You tilted your head up, your lips brushing his once more, a tender kiss that lingered just long enough to make you want more. His hand rested on the small of your back, the heat of his touch soothing you in the moment.

“You’re making this really hard, you know?” you teased softly, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your chest as his forehead rested against yours. “Good,” he whispered, his breath fanning across your lips. “Let them call you. I’m not letting you go until the last second.”

You smiled, leaning into him, allowing yourself just a few more stolen seconds. His lips found your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, as if trying to memorize the feel of you before the moment passed. You closed your eyes, savoring the warmth of him, the safety of his arms around you.

Then, reluctantly, you heard the distant call of your name from the stage manager. Pedro sighed, his hand slowly sliding away from your waist. “My time's up.”

You looked up at him, a dangerous grin spreading across your face. “Don’t worry,” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “you'll get to have me for the rest of the night.”

March 31, 2023

Los Angeles, CA

By the time the PaleyFest rolled around, Pedro was already feeling the weight of keeping everything hidden. He wasn’t a man who liked to keep secrets—especially not something as big as you. You sat so close to him, so near yet so far, and it took everything in him not to reach out and show the world how much he loved you. Instead, he found himself compensating, channeling his feelings into every casual touch, every stolen glance that was meant for only you.

He showed up that night in a brown and beige cardigan, the fabric stretching over his broad shoulders, paired with green pants and black Chelsea boots. You had told him once how much you liked them. His scruff had grown fuller, darker, and he knew you liked it like that. It drove him crazy when your fingers brushed against it, soft touches that sent flames all the way to his chest.

The night had gone by swiftly enough. Interviews, panels, the usual public-facing routine. Yet, every moment felt charged with the knowledge that you were there, just inches away. You were sitting beside him during the Q&A session, your knees touching. His hand would occasionally ghost over yours, brushing against your fingers, almost accidentally—except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was an accident. You were deliberate in everything you did, in the way you turned toward him, your laughter soft and quiet as if sharing a secret only he could understand.

It was maddening. Pedro was a good actor, but this was real life, and it was becoming harder to play the part of just colleagues, just friends. Every time you touched him, even in the smallest ways, he was reminded of how badly he wanted to kiss you right then and there. He had to keep his cool, though—keep things professional. But it was becoming impossible. You made it impossible.

The way you spoke during the panel, your voice warm and confident, filled with that easy charm that came so naturally to you—he was falling apart inside. He couldn’t focus on anything else. Every word out of your mouth felt like a temptation. Every soft glance in his direction was a tug on the string that bound his heart to yours.

God, you’re too much to be denied, he thought, his mind drifting as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He wanted to kiss you. Right there, in front of everyone. To hell with the secrecy. The privacy you two had was a blessing and a curse. It made loving you easier in some ways—no eyes watching, no prying questions. But it also made it sad, frustrating. All these private moments that he clung to—your stolen touches, your quiet words of affection—were everything to him. But there was a part of him that wanted more.

He sometimes forgot that you were supposed to be keeping things quiet. It just felt so natural to be near you, to let his hand graze yours, or to press his knee against yours while answering a question. Nobody saw a thing—or if they did, nobody said anything. It was amazing how invisible these touches of heaven were to everyone else, how easily they slipped under the radar.

As the panel went on, Pedro found himself drifting. His mind wasn’t in the questions or the answers—it was in the curve of your lips, the sound of your laughter, the way your leg brushed against his every time you shifted in your seat. You made it so easy to fall in love with you. Too easy.

When you turned to him, your eyes meeting his for just a split second longer than necessary, his mouth went dry. That quiet connection was enough to make him feel like he was losing his grip. He shifted in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to focus on the discussion at hand but finding it increasingly difficult with his pants growing tighter by the second.

He needed to have you.

Later, when the two of you made it back to the hotel, Pedro could barely keep himself together. The second the door clicked shut behind you, something in him snapped. He’d been holding back all night.

As soon as the door closed, his hands were on you—rough, needy, pulling you close like he’d been starving for you. Like a dog let off his leash. His fingers pressed into your hips, firm and demanding, and his mouth was on yours before you had time to take a breath. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was raw, desperate. Slow, deep kisses like he’d been holding his breath the entire night, waiting for this moment when he could finally let it all out.

You barely made it to the couch before things escalated. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, his fingers slipping beneath your clothes, touching every inch of your skin like he needed it. Like he’d been deprived of you for days, even though it had only been hours since his hand had last grazed yours. His thumb brushed over your nipple through your shirt, and you gasped into his mouth, pushing your hips forward to meet his.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raspy, full of heat. It wasn’t a question. It was a realization that had his cock straining painfully against his pants, desperate to feel you.

His fingers slid between your legs, pressing against you through the fabric, and you moaned softly, your head falling back against the couch as he worked you open. Slick and warm, your body responded to him like it always did—eagerly, hungrily. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed a line up your throat, whispering things only you were meant to hear.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he groaned, grinding his hips into the cushions beneath you. His cock was rock hard, desperate for any kind of friction, but he wasn’t ready to give in just yet. Not until he had you moaning his name like no one else could. “I couldn’t stop thinking about getting you like this…desperate for me.”

His fingers moved inside you with a kind of expertise that left you breathless, his thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to have you arching your back, gripping his arms for stability. He hopes you feel his frustration—his need to release everything he couldn’t show in public, the need to pour every unsaid word into this moment. He kissed you harder, devouring you, his body pressing you deeper into the couch as he gave in to the desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You clung to him, your breath coming in shallow gasps, your fingers curling in his hair as he fucked you with his hand, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His mouth was close to your ear, his words a hot, breathy confession. “I can’t stand it sometimes… being near you and not being able to touch you the way I want.”

You moaned. The sound—so deliciously wanton—spurred him on, his movements becoming more urgent and intense.

Pedro groaned, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and his beard scratching your skin as he thrust his fingers deeper. “I’m always desperate to make you feel good,” he murmured, his breath hitching with the intensity of it. He was grinding his cock into the couch, trying to find some kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Please, more,” you gasped, your voice trembling, your body tightening with the anticipation of release. Pedro could feel it, could hear it in the way your breath hitched, the way your hips moved against his hand.

Just when you were about to fall apart, his mouth was on yours again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, swallowing your moans as you came undone beneath him. Your body trembled in his arms, and he groaned, kissing you harder.

You were still coming down when he finally lifted you into his lap, pressing you against him, his cock straining beneath you. He knew you could feel it. He knew you wanted it just as badly as he did.

But then came the frustration, the gnawing ache. His hand moved to your cheek, cupping it as he kissed you softer this time, a contrast to the earlier desperation. “I think about kissing you so much,” he admitted, his voice low and husky as his fingers traced lazy circles on your thigh.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Good thing you get to do it whenever you want now.”

Pedro’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Well, not whenever I want,” he muttered, his voice low, almost hoarse, before he found your mouth again. His lips trailed along your jaw, slowly, torturously, until they grazed the corner of your mouth.

You laughed softly, the tension in the room shifting with your teasing tone. “Blessed be this tired conversation,” you murmured, your words brushing against his lips. “We agreed we’d wait, baby. It’s better this way.”

His forehead rested against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as his fingers trailed down the side of your face. His eyes, heavy with love and frustration, bore into yours. “But I don’t want to anymore,” he confessed, his voice raw with need. His fingertips trailed down the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone, committing each detail of your skin to memory like it might be the last time he’d get to touch you like this.

You grinned, teasing him with that wicked smile of yours that made him feel both alive and tormented. “You could fuck me on the seven o’clock news, and they’d just say I was desperate for attention,” you said, laughing at your own joke. But Pedro couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his hand cupped your face with a tenderness that made him ache. “We’ll face it together,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice a promise. "Whatever they throw at us."

He didn’t know how, didn’t know when, but he knew that he was ready to take on whatever came next—so long as it meant he didn’t have to keep hiding you. Hiding us.

Before the moment could spiral into something heavier, before his thoughts took him down that path, Pedro kissed you again. Slower this time, more deliberate. Like he was trying to communicate with his lips what he couldn’t with words.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Your breath was hot against his mouth as you spoke between kisses. “I know it’s frustrating, but we have this, Pedro. We have us.”

The words cut through the noise in his head, grounding him. He groaned softly, his hands slipping lower, his grip tightening as if you might disappear. “I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said again, the need in his voice raw, his body already pressing closer to yours. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

He saw something flash in your eyes—desire, affection, understanding. “Then don’t,” you said, voice firm with want. A playful smirk tugged at your lips. “Now shut up and fuck me, lover boy.”

He smiled, and the last thread of his restraint snapped. His hands moved quickly, fingers pulling at your clothes in a frenzy, his breath coming faster as he discarded his own. The second your bare skin pressed against his, Pedro felt like he was drowning in the sensation of you. He’d wanted this—needed this—all day, maybe longer.

You sank down onto him slowly, and Pedro groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he felt you take him in. The heat of you, the slickness, made him curse under his breath. The stretch of you around him, the way you clenched at every inch, drove him wild.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice rough with arousal. He could barely keep his thoughts straight; the sensation of being inside you was enough to make him lose his mind. The way you gasped, the way your body tightened around him, made him dizzy with want.

His lips found your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he slurred a curse, his body moving in sync with yours. You didn’t start slow. Neither of you had the patience for it. Your hips rolled against his with a roughness that made his cock throb inside you, and Pedro couldn’t hold back the way he groaned into your neck, his hands digging into your waist, guiding you harder, faster.

Each thrust felt like a confession, like he was pouring all the things he hadn't been able to say for months into the movement of your bodies.

Your mouth found his ear, and through the gasps and the heat, you whispered, “I love you.”

The words broke something inside him. Pedro’s hips stuttered, his body jerking as he pulled you closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck. His lips hovered near your ear, and he whispered back, voice trembling, “I know, baby.”

You moved faster, grinding down on him, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing in the room, and Pedro thought he might lose it. The way you felt—the way you looked—was too much, too perfect. He was on the verge, teetering at the edge, and he didn’t want it to end.

Not yet.

But your body tightened around him, and he felt you shudder as you came, the sound of your breathless cry sending him over the edge. Pedro groaned, his hips jerking hard as he came inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as his release hit him like a wave, leaving him breathless and shaking.

You pressed a soft kiss to his freckled shoulder, your voice light. “So… still frustrated?”

Pedro chuckled, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Not right now,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but give me ten minutes, and I’ll probably be ready to go again.”

Your laughter filled the room, and for the first time all night, everything felt right.

Everything felt perfect.

•••

Several weeks had passed, and with them, the world had changed in quiet, insidious ways. Paparazzi photos had surfaced, capturing stolen moments and raising questions. The speculation had simmered, threatening to boil over. But this morning, when you woke up to the persistent buzz of your phone, the weight of those weeks hadn’t fully sunk in.

Your hand lazily reaches for his side of the bed, only to find it empty.

Still half asleep, you reached out for your phone, the screen blinding in the dim light of your room. As your eyes adjusted, you saw the thousands of messages, and a particular notification popped up—an Instagram post from Pedro. You blinked, and then opened it.

There they were, pictures of you, ones you hadn’t even realized he’d taken.

The first image was from one of your walks in London. You were bundled up in a thick scarf and coat, the fog of your breath visible in the cool air. Your hair was slightly tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed from the cold, and though you weren’t looking at the camera, you were looking at him, your smile soft, eyes alight with an easy, unguarded happiness. There was something about the way you looked at him in that picture—it was a look only he ever got to see.

Another photo showed you in a fit of laughter, your head thrown back, eyes scrunched shut, one hand covering your face as if trying to stifle the sound. It was blurry, like he’d caught you mid-movement, mid-moment. Completely unposed, completely you.

The next was a close-up, your hand stretched out toward him, your face only partially visible in the background, eyes shining, lips curved in a grin. You’d been reaching for his phone that day, playfully trying to snatch it from him, teasing him about taking too many pictures.

And then, a quieter one—an intimate photo of you curled up beside him on a couch, a book in hand, legs tucked beneath you. Your hair was untidy, and you weren’t paying attention to the world around you, just lost in your thoughts. The soft golden light of late afternoon bathed the room, and the moment felt like a secret—yours and his alone.

But what caught you wasn’t just the photos. It was the caption, simple yet profound in its clarity:

"Happy birthday to my best friend, the love of my life, my adventure partner, and my girl."

The internet exploded, notifications from friends, fans, your team, all lighting up your phone. Messages poured in—questions, congratulations, shock. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was the truth in Pedro’s words, as clear as the morning light filtering through your window. No more hiding, no more stolen glances or shadows in the background. Just this—a love that had been quietly building, finally stepping into the open.

May 6, 2023

New York, NY

The night of the Met Gala buzzed with energy, a heady mix of anticipation swirling in the air. You both got ready in separate hotel rooms, allowing your respective teams the space to work their magic. The atmosphere was electric, the evening monumental—not just for the fashion, but for what it symbolized: your first public event as a couple. You had spent hours getting ready, your heart racing for reasons beyond the red carpet.

When you finally laid eyes on Pedro in his Valentino ensemble, time seemed to slow. He stood in the doorway, resplendent in a long crimson coat that swirled dramatically as he moved, paired with tailored shorts and sleek black boots. The boldness of the look, the way it fit him so perfectly, stole your breath.

"Oh my God," you whispered, unable to stop your jaw from dropping. There was something about seeing him like this—bold, confident, unapologetically himself—that sent a rush of heat through you.

Pedro, amused by your reaction, raised an eyebrow. “I know,” he said, smirking slightly, clearly aware of the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t help yourself, a cheeky grin curling on your lips. “May I say, as the kids say, that you are serving cunt?”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the hallway and bouncing off the walls, a deep, genuine laugh that made your heart skip a beat. As he stepped closer, his eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of your body wrapped in the immaculate white Versace gown. The gown hugged your body perfectly, each intricate detail catching the light as you moved.

"Well," he said, still chuckling, his voice dipping as his gaze softened, "you're making it very hard to concentrate on anything else."

The cameras flashed endlessly as you stepped onto the carpet together, arms intertwined, your bodies pressed close as if the entire world didn’t matter. For the first time, there was no hiding, no second-guessing. Your love was out there, on display for everyone to see, the vulnerability of it both thrilling and terrifying. Every step you took together felt like a declaration.

Inside the venue, the evening flowed. The opulent setting melted into the background as you moved through the crowd, hand in hand. There were moments where Pedro would pull you in close, whispering jokes or sweet nothings in your ear, and you'd catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. You danced together several times, his hands resting on your waist, the weight of his touch grounding you in a night that felt like a dream.

The chaos of the night faded away as soon as you were alone, the two of you slipping out of your clothes. The city outside was alive, its lights casting a soft, romantic glow over the bed as you lay together, skin on skin. Pedro moved above you, his hands tracing gentle paths down your body, every touch filled with reverence.

His lips followed the same trail, soft and deliberate, until he kissed you, slow and tender, his body sinking into yours with a quiet intensity. The urgency of earlier was gone, replaced with something deeper, something that spoke of love and forever. His movements were languid, like you had all the time in the world, and maybe you did.

•••

Pedro had been cast in Gladiator 2 and left for Morocco in June to start filming. The distance was both expected and dreaded, the time apart a necessary evil in your world. But then he was gone, and you missed him every day. You flew out to see him twice, visiting the set with a thrill in your chest, knowing that you were entering his world, one where he wore armor and swords and commanded a screen.

The second time you visited, you stayed in a quaint residence near the edge of the city. The night air in Morocco was warm and fragrant. Lying on the bed, a soft breeze ruffling the curtains, you watched Pedro kick off his boots, shedding the intensity of the day's filming as his grin softened in your direction.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice still rough from the day's work.

You rose, crossing the room to slip into his arms, pressing your face into his chest. His arms tightened around you, pulling you into him. You sighed into the space between his collarbones, feeling utterly content in his embrace.

“You know, it never gets old—seeing you in costume,” you teased, peering up at him.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss into your hair. “If I knew you had a thing for gladiators, I would’ve done this sooner.”

You slapped his chest lightly, earning another laugh. “I don’t. Just you.”

•••

When July came, the vast ocean between you dissolved, replaced by the steady beat of his heart as Pedro flew from Morocco. The journey had been long, the hours heavy, but the moment he stepped onto the red carpet in Los Angeles and saw you, standing tall in your black dress, framed against the shimmer of camera flashes, his weariness evaporated. The world could have spun around you, but all that existed for him was you—radiant, poised, and undeniably powerful.

His eyes never left you, and as the evening wore on, he finally drew close, his presence a gentle comfort in the midst of the chaotic premiere. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear, each word carrying a tenderness that only you could feel.

Without hesitation, you leaned back into him, your body instinctively finding its place against his. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter, grounding you amidst the sparkle of the night. “Thank you for being here,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, meant only for him. It was a moment suspended in time, the noise fading as his warmth enveloped you.

In his arms, you weren’t the glamorous you, the center of attention. You were just you, and he was simply Pedro—the man who had flown across continents just to be by your side for the night. His pride in you radiated through every gentle touch, every lingering glance, and in those precious moments, you felt it deeply.

There was no performance here, no expectations. You didn’t have to try; you didn’t have to prove anything. With him, you were never too much or not enough. You were loved—completely and without condition.

•••

The SAG-AFTRA strike gave you both a break you hadn’t anticipated, but it was exactly what you needed. For the first time in ages, there were no press tours, no filming schedules, no red carpets to think about—just you and Pedro in the brownstone you'd bought together in New York.

The place was still in disarray, a maze of half-unpacked boxes, paint swatches taped to walls, and mismatched furniture that had yet to find its place. But it was yours. It was home.

Most days were spent amidst the chaos, trying to bring some sense of order to the space. You’d argue, though never seriously, about where to hang a certain painting, or which color should blanket the living room walls. Pedro had been adamant about a soft olive green, his voice confident as he gestured to the swatch. You’d rolled your eyes, but eventually relented, knowing full well he’d win you over. The walls gradually filled with memories—framed photos of your shared adventures, artwork picked up during travels, and books, some stacked haphazardly, others lovingly arranged by Pedro himself.

One rainy Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing Pedro’s emotional support Lakers shirt, the yellow one, the fabric soft and familiar against your skin. Pedro lay with his head in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly threading through his dark curls. His eyes softened as he looked up at you, a smile playing at the edges of his lips, those crinkling lines at the corners that always made your heart flutter.

"Keep it until I come back," he had said, handing you the shirt the night before he left for Morocco. You’d kept it, of course, holding onto that part of him while he was gone, as if the shirt itself carried a trace of his warmth, his presence. Somehow, Pedro’s t-shirts always felt softer than yours, even though they were washed in the same generic detergent.

When he finally returned, seeing him at the door was enough to make your pulse quicken. You stood there, in his Lakers shirt, grinning at him in the way that only he could inspire. His eyes darkened when he noticed, a low sound escaping his throat. He didn’t even bother to hide the desire that bloomed so quickly between you, his fingers already tugging at the hem of the shirt before you even had the chance to say anything.

That night, he made love to you with the shirt still on, pushing the fabric higher as his hands skimmed the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers knew exactly how to touch you, how to unlock the deepest parts of you before you even knew what was happening. Pedro always wanted your company in such a frank, straightforward way, his need so clear and open that you found yourself giving in to him completely, surrendering to his hands and his mouth before you even realized what you were doing.

As his lips pressed against the curve of your throat, trailing kisses down your neck, he murmured softly, “Missed you so much, mi amor,” his words brushing against your skin as his hand curled tenderly against your ear, thumb tracing the delicate curve. Your eyes caught a glimpse of the tiny bullseye doodle inked on the back of his left hand, just between his thumb and index finger.

The days unfolded like that—long stretches of time where the outside world felt far away. You’d lounge in the living room, watching movies. Or dancing to Prince songs in the kitchen while cooking together.

•••

The strike went on longer than expected, giving him something he hadn’t had in ages—time. Time to breathe, to be with you without the constant pull of deadlines, flights, or set schedules.

When the idea of escaping to Europe surfaced, it felt like fate. He craved your company in ways he hadn’t realized until the possibility of uninterrupted days became real. And so, flights were booked, suitcases stuffed, and you ran away together.

Paris was the first stop. Cobblestone streets and the smell of fresh bread lingered in the air as you wandered hand-in-hand along the Seine. Pedro couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You were his favorite sight in the city.

One evening, the sky was tinted rosy, as if it, too, was in love, bathing the city in a soft, ethereal glow. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, as you stood by the water, the Eiffel Tower looming in the background.

“We needed this,” you murmured, voice as soft as the setting sun.

“Yeah, we did,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The simplicity of the moment made his heart swell. Here, in Paris, everything slowed down, and they had time—time to love without distraction.

•••

Mallorca had a way of making everything slow down. It was the kind of place that made Pedro feel young again. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the sky stretched out, impossibly blue, matching the water that shimmered below.

When you arrived at the hotel, the exhaustion from travel and the constant rush of life evaporated as soon as his hands found you.

He couldn't wait any longer, his hands reaching for you the moment you crossed the threshold into your room. His fingers tangled in your hair, his lips pressing urgently against yours as he murmured, "Take this off, quick," between heated kisses. You giggled, that soft, breathy sound that always made his heart skip, but the look in your eyes was anything but playful.

The two of you had tumbled into bed, a mess of limbs and laughter, desire taking over. You were on top of him, moving slow and deliberate, the way he liked it. Your skin glistened with sweat, the heat of the room wrapping around your bodies, and he couldn’t think of anything except how much he needed you in that moment. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was branding him, marking him as yours. His hands roamed your body, fingers tracing the curves he knew so well, and still, every time felt like the first.

When it was over, you both lay tangled together, the scent of your exertion heavy in the air. He could feel your breath on his neck, the warmth of your skin against his. For a long while, neither of you moved, content to just exist in that perfect silence, the summer heat pressing against the windows as the world outside slowed to a standstill. You didn’t know how easily you had marked him, how deeply you had sunk your teeth into his flesh.

Hours later, he woke to find you still draped over him, your head resting on his chest, your fingers splayed over his stomach. His heart ached in the best way—this was what it meant to be yours. Every part of him, from the way he loved you to the way his mind quieted when you were near, belonged to you.

The next morning, you were sitting by the water, perched on the smooth rocks that lined the shore. The water was clear as day, a sparkling, crystal blue that seemed to go on endlessly. You were wearing that purple swimsuit he loved so much. It made his pulse quicken every time he saw you in it.

You were eating fruit—mangos and berries, the sweetness lingering on his lips as you both played cards; the deck spread out between you. Pedro loved these simple moments. The sunlight reflected off the water, casting a coppery glow over everything, and he couldn’t help but stare at you as you talked, your wet hair falling loosely around your shoulders, your eyes bright and happy.

“You’re cheating,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him as you set your cards down, suspicious.

He grinned, pretending to be offended.

“Cheating? Me? I would never.”

“You totally are,” you insisted, reaching across to poke his chest. “I know that look. You’ve got something.”

He chuckled, leaning back on his hands, his gaze sweeping over you. “I’m not cheating, cariño. I’m just better at this game than you.”

“Liar.”

It was easy between you, the banter flowing naturally as you both basked in the warmth of the sun. There was a lightness to being here, a sense of freedom that neither of you could ignore.

Everything felt right—perfect, even.

A few minutes later, you stretched lazily, setting your cards aside as you glanced toward the water. “Wanna take a swim, old man?” you teased, your eyes sparkling. “I’m hot.”

He raised an eyebrow, his heart racing just a little faster at the sight of you.

God, you were beautiful.

"Yes."

You stood, offering him your hand, and he took it, pulling himself to his feet with a grin. “Come on then,” you said, leading him toward the water, your bare feet dancing across the hot rocks.

The water was cool against his skin as you both waded in, the heat of the day melting away as you swam lazily, floating in the crystal-clear sea. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way the water glistened on your skin, the way you smiled at him, carefree and full of life.

•••

Prague felt like stepping into another time, a place woven with cobblestone streets and Gothic spires. Pedro loved it here. It suited the two of you—a city where you could get lost, but it never felt like a mistake, only an adventure. As you walked hand in hand through the narrow alleyways, your laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls.

He hadn’t been able to stop staring at you all night, captivated by the way your red lipstick caught the dim light of streetlamps, the way it stained the wine glass at dinner. It was as if the color made everything else disappear, and his attention had been stuck on your mouth, tracing the lines of your lips as you smiled, teased, and bantered with him. The playful glint in your eyes was dangerous, addictive.

“You keep calling me ‘old man’ like it’s supposed to offend me,” he teased, his voice low as you strolled down the empty streets, slightly drunk, arm looped through his.

“Well,” you said, pausing dramatically to look up at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You are older. Wiser, though. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “Careful, baby, or I’ll stop giving you the benefit of my hard-earned wisdom.”

“Hard-earned wisdom, huh? Sure,” you teased, your fingers tugging gently at the fabric of his black dress shirt, your steps a little unsteady but your voice steady with danger. “Was it hard-earned the same way you’ve earned all those aches and pains?”

He groaned exaggeratedly, putting a hand to his back, pretending to wince. “See? There it is again. More ageism. You’re really hurting my feelings here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh; the sound light and free. “You don’t have feelings.”

“I do,” he replied, pulling you closer with a smirk. “But only for you.”

As you walked, your voice drifted into song, soft and playful, filling the quiet streets with warmth. He didn’t know if you realized how much those little moments, like hearing you sing absentmindedly, grounded him, made him feel like everything in the world was where it should be.

“Do you ever stop singing?” he asked, though not wanting you to stop.

“Not when I’m happy,” you said, leaning your head against his shoulder.

His chest tightened, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as the city’s chill air wrapped around you both. “I like hearing it.”

When you reached Waldstein Gardens earlier that afternoon, the place had been nearly empty. The serenity of the garden, the way your footsteps echoed in the quiet, felt magical. The trees arched over the pathways, casting dappled shadows that danced as you moved through them, your laughter mingling with the rustling leaves.

At one point, you had gotten lost, but neither of you cared. It was part of the charm, part of what made being with you feel so effortless—there was never a rush, never an urgency. You wandered the gardens as though you had all the time in the world.

“Getting lost with you isn’t so bad,” he had said at one point, his hand brushing against yours.

“You’re just saying that because I have no idea where we are.”

“Maybe.” He stopped walking then, turning to face you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb grazing the corner of your mouth, smudging that perfect red lipstick ever so slightly.

“But it’s true.”

You kissed him then, in the middle of the empty path. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it felt like Prague, the gardens, the world itself, existed solely to frame this moment.

Later, back in your hotel room, you laughed about how lost you had gotten, and he couldn’t stop looking at your lips, still stained that perfect red.

•••

Budapest was a dream of thermal baths and long, lazy afternoons. One day, you both spent hours soaking in the warm water, your body pressed against his, head resting on his shoulder as you floated aimlessly. He had never felt so relaxed, so completely at ease with anyone else. You were his anchor, keeping him from drifting away into his worries.

“You sing when you wash yourself,” he told you one night as you stepped out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel wrapped around your body.

“Do I?” you asked, smiling as you pulled him close.

He nodded, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “It’s one of the best sounds in the world.”

"Any requests for my next shower?"

"Hm, maybe some Fleetwood Mac?"

"Excellent choice, señor."

•••

Amsterdam was breathtakingly beautiful, and Pedro started to feel the weight of traveling in his bones. Though he didn't care. He was too busy loving you.

You two were in a bookstore, and you were a few aisles over, browsing through a stack of Russian literature, and he could hear you muttering under your breath, something about Dostoevsky. He turned the corner and found you flipping through a copy of White Nights.

“I swear, I’m like that annoying guy who’s always like, ‘Oh, I love Dostoevsky, I’m so cool, blah blah,’” you said, half-joking but self-aware, and Pedro couldn’t help but laugh at your expression.

He leaned against the shelf, arms crossed, his smile soft and warm. “I actually read��Crime and Punishment,” he said. “Surprisingly, it was a pageturner.”

“So, that makes us both annoying, huh?”

“Guess so.” He chuckled, watching as you turned your attention back to the books, eyes scanning the shelves like you were searching for a treasure hidden somewhere in the pages.

Pedro had always been drawn to sad books—melancholic stories, poems filled with longing. He didn’t know why, but they spoke to a part of him that craved depth. Maybe it was his way of dealing with his own emotions, or maybe it was just the kind of person he was.

A few minutes passed, and he found you again, holding a book in his hand. “Have you read The Master and Margarita?” he asked, handing it to you with a curious look.

You shook your head, glancing at the cover. “No, but if it’s one of your favorites, it’s going in the basket.”

You slipped it into the growing pile of books in your arms, and he smiled to himself, a little satisfied. He always felt a thrill when he introduced you to something he loved, like he was sharing a part of himself with you in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

Later that day, you found yourselves biking along the narrow streets, the cool breeze ruffling your hair. Pedro had long since gotten used to the feeling of the city under his tires, but he could still feel the fatigue of the trip settling into his bones.

You, on the other hand, were full of energy, pedaling with ease and laughing as you wove in and out of the winding paths.

“Stop, stop!” you called out, laughing as you veered toward a small ice cream stand by the water. Pedro pulled up beside you, catching his breath as you hopped off your bike, grinning like a kid.

“You want some?” you asked, eyeing the menu as if you hadn’t already decided what you were getting.

He raised an eyebrow, watching you with that look he always gave when you were being particularly cute. “You’re the one who’s always saying I’m the one with the sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, but I’m hot,” you replied, throwing him a playful glance. “Old man, you should try to keep up.”

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be offended as he got off his bike. “You know, the more you call me ‘old man,’ the less inclined I am to buy you ice cream.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you ordered two scoops of stroopwafel-flavored ice cream. The vendor handed it over, and you took a bite, closing your eyes in bliss. It was one of the things he loved about you—how you seemed to savor every little thing, even the simple joy of ice cream on a sunny afternoon.

After you had both finished, you found a bench by the canal, sitting side by side as people biked past and boats drifted lazily by. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, and Pedro wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of your hair mixed with the cool air of the city.

“You know, this has been one of my favorite days,” you murmured, your voice soft.

He smiled, his heart full. “Mine too.”

A few days later, Pedro stretched his legs out on the couch, wrapping them around yours, as the familiar opening scenes of The Princess Bride rolled across the screen. The rain outside was steady, a soft backdrop to the cozy warmth of the hotel room. He was in his element, leaning into the cushions with a contented grin, quoting the movie with ease.

"Farm boy, fetch me that pitcher..." he said in perfect sync with the screen, his voice low and exaggerated. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the slight roll of your eyes.

“Oh my god, P, you do know every line,” you said, your voice tinged with affection as you snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder. "You're such a nerd."

He turned to you, a mock look of indignation on his face. “Uh, do I need to remind you of all the times you’ve made me watch Mamma Mia?” His eyebrow raised dramatically, but his tone was playful. “And each time, you quote it in its entirety—and sing all the songs. Should I get started on Dancing Queen?”

You laughed, the sound soft and light. He loved that sound. Loved that it was his ridiculous comments that brought it out of you.

"Oh, don’t even tell me you don’t love it," you fired back, grinning up at him, your finger poking his side as if daring him to deny it.

He grinned wider, shrugging a little too innocently. “Well... I may or may not have had Super Trouper stuck in my head for weeks after the last time. So thanks for that.” He shifted, planting a kiss on the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair for a moment.

You nudged him, laughing. “I knew it. You love it. Admit it—you secretly love ABBA.”

He groaned dramatically. “Okay, fine. But only because you sing the songs better than the actual cast,” he teased, grinning as he leaned in closer, his forehead brushing yours. "Also, because Pierce Brosnan’s singing makes me feel better about my own.”

“Oh, please,” you said, laughing, “I’ve heard you sing. He's good. You? you...try.”

Pedro’s grin turned soft as he looked at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, his hand absentmindedly running through your hair.

The movie continued playing in the background, but it was quickly becoming an afterthought as you tangled yourself further into him. Your feet brushed against his, and he shifted slightly to wrap his arms around you tighter.

"Honestly," he started again, "I don't know how you do it. Mamma Mia, what, three times a month?"

“Hey, ABBA is universal,” you shot back, poking him again.

Pedro chuckled, leaning back into the cushions.

“Alright, alright.”

He kissed the tip of your nose, and you scrunched it.

“Do you think we’re ever gonna get through a movie without this much banter?” you asked, grinning as you broke the tender moment.

Pedro laughed.“Absolutely not. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes again, settling deeper into his chest as the rain continued to patter against the window, and for a while, you both fell into a comfortable silence, the movie continuing on without needing your attention.

But then, just as the movie’s most iconic scene approached, Pedro couldn’t resist.

“As you wish,” he said, quoting Westley once more, his voice low and affectionate, his lips brushing the top of your head again.

You groaned, half-laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Pedro murmured, his grin softening into something more tender. “But I know you wouldn't have it any other way.”

"You're right for once."

•••

Lisbon was hot. The kind of heat that makes everything slow down—the air, the conversations, the drinks. Pedro loved it. The golden sunlight bouncing off the tiled walls, the lazy sound of street musicians playing as you wandered through the city together. His friends had joined you both here for a bit, filling the days with laughter and easy company.

Tonight, you were all crammed into a small bar. He was on his third cold beer, the condensation dripping down his fingers as he took a slow sip, savoring the moment. Every now and then, he’d feel your gaze on him, and when he looked back, there you were—teasing him about yet another ridiculous shirt he’d thrown on.

“Is this one an improvement over yesterday’s?” he asked, voice full of mock innocence. He gestured to the vibrant, swirling orange and pink pattern across his chest.

You squinted, a grin spreading across your face as you leaned closer. “It’s loud. I’ll give you that. If we get lost, I can just look for a neon sign with arms.”

He snorted, setting his beer down, and casually placed his hand on your knee. The conversation around the table swirled—friends joking, sharing stories, laughing—but his focus kept drifting back to you. The way your skin glowed under the low light, the way your shoulders were bare, save for that thin scarf you’d tied as a top. Every time you leaned forward to laugh, the knot on your back shifted slightly, and he found himself tracing the lines of it with his eyes, admiring the curve of your spine.

You said his name a lot lately. In that soft, familiar way you did when you were teasing him, or when you wanted his attention, or when you were just... comfortable. Every time you said it, it sent a small jolt of tenderness through him.

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger for just a second longer than necessary. The skin was warm from the Lisbon sun, and the smell of your perfume mixed with the salty sea breeze.

One afternoon, the group had convinced you both to take a pottery class. He hadn’t been sure about it at first—clay and his hands weren’t usually a good match—but seeing the excited look on your face when you found the studio made it worth it.

You’d both sat at a long table with his friends, laughing as you tried to shape bowls and cups out of the spinning clay. Your first attempt looked more like a lumpy rock than anything functional.

“Is that supposed to be a mug, or are you sculpting an alien egg?” he teased, leaning over to inspect your disaster of a creation.

He saw you glance at his perfectly shaped little vase and pretended to look offended.

“I’m going for abstract, thank you very much. It’s called art.”

He chuckled, reaching over to smooth out one of the many dents in your clay. “Uh-huh. Very avant-garde of you, Picasso.”

But as much as he teased you, he caught your sneaking glances, a small smile playing on your lips as you focused on your own project. He loved that look, the one you got when you were completely in the moment. It was one of the intangible things about you that had him wrapped up in this feeling—this deep, undeniable love for you that grew stronger with each passing day.

Then, there was that morning with the guitar.

You knew he could play a little—enough to get by—but since he’d be playing in the second season of The Last of Us, he wanted to get better.

Naturally, you’d offered to teach him. The two of you had sat on the balcony of your Lisbon apartment, overlooking the orange-tiled rooftops, the sunlight leaving soft shadows over the city. You had your guitar across your lap, showing him some basic chords.

He was fumbling through a chord progression when you placed your hands over his, your body pressing up behind him to guide his fingers. He could feel your breath on his neck, the closeness making it hard to focus on the strings.

“C’mon, you’ve got this,” you said, your voice encouraging but playful. “It’s not that hard.”

He let out a frustrated laugh, leaning back into you slightly. “Says the musical genius over here.”

You laughed, your lips brushing against his ear. “You’re just distracted,” you teased, your hands still over his, guiding his fingers through the chord.

“Maybe I am,” he muttered, grinning as he strummed again, this time hitting the right notes. “But I think I’m getting the hang of it now.”

You leaned closer, your chin resting on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at your face. “See? I’m a great teacher.”

He shifted slightly, turning his head so your faces were almost touching. “Or maybe I’m just a great student.”

“Don’t get cocky, Pascal.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, feeling that same warmth spread through him again. These moments—when it was just the two of you, tangled up in something as simple as learning a song—they felt infinite. He knew he’d carry them with him long after this trip was over.

Back in the bar, as the night stretched on, Pedro sat back and took it all in. His friends, his drink, you. It was the small, intangible things that made him love you more each day. Every once in a while, he’d lean in to place another kiss on your bare shoulder, just because he could. Just because he was happy.

•••

Pedro leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed, as the sun dipped behind the whitewashed buildings of Santorini. The sky was a vivid pink, painted like a postcard, and the sea below shimmered in a way that made it look almost unreal. You sat beside him on the balcony, sharing a bottle of white wine, your feet propped on the railing. The light caught your face, and Pedro couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by how the golden hue played off your skin, tracing the curves of your cheekbones, catching in your eyes.

You turned to him, smiling as you took a sip from your glass. “What?” you asked softly, your voice teasing.

He shook his head, smiling back. “Nothing. Just... I’m watching the sunset.”

You laughed, the sound soft and melodic, filling the space between you. “Pedro, the sunset’s over there.” You motioned toward the horizon, but he didn’t budge.

“I know,” he said, his eyes still fixed on you. “I’m watching this sunset.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your cheeks flushed, and Pedro swore he could spend every night like this.

"You're so cheesy."

Later that night, as you lay together in bed, Pedro traced the tan lines on your back, his fingers lightly brushing the places where the sun had kissed your skin. You had fallen asleep draped over him, your breath soft and even, and for a moment, he just watched you, trying to memorize the way you looked right then—beautiful, peaceful, perfect. He wondered if you knew what a cure you were, how you’d managed to stitch up the parts of him he didn’t even know were broken.

A few days later, you dragged him to a small, lively bar tucked away in the maze of Santorini’s winding streets. “Someone told me about this place at breakfast,” you said, pulling him by the hand. “They have fun cocktails, I heard.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow, but let you lead him. “Are you sure that's all?” he teased, his voice low and warm.

“Yes, yes,” you flashed him a grin, that wicked little smile that always made his chest tighten.

The bar was relaxed but bustling, filled with the soft murmur of people talking over drinks. Pedro wore a loose white linen shirt, feeling a bit too warm but too comfortable to care. You, on the other hand, looked like you belonged in a dream—a short, flowy white dress that clung to your body just right, showing off your legs in a way that drove him wild. All his thoughts kept coming back to you in that dress. He couldn’t stop looking. Every time you shifted, crossed your legs, or leaned in to talk, his mind wandered to how good you looked in it.

As the two of you sat at a table in the center, sipping cocktails and bantering over something stupid, Pedro noticed the energy in the room shift. The lights dimmed, and a woman—likely in her 60s, with long white hair and a colorful dress—stepped to the front of the room.

“Good evening, everyone!” she said, her thick accent cutting through the crowd. “If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. And if you haven’t, welcome to the karaoke section of the night!”

Pedro’s eyes went wide. He turned to you immediately.

“Oh no,” you muttered, pulling your chair back. “I had no idea—do you want to leave?”

For a moment, he thought you were about to escape, but instead, the woman with the mic suddenly appeared at your side, handing it to you. You grinned at Pedro, your eyes twinkling with mischief, shrugging as if to say, what can you do?

Pedro let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve ambushed me,” he said, grinning as you stood up and made your way toward the front.

The crowd cheered as you started to sing Honey, Honey, and Pedro leaned back in his chair, watching you in awe. You were working the room like it was your own personal stage, your white dress flowing as you danced in your sandals and smiled, effortlessly captivating everyone.

As the music swelled, you pointed at him during the line, “You look like a movie star,” your eyes locking with his. Pedro played along, pointing at himself with an exaggerated look of confusion, mouthing, “Me?”

God, you were driving him crazy.

The whole room was watching you, and they had their phones out, and he loved it. Loved that this moment would live forever, likely plastered across social media by morning. But more than anything, he loved that you were his, that you could light up any room and still make him feel like the only person there.

When the song ended, the crowd erupted in applause, and you took a few pictures with some of the guests before sauntering back to the table, sitting down across from him like nothing had happened. Pedro was still grinning, his heart beating fast from watching you, completely enamored.

“Not bad,” you teased, sipping your drink, pretending like you hadn’t just stolen the show.

Pedro leaned across the table, lowering his voice like it was a secret meant just for you. “You’re killing me here, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Killing you, how?”

“You... in that dress,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to your legs before flicking back to your face. “Dancing, in that dress. Singing. It’s unfair, really. I’m trying to keep it together over here.”

You laughed, your foot brushing against his under the table. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, voice dripping with faux innocence. “Should I have picked a more modest song or…dress?”

Pedro smirked, leaning in even closer, his hand reaching across the table to rest on yours. “You know what’s comfortable?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “The fact that you’re going home with me tonight.”

Your eyes sparkled, and Pedro knew that look all too well. “Well, sir,” you said with a grin, “then I guess I’ll have to make it worth your while.”

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “You already do,” he whispered.

•••

Amalfi Coast was like a postcard come to life. The sea carried out before him, sparkling blue. Both of you spent hours on the beach, the sun hot on your skin. You wore a red bikini that left little to the imagination, and every time he glanced at you, he felt something stir in his chest. There were parts of your body, those sun-kissed curves, that felt too sacred to stare at for too long, yet he couldn’t look away.

You could not be held responsible for his reaction to you, for the cry of your sunburnt skin against the bright red bikini.

When you both returned to the hotel room after a long day, you ordered a bucket of ice. Pedro didn’t question it, watching you from the bed as you moved about the room with that effortless grace you had. When the door clicked shut, you emptied the ice into a small towel and handed it to him.

“Will you do my back, baby?” you asked, voice soft but certain. Of course, he would. How could he deny you anything?

He pressed the cold towel to your sunburnt skin, your body arching slightly under his touch. “You should have stayed in the shade,” he teased, though his voice was filled with tenderness.

"You know how stubborn I am."

He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so content, so completely grounded in a moment. You were his fix, keeping him tethered to this world, to the present, to himself.

Later that night, with the cool breeze from the sea drifting in through the open window, Pedro pulled you close, pressing soft kisses to the places he had soothed with ice earlier. You moaned softly, and he felt that familiar warmth spread through him.

In those moments, he wants to give you everything—his time, his love, his energy. He hopes you take it. He wants to be yours completely, to listen to all of your musings, that you write him a thousand songs and letters, to be your safe space, just as you were his.

•••

He was nominated for an Emmy while you were in Rome, and he could tell you had never been more proud of him. You tackled him in the hotel room when the news broke, showering him with kisses, his laughter echoing through the space.

“Mi amor, you're going to kill me,” he laughed, though his arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly.

“I don’t care,” you beamed, your hands cupping his face. “You deserve this so much.”

October 28, 2023

Los Angeles, California

This week was etched into your memory as the final crescendo to a whirlwind of Halloween festivities. LA had been alive with spooky energy the entire month, and tonight was no different.

You had spent the past week with Pedro, hopping from one Halloween event to another, attending parties, and trying to outdo each other with costumes. A few nights ago, you went to Halloween Horror Nights with his sister, Lux, and it had been a blast. You kept things simple with jeans and a t-shirt, but the thrill of the night was anything but.

The three of you had navigated the maze of haunted houses, clinging to each other whenever something jumped out at you. Lux had led the way, fearless, while Pedro and you exchanged shrieks and laughter.

"Okay, next haunted house, I'm going first," Pedro had said, puffing out his chest.

"You said that last time, and yet..." you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Lux laughed, shaking her head. "Don't let him fool you, he's jumped every time."

Pedro gasped dramatically. "Betrayed by my own sister. I thought we had a pact."

The whole night had been filled with that kind of lighthearted banter, and by the end, the three of you were breathless from laughing, your sides aching as you relived the best scares over churros and hot chocolate.

But tonight was different. Tonight was the final party of the season, the one you and Pedro were hosting at your LA home. The living room had been transformed with cobwebs and orange fairy lights, pumpkins scattered around with flickering candles inside. The theme for your costumes had been a matter of heated debate all week, but in the end, you’d settled on something so ridiculous it was perfect.

You, in a buttoned-up suit and black tie, with a fedora perched on your head, were Oppenheimer.

Pedro, in black pants, a black shirt with white fringe, a pink bandana draped around his neck, and a white cowboy hat—was Cowboy Ken.

Together, you were, you guessed it: Barbenheimer.

For hours, you floated around the party, telling people, “We’re Barbenheimer!” while Pedro chimed in, “Or more like Kenenheimer, don’t you think?”

The whole night you were drifting from conversation to conversation, catching up with your girlfriends. All your old dramas are revived that night, and it is so sweet. But eventually, you found yourself alone in the kitchen, searching for a moment of peace away from the noise. You opened the fridge to grab another drink when you heard the familiar sound of Pedro's boots behind you.

"Well, hello there," he said, setting down two empty beer bottles on the island. His voice was soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that you recognized immediately.

You turned around, leaning against the counter with a smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, hi, baby.”

You took a step towards him, your eyes shamelessly raking over his cowboy getup. He really had committed to the role, he hadn't taken that hat off all night.

Pedro noticed your gaze, smirking as he adjusted his hat. “What are you up to, Oppie? Did you need a drink, or are you just here to admire the view?”

You chuckled, crossing the kitchen to stand in front of him. “You know,” you began, running a hand up the front of his shirt, “when you decided on Cowboy Ken, I was a bit skeptical. I thought you were going to look funny…”

“Oh yeah?”

“But it turns out,” you continued, letting your voice drop, “it’s actually really hot, mister.” Your fingers trailed slowly over the lapel of his shirt, down to his belt.

Pedro tilted his head, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, eyes gleaming. “I guess I have a thing for cowboys now.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he spoke. “Good to know,” he whispered. His hand came up to rest on your waist, pulling you in just a little tighter.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. The smell of him, that mix of cologne and something distinctly Pedro, filled your senses.

The morning after the party, you woke up to a flood of notifications. He was fast asleep next to you. Sleepily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through the pictures from last night, stopping at the one you'd posted of you and Pedro in your costumes.

The caption: "Save a horse, ride a Ken."

It had been quite a hit. People were already loving the playfulness of it, but then you noticed Pedro’s comment beneath the post. Of course, he couldn’t resist adding fuel to the fire.

Pedro had written: "How about we skip the horse and go straight to the riding? 😘🐎"

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at the screen. It was so him. And of course, the comment section below his was already blowing up with people reacting insanely to it.

This man.

December 22, 2023

Santiago, Chile

Christmas in Chile was supposed to be calm—a peaceful, family-filled holiday with Pedro’s relatives. You'd imagined quiet dinners, soft music, and some traditional Chilean dishes. But in typical Pedro fashion, things didn’t stay quiet for long.

It started innocently enough. The two of you had decided to explore the local market, weaving through the crowds, hand in hand. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of grilled meats and roasted chestnuts, the hustle of people bartering, chatting, and living. Pedro was telling you something funny—some story about when he was a kid and his brother dared him to climb a tree.

You weren’t really listening, though, because your eyes kept catching on the colorful stalls and bright trinkets. It was the perfect, chaotic slice of Chilean life.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. One minute Pedro was laughing, and the next, his foot caught a loose cobblestone, and down he went. Time slowed for a moment, and all you could do was gasp as you saw him hit the ground, his arm awkwardly twisted beneath him.

“Pedro!” You shrieked, rushing to his side, heart hammering in your chest.

He winced as you kneeled beside him, your hands hovering over him like you weren’t sure where to touch. His face was scrunched up, but he looked up at you with that familiar grin, trying to calm you down despite the clear pain written across his features. “Baby, it’s fine. Calm down.”

But it wasn’t fine. His right arm looked wrong, and even though he tried to brush it off, you knew better. Panic twisted your stomach, and before you knew it, you were helping him up, heading straight to the hospital.

The next few hours were a blur of waiting rooms and x-rays, and you held your breath every time Pedro winced. By the time they had him in an arm sling, you’d run through every possible scenario in your head, imagining the worst. But Pedro, as always, was trying to make light of the situation, his laughter filling the otherwise sterile room.

When you finally sat beside him, a mix of relief and exasperation washed over you. “Do you want me to kiss it better?” you teased, leaning over, your earlier panic slowly dissolving.

Pedro smirked, eyes sparkling despite the bandages. “Maybe later,” he said with a wink, his tone low, full of innuendo.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even in pain, even with his arm in a sling, Pedro was Pedro—never one to let anything dampen his spirits for long.

A couple of days after the initial chaos settled, you found yourselves at his family’s home. Pedro’s sling stood out against the twinkling Christmas lights, but he didn’t seem to care. And neither did you, because as you sat together, surrounded by family, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth. Even if your quiet holiday had taken an unexpected turn, you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

December 31st, 2023

Los Angeles, California

New Year’s Eve felt different this time around—different in the best way possible. There was a softness to the night. The party swirled with music and movement, friends mingling and dancing in the flicker of colorful lights. But even with all that, your attention was fully drawn to him.

Pedro looked ridiculously adorable, even with his arm in a sling from that incident, and to top it off, he wore this silly pointy party hat that somehow made him even cuter. Every time you glanced at him, your heart warmed a little more. He had been a trooper through the night, navigating conversations and laughter with his usual charm, but always with that one lazy smile he reserved just for you.

After a few drinks, you found yourself perched on his lap, leaning against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His left arm, the one still functional, wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. You were rambling about something silly, pestering him like you often did, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Understood," he said, his fingers tapped lightly against your lips, a gesture that you had come to love.

You caught his fingers, pretending to bite them before leaning in for a kiss. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and familiar, and despite how long you’d been together, every kiss still made your heart race a little.

The song playing in the background, Do Friends Fall in Love?, fitted perfectly.

His hand slid gently down your back, making you shiver at the contact, his thumb tracing soft, lazy circles on your hip.

“You think you’ve got me all figured out,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, laughing softly as you nuzzled closer. “You’re an open book, Pascal,” you teased, rolling your eyes dramatically, though your words were laced with affection. “Easy to read.”

He raised an eyebrow, giving you that half-smile, the one that always made your heart flip. It was a smile full of challenge, like he knew something you didn’t but wasn’t about to tell you.

“Oh yeah?” he muttered, leaning in closer, his lips grazing your ear, making you blush even in the warmth of the crowded room.

The night carried on around you, the music mixing with the hum of laughter and conversations, but your attention never wavered from him. The countdown to midnight began, the excitement in the room rising as everyone gathered with glasses in hand, but you were only aware of the way Pedro’s thumb traced patterns on your thigh, the way his eyes softened as they looked into yours.

“Five… four…”

The rest of the party blurred, voices fading into the background as the two of you stayed locked in that moment.

“Three… two…”

Pedro’s eyes never left yours, and in the space between heartbeats, the room fell away. His gaze was warm, intense, and full of love—so much that it felt like you could melt under it.

“One!”

Cheers erupted around you, glasses clinking, people shouting “Happy New Year!” But you barely heard any of it because Pedro’s lips were on yours, warm, gentle, and full of everything that made your heart feel like it was soaring.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you couldn’t help but smile, resting your forehead against his, feeling the soft tickle of his breath against your skin. “Happy New Year, baby,” you whispered, your voice filled with affection.

He smiled back, eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth. “Happy New Year, mi amor,” he replied, his voice low and tender, the words settling between you like a promise for the year to come.

a/n: alright so this was so nice and fun to write. please pleaseee let me know your thoughts besties!!! and don't forget to reblog and like. much love <3

next and final part!

[ratgrinders]

anyways ivy embra post because on god if she wont get the scenes in canon ill imagine it myself

Ivy and Oisin were friends in middle school. Oisin was still scrawny and hadn't had his growth spurt yet and Ivy hadn't yet gotten her braces taken off. They meet each other in some group project or club or whatever, the setting doesn't matter, but what happens is you have these two children with the inherent shittiness of middle schoolers who maybe haven't had the easiest time making friends because their passive aggressiveness is too aggressive, their barbs not hidden. And they act the same way with this new, kind of nerdy looking stranger they meet and find a kindred spirit. All of a sudden you're 12/13 years old with an outlet for all the shittalking about your classmates you want. You stick together like glue, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of you two because they all fuckin suck anyway, and you finally found someone who isn't a wuss and can give as good as they take.

Oisin gets better at hiding it though, being raised by a long family line of evil dragons who have had to hide their connections in plain sight will do that to you. Ivy never lost that edge around her though.

The first day of classes Freshman Year at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, Oisin's met with this group of randos, they seem competent enough, the tall sad one seems nice enough if a bit of a pushover and the small one with the ponytail seems to have her entire academic career planned out already. She's intent on the name the High Five Heroes, it's a pun, get it? Because there's five of them. But Oisin won't go anywhere without his best friend. He pulls Ivy over, and Ivy isn't having the best luck finding a party (she insults them saying why would she want to join a party with any of these losers anyway, when they're put off by one pointed comment too many). Oisin tells the others they could do well with a fighter, that they're sticking together. The tall one, the gnome, and the kobold don't seem to mind (or don't care), but the halfling seems to have swallowed a lemon. "Well, there's six of us now which throws off the entire point of the name, but that's fine! I don't care!" (she's stubborn and doesn't want to change it).

Ivy and Kipperlilly clash CONSTANTLY. Kipperlilly's specific brand of Type A nerdiness and uptightness clashes horrifically with Ivy's specific attitude of not giving a fuck and chronic need to get under people's skin. And yet, Kipperlilly's barely concealed rage and passive aggression leads that same realization Ivy had back in middle school, of having finally found a kindred spirit. If there's two things Kipperlilly and Ivy have in common, it's their initial impression driving most people away, and their need to externalize this jealousy and bad feelings as hatred and disdain for others. They LOVE gossiping. Ivy's always down to be a hater.

Corsica Jones, the fighter teacher, sees Ivy come in on the first day of classes, bow in hand, and is immediately reminded of the sister she lost, who is still missing. Every time she trains Ivy on her stance, on basic hand-to-hand, she's reminded of the times she taught her sister the very same things. She's worried, because Ivy always seems so closed off and not very engaged, so full of rage. Unfortunately Corsica's attempts to reach out and forge a connection are stopped in their infancy when instead the barbarian teacher takes an interest in her. "Well, at least she has support from someone on the faculty, even if it isn't me."

It's Oisin that kills her. They always go off as a pair anyway, and Oisin may have been acting off recently but who is she to judge a bit of anger. But a quick stab to the back, one Choice later, and all Ivy can think about is rage.

After the Mountains of Chaos, Ivy's disdain becomes Venomous. Suddenly its not fun gossip but outright Hatred, its saying words maximized for cruelty directly to the person's face, because there's a kind of sick vindication in hurting the people who rejected you for so long, even if they may not deserve it. She and Kipperlilly don't get along anymore, snide comments and petty jabs devolving into screaming matches and insults. She proposes the name Rat Grinders with Oisin, because her stubbornness at refusing to change the name isn't endearing anymore, and there are six of them, did you oppose me joining the party that badly? It's a bit funny to see her so worked up over a stupid party name, that kind of earnest childish straightforwardness of the High Five Heroes makes her gag. The Rat Grinders is a funny inside joke, and Ivy is not comfortable engaging anymore without that layer of irony. For some reason, it doesn't feel good in the same way to hurt Kipperlilly like this, it just leave a knot of frustration that rankles in her stomach, because why does she care so much??

When Lucy dies, she doesn't remember much. She remembers the realization at the choice she'd made, and the rage that followed. Afterwards, though, was a deep all consuming bitterness. Of course she wasn't coming back, little miss goody two shoes never had any intentions of following through and left the rest of us with the fallout. She never expected otherwise, and she refuses to mourn someone who did not give enough of a shit about them to come back. She doesn't think about how Lucy helped her bleach her hair, how she braided Lucy's in return. How Lucy's birthday was coming up and she bought her new clothes, how that bag will stay unopened in her room now.

When she dies on the floor of her high school gymnasium, desperately defending every callous insult she's made with her dying breath, her last moments are spent locking eyes with her best friend, who is looking on in horror. She thinks back to a similar scenario, last year, when that same friend saw her dying and did nothing. She thinks back to them in seventh grade, trading childish insults without any real weight. And then she doesn't think anything at all.

[this-isnt-how-you-play-the-game]

more general mother hcs

STILL not ready to post any art!!!! trustt me ive been drawing a lot

but errm... how do i affirm my existence as a mother fan without putting out any content???? headcanons obviously

I have more for more characters this time . It is time to release the beast

claus hates being touched in the neck in any way whatsoever. It just makes him uncomfortable

claus is scary to tickle. he has nearly broken arms before over being tickled. he doesnt mean to do it and its completely instinctive.

ness's mom has fifty shades of grey hidden somewhere in plain sight in her house

aloysius minch read the great gatsby and took all the wrong lessons from it. he quotes random smart books to impress lardna

speaking of. i like to think aloysius minch was a former athlete of sort. probably for a dorkyass rich people sport. not golf. thats what he plays to relive the golden days now.

LAST aloysius minch hc for now but he is also very physically imposing. probably freaking 6'2

ana instinctively says "ew" sometimes when something shocks her. she doesnt always mean it. maybe she does. She "ew'ed" ninten on accident(?) once(?) and it really hurt his feelings

ana is also the kind of person to call a plushie ugly and immediately feel so sorry that she buys it

ana secretly fucks with ac/dc. she would never tell anyone

ninten loves plushies. In general

fassad's interpreter is a major coffee addict. dont ask how. she kina jst built different

ness is very easily influenced by the crowds hes in. he could be the star student at school (not really but he can try!!). instead hes one of the kids that talks during class and gives the teacher a mental breakdown. dont worry. hes the first person to feel bad when the teacher has a mental breakdown

porky is the last person and probably cracks jokes when the breakdown hits

claus would give the teacher a mental breakdown. just through craftier methods (hides in the ceiling and drops things from above)

venus probably has some sort of mob connections and probably knows the everdred. shes not a crimeless woman. she just hasnt been caught

tony says toodles, jeff says toodaloo. Two ENTIRELY different things

lucas knows EXACTLY how to make claus feel bad for doing stupid shit. Instead of actively trying he just lets him do it. ljke "hey lucas im gonna go do some stupid shit!!" "ok go ahead claus but its gonna be stupid shit and ur gonna look like a stupid shithead" "well now i dont wanna do it :/" ofc claus does stupid shit anyway. and ofc lucas sometimes eggs him on when hes feeling nice

the everdred is a cat lover. he doesnt own one but he likes indulging in strays

fassad is actually well-educated in human history. hes a history nerd.

fassad is also, shockingly, very conventionally pretty and youthful-looking. he looks significantly uglier when hes angry though. his resting bitch face is intimidating

fassad has the capacity to care for people, he just doesnt know how to treat them. this can prolly be elaborated in its own post

paula is normally against stealing. unless she has an accomplice. then it is a sport

paula is the type of girl to wear a sweater vest. Im pretty sure shes the type of girl to wear a sweater vest

ness easily finds inanimate objects cute and can feel VERY remorseful when he breaks something

Porky HATES when anything comes at him from above. as long as it casts a shadow over him he will flinch.

Part 2 someday?!?!?!?! Yessiree!!!

[iridescentlemoncandy]

Picking A Bouquet with Osborn

A small subsection of [In the House with Osborn: Sweet Dreams]

Pic source: here

I - Hydrangea

A large swath of hydrangea blossoms, and the resulting blue hue evokes that of the sky and the ocean.

"Hydrangea is a hydrophilic plant. They will bloom profusely during the rainy season.” I read the information that I discovered while searching on my phone. Osborn takes the flower and stares at me so intently that my face begins to flush.

“Bloom profusely...... not bad. That sums it up nicely.”

“But to truly appreciate something is to appreciate it at all stages of development, from the bud to the full blossom.”

II - Tulip

I pick up some tulips to complement the hydrangea I have. Compared to the sophisticated hydrangea, these come pale in comparison. The plain tulips have shy and cute qualities to them.

“A bouquet of tulips and hydrangeas makes for a lovely arrangement. Osborn, don't you agree that contrast is essential to the creation of beauty?”

“It all depends on your point of view. But I believe that when things of different natures are entangled with one another, it will always bring about some surprises. Just like you and me."

III – Cornflower

“Pick a flower for you? I bat my eyelids at Osborn. “If so, then there's no other bloom more fitting than blue cornflower."

It's purely blue, whimsy, and one-of-a-kind. As the myth goes, this flower cured Arminius's sight. Hence, it also means light.

Osborn carefully plucks the cornflower from my palm and places it in our arrangement. “It's tough to find a light, but I got lucky: mine is just here by my side.”

IV – Bush Lily

“Do you know what Bush Lily is also called?” Osborn asks me.

“Of course. It’s the flower of love.”

"Not bad, you reply quite promptly. Then, shall we incorporate it into the bouquet? " He responds with a smile and crinkled eyes.

“Okay, but I'm still interested in knowing why you chose this particular flower.”

"Not now; once we finish the bouquet, I'll tell you the reason and give you the flower."

V - Blueberry

The blueberries in our bouquet seem to have caught Osborn off guard. "Blueberries can be used in flower arrangements? Aren't you supposed to…… eat it?”

Fearing he will eat them in the next second, I quickly grab the blueberries out of his hand. "Blueberries are dainty; they make a lovely addition to a flower arrangement. But, after staring for too long, I start to crave them, too…….”

Osborn smiles and pats my head. “I had a hunch that Xiao Xiaowu would also feel tempted to eat it. Leave these few blueberries here in the arrangement. Let's get some blueberries on the way home!"

VI - Daisy

“A daisy indicates silent love, which is to say that my feelings for you are hidden deep within my heart.” After reading the card's preface aloud, I find myself looking at the flower with a sense of bitter delight in love.

"They bloom so selflessly; how is it that they bury the love deep in their heart?" Unconvinced, Osborn points to the centre of the flower. The stamens look like pearls encrusted in there.

“For me, its floral language should connote an all-out, ardent love.”

VII - Delphinium

We finish off the bouquet with delphiniums. Its delicate, light blue petals flutter in the breeze like a swarm of birds.

“It is understandable why delphinium signifies a desire for freedom,” I utter as I gaze at the blossom.

"Even in freedom, there are moments you want to halt." Osborn gently taps on the petals, like a swallow taking a break.

"Like when?" I look up, and our eyes meet. “Like now," he says as he rests his chin on my head.

[Osborn's Letter]

To: MC

Flowers are a mystery to me. Compared to flowers, I feel like I have a far better understanding of the roadside weeds. However, after discovering the meanings and legends of these blooms from you, their stunning appearance takes on new depth.

Actually, it's more than just the flowers. After you entered my life, everything started to make sense. You taught me to appreciate the exquisite subtlety that exists in the mundane tasks of life.

Now I might just get to experience the thrill of watching a flower bloom. More specifically, the amorous bloom that belongs to us.

From: Osborn

Pic source: here

[neonacity]

Black Daisies: Chapter 1

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. 

Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings. 

TW: violence, death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. 

Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here--they’re all sweetiepies that need to be protected! 

That’s all! Enjoy! 

Slight static sounded from the earpiece as the woman behind a computer pressed a small button to activate it. A few miles away from her, the same low hum could be heard from the ear of a young man as the line came alive. The boy barely moved from the shadows where he was crouching, his head twitching just a little bit at the alert. 

“Haechan, target just entered from the main hall, door A,” a voice sounded from the small electronic bud attached to his ear. His eyes lifted to look at the shadowy pillars above his head where a quick glint of light confirmed that another boy hidden there heard the same words. 

“Got it, noona. Plan C?”

“Plan C. Where are Jisung and Chenle?”

“Two floors down from us. Jaemin’s with them. Renjun’s done with the wires.”

“Jeno, you good?”

Up above the rafters from Haechan’s head, a darker shade of shadows moved. The metallic glint flashed again, followed by a low sigh that could be heard from the earpieces of the two people involved in the conversation.

“So I can’t use my gun again?”

“No. I already told you, right? What’s family rule number 2?” The female voice answered from the other end of the line, a tinge of laughter lacing her tone. Haechan giggled softly from beneath the rafters, enjoying the banter. 

“....we don’t shoot people in the head and kill them.” 

“That’s right.” From her screen, the woman’s eyes followed the movements of their targets as the man boarded the elevator that would take him straight to the penthouse of the high rise building. Her nose wrinkled a bit as she watched him wound his arms around two giggling women who look half his age. 

Disgusting. 

“...there’s something we can do though…”

Haechan tightened the scruff of his gloves as he heard the soft hum of the elevator climbing closer to where he and Jeno are. He smirked slightly to himself as the welcome ding from the penthouse reverberated just one floor below them.

“We put them in their right place.”

“Good luck, boys.” 

A soft buzzing sound indicated the earpiece temporarily being turned off the same time loud explosions sounded from the floor and roof of the penthouse.

“Noona!” 

I whipped around on my creaky swivel chair to face the group that just bounded through the door, wide grin plastered on my face. The blonde boy who called my name closed the distance between us with his long, excited strides, cheeks plump from his smile. 

“Look what I got you! Pretty nice, eh?” He asked with pride as he took a seat beside me, opening his palm to show a blood red stone nestled there. I moved a little forward to squint at it before gingerly picking it up. 

“Red diamond. I think two carats, at least. Wow, that’s impressive, Chenle! Thank you.”

The boy’s grin widened as he turned to the others who just settled on the scattered chairs and bean bags across the plain cement floor. 

“See? I told you she’d like it!” 

“We almost got busted because he wanted to take it.” Another boy with light purplish hair piped up from one of the bean bags on the ground. It’s adorable how only half of his body could fit on it, leaving him with no choice but to splay his long legs on the floor. 

“Did not.” 

“Did yes.” 

“Shut up, Jisung. You’re just jealous I’m the one who got it for her tonight.”

I chuckled from my seat, rolling the princess cut diamond against my palm. The kids always do this--if it’s not Chenle who is giving gifts from their little rendezvous, it was the others. It was a sweet act, at least if anyone counts out the fact that it came from ransacking a high profile businessman’s penthouse.

“Who wants some ramen? I’m starving.” A black-haired boy asked from across the room where a counter was set-up to serve as the headquarters’ kitchen. Five heads whipped up and gave various forms of yes, making him turn towards the group, one hand on his hip. 

“Yah, Lee Haechan. Help me cook.”

A groan sounded from the leather couch as the boy in question winced at the request.

“But I’m tired. I detonated two bombs today!”

“And I had to unlock three high-security safes. Come on.” 

I chuckled as I watched Haechan pull himself up from the couch, his boots still on. Three consecutive beeps from the monitor behind me made me turn back towards the table again, fingers tapping over some keys to review the message.

“Noona, how about you? You want some?”

“No, thanks, Jaemin. Just ate,” I flashed him a quick smile before turning to read the notification on the screen. Slowly, the corners of my lips lifted into a full grin as my eyes finished scanning the words. 

“127’s back from Tokyo. They got the goods well and secured.”

“Whoah, really? I gotta ask Mark-hyung if he was able to get me my favorite chips!” A boy with black and white hair said as he swiped his phone up from the back of his pants pocket to send a quick message. Beside him, Jeno propped his head up from one of the love chairs, looking at me. 

“Who sent the message?” 

“Doyoung.” 

“Did he--”

“P.S. Tell Jeno I got him the silencer he wants,” I read the closing note on the message with an amused eye roll and a smile. Jeno gave an excited whoop from behind me, clearly excited over his new toy. 

I quickly shot a reply to the message, making sure to give them a quick update from my end. A green logo flashed after I hit send, a special kind of cyber filter that automatically deletes all traces of conversation that passes through my computer at my command. My eyes registered the familiar three letters before it flickered and glitched to black. 

NCT. 

For anyone living a mundane life, those three letters might be senseless. However, it’s a different case altogether for anyone who is in any shape or form involved with the underground. It’s a name that is often said in low whispers of reverence… or spat with spite. Whichever of the two, the name itself only means one thing to those who know it: the top mafia group ruling the underground of Seoul--if not the whole of Korea. 

The “family,” as I’d  like to call it, is divided into three different smaller sub-groups of varying specializations and activities. First is 127, the primary group in power over Seoul. The unit specializes in drug dealings, assassinations, and smuggling of firearms, and its members are also the ones managing the many businesses (both legal and illegal) falling under the protection of NCT. As the group with the most experienced members, they are also the ones who often go across countries like Japan where they also have their own hold. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

The second group; Dream. Despite having the youngest members, the sub-group also has its own chokehold over the city of Seoul. Specialization: Heists and Ambushes. It doesn’t matter if it is a high-tech bank or a high-walled fortress like Alcatraz--once Dream sets its sights on a bounty, they’ll make sure to get it. Limitations and Prohibitions: no killing allowed. 

Finally, the third cluster: WayV; the current ruling crime group of China. Specialization: Organized Cyber crimes and biological warfare . While the sub-group has its original roots in Korea, it didn’t have any problem taking over Beijing’s underground in a few years time. They are considered the visionaries of the family--always one step ahead when it comes to anything technology touches and influences. Limitations and Prohibitions: none.

I leaned back against the chair and gave a soft sigh. Compared to the others, I don’t have as much exposure to the so-called thrills of the job. Still, I do admit that being the eyes and ears of the whole group is not a leisurely walk in the park. It’s been a few months of being temporarily assigned to Dream, but with 127 back, work will surely double again in no time. Not that I’m complaining with how well the job pays, of course--I did get a blood red diamond today, after all--but things sure can get tough sometimes. 

Lifting my arms up, I gave myself a well-deserved stretch before kicking back from the desk. The smell of ramen hit my nose, making me smile. Another day, another job well done. 

“Hey Jaemin, changed my mind about that ramen. I think I’ll have it after all.” 

Chapter 2: Overture

[tommyspeakycap]

nsfw alphabet - andy robertson

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a sweaty cuddler after sex. He doesn't care that neither of you have cleaned up or that you're both hot, sweaty and sticking together. He couldn't care less. Andy loves to pull your naked body as close to him as you can get with his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin until you fall asleep comfortably in his arms.

B - Body part (their favourite body part of yours and of their own)

Of yours, has to be your boobs. He just loves them. Loves to knead them between his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers to arch your back into off the bed so your body is flush against his. However, more innocently he loves your stomach. It's always so soft and warm and it harboured your little kiddies for nine months three different times. He loved to talk to it when they were in there and now whenever you get time to be together, he makes sure every single mark, scar, stretch of skin is kissed and named as beautiful as he truly knows you are.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…)

Ohhhh in you. He loves to cum in you. Got a bit of a breeding kink to be fair but we'll get into that later. To know you're full of him even when he pulls out of you or to think about you leaking him until he pushes his fingers up to stuff you full of him again is one of the greatest turns ons of his life. However, Andy would also argue there are few sights more fascinating than that of you on your knees in front of him, his cum dripping down your chin as you look up at him through your lashes.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets turned on when people call you Mrs Robertson or (y/n) Robertson or even Robbo's mrs. Anything like that just sends him fuzzy headed. You're his and only his. You have his name, you wear the rings that he gave you and he gets enthralled by calling you "Mrs Robertson" a million times a day and occasionally in bed. Get's him ready to go any time of the day to be honest. Also it’s not dirty, more fluffy and adorable but he gets really, really excited after you get married and he gets to refer to you as his wife. He loves to point you out and just be all awe struck with sparkly eyes as he proudly announces “That’s my wife.”

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not necisarrily experienced but he is very good with what he does know. You've been together so long that you've learned just about every nook and cranny of each other so no one is left un satisfied at the end of the time you get to spend together. He's learned your body like the back of his hand and even on a day where the sex is as vanilla as can be, you always finish it feeling very satisfied. Also, for some reason that man has absolutely mastered the art of using his fingers.

F - Favourite Position

I get the feeling Andy probably prefers plain old missionary. It's the easiest, risks the least injury possibilities and allows him to see every single reaction and movement of your face as he bottoms out of you before plunging back in balls deep. He loves watching your eyes roll back as his name dances off of your tongue.

However he does also love taking you standing up. He loves the feeling of your legs tight around his waist because your knees were too weak from him to hold you up anymore and despite the fact it is much harder work, it's always well worth it. This usually doesn't happen at home, it tends to be the hidden corridors and empty rooms of Anfield after matches that are subject to said against the wall sex.

And finally, possibly his favourite is also watching you sink down onto his length, eyes fluttering shut. You take the reigns and he just melts, turning to putty in your hands. He rests both large palm on your upper thighs, fingertips bruising the soft skin of your bum, but they usually wander to your boobs until he’s reaching his high, where on will return to your bum and the other will grab a fistful of the bedsheets in a white knuckle grip as hips buck instinctively until he shoots his load into you with a loud shout. He loves when you ride him whether that’s lying on the bed, sitting up on the couch where he has an angle for his thrusts or if it’s simply you, rubbing yourself against the material of his shorts until he tugs them from the way and allows you to coat his bare thigh in your juices. He loves to be ridden.

G - Goofy (are they more serious or humorous in the moment)

He's a goofy guy through and through. He actually strives to make you laugh during sex because its the most intimate way and space a person could ever make the person they love giggle. It's usually when he's going in hard, almost always afterwards anyway. He'll share or tell little jokes or one liners that make you giggle, a blush heating your cheeks because he's still literally balls deep inside of you and you're giggling away. He just adores everything about it and making you laugh during sex always feels like an extra accomplishment.

Although if he's frustrated or got a lot of pent up energy then no ones laughing. The only noises that can be heard as slapping skin and you on those occasions and no one is complaining.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes etc)

We've all seen that video from Jordan Henderson's insta story so we all know it appears as though he is completely clean shaven down there. He's not necessarily got a strict routine, he just maintains himself how he likes it as he pleases. It's his beard you think about. Andy likes to keep his faint beard and when between your thighs, it definitely makes all the difference.

I - Intimacy (how they are during the moment? are they romantic?)

He can be quite romantic depending on the occasion (birthdays, anniversaries, valentines etc) but romance is subjective. Some may like rose petals and candles, but you're happy with just Andy really. He can make things romantic sometimes and other times he's just Andy, making jokes and making you feel ridiculously good. Although he certainly can dress up nice, putting on suit, lighting some candles and dimming the lights kind of evening. Those are few and far between but you're certainly not complaining.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doens't do it a lot really. Maybe in the beginning of your relationship but almost never now. The time that he does want to get it on is always when you're there. Otherwise he's at training or with the kids or something like that. He's rarely not busy. When off travelling, Andy may opt to take things into his own hands purely for a release that he needs if he's feeling a bit wound up and missing you. There was one particular point however in your first pregnancy where you got all embarrassed one morning before admitting that the hormones raging around in you had conjured up a dream about Andy jacking off and you getting to watch, so occasionally he'll treat you with that in a nod to that little thing you love that has stuck around ever since.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Like I mentioned earlier, he has a bit of a breeding kind and further to that, he was absolutely always turned on for pretty much the whole of your pregnancy. He found himself doing a lot of jacking off then because you unsurprisingly weren't up for it most of the time that he was during the course of those nine months. But he was absolutely ravenous seeing you all swollen with his baby. He wanted to be all over you all the time. It just made him wild with desire.

He also has a hefty thing for winding you up in public. One time, at a players gala he fingered you under the table while everyone was eating and you had to sustain a conversation with Jordan Henderson, his wife and Jurgen Klopp. Andy just got so hard knowing what he was doing to you under the table and no one has any idea. It was marvellous; watching you fight everything back as he felt you clenching around his fingers, trying not to arch your back or buck your hips against him. You had a white knuckle grip on your silverware by the time your orgasm rippled through you and you had to pretend that you had chocked on your meal in order to cover up the small cry you let out.

To this day, Andy still whispers about it in your ear when you're in public and you're still waiting for a time to get one over on him for it.

L - Location (favourite places to do the deed)

He’s not really got a preference. Like i said earlier he really like to take you up against the wall, but he’s also partial to bending you over a counter or sinking you down onto him in the front seat of his car. He just is willing to take you anywhere really. Personally though one of his favourite is the shower. Your body can be all slippery, soapy and warm, reactive to his touch and despite the slight danger of possibly slipping, the heat of one of your legs hooked up around him, as he uses the stamina he’s gaining from being a professional athlete to pound himself into you as you yelp and shout out his name. The heat and steam just makes everything better.

M - Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going)

He is also insanely turned on by you in the mornings, groggy and messy haired with a sleepy smile and tired eyes. Watching you clamber out of bed ready to take on the day again with those little kids who laugh like you and yell instead of talk like Andy. You'll also usually emerge from bed wearing one of his old shirts or strips - like an old Hull City training shirt he hasn't worn in 5 years or a stupid cheap t-shirt he bought when he was 18 working in M&S that he thought he lost but actually had ended up being yours. You'll sit up on the bathroom sink while he showers, brushing your teeth ridiculously early just so you both get some time with each other before the little devils wake up. He'll stand between your legs, going in for a kiss that deepens until he's lining himself up with your entrance having pushed your very unflattering underwear to the side and you'll have to be as quiet and as quick as possible. He just loves every minute of living his life with you - even sneaky sex in the bathroom at not even six in the morning. He'll gladly take it.

N - NO (turns off, something/s they won’t do)

Andy is not at all interested in adding another person to the mix. He's surprisingly private as a person and he doesn't ever want your sex life to be something that comes out into the open to be talked about. There is always a risk with another person, plus he doesn't see either of you actually getting any pleasure out of it when sex is so good already. He probably will also never record or take pictures of the ac because he knows how easy it is for these things to end up in anyones hands. When he was younger, he used to. Andy had a really favourited picture of you on your knees in front of you with his hand in your hair as you look up at him after sucking him off. Cum and saliva were dripping down your chin and he still thinks about that long since deleted picture to this day. Andy is great at remembering things in his mind anyway, so he doesn't feel the need to create sex tapes that one day his kids might have to deal with when they're older if it ever breaks onto the news.

O - Oral (are they good? do they prefer giving or receiving?)

Honestly he prefers receiving but he definitely does not shy away from giving. Oh my god the beard burn he gives you is literally to die for, the perfect amount of friction he talks so much that his tongue is his lost exercised muscle so he is very, very good with it when it comes to going down on you. To be fair, it is one of those things that he wasn’t always very good at, but he has vastly improved and now it is something you will never ever turn down.

However, being sucked off by you is probably one of his favourite things ever. He literally cannot get enough of it, watching you get him off. God it’s unreal. Meanwhile he’ll have his head thrown back against the ball, hands on your hair muttering, “That’s it, pretty girl, fuck, perfect. Beautiful.” And you’re soaking wet waiting for him already.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He’s usually going for fast and hard. It’s all sweaty bodies and rapid breaths, whimpering out his name as his skin slaps against yours. He can be very sensual but rarely ever slow. His pace lets him reach every inch of you, pushing into you in every way as your nails drag down his back with your ankles linked around his waist. The way his muscles ripple quickly and his body clashes with yours is hot and fiery and perfect. He loves it, you love it. Why bother doing anything else?

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies. do they prefer it? how often?)

Dear lord Andy loves a quickie. Slamming into you with his finger over your mouth, warning you to be quiet in a Hampden park back room? Bliss. Pure bliss. He could get off just thinking about it. Post-match quickies are very common and when you become parents, quickies are also necessary when short on time. He prefers to have all the time in the world to take on you, but he will never complain about having a quickie.

R - Risk (do they think to experiment? willing to take risks?)

Andy loves the risk. He loves to pump his fingers into you under tables or have his fingers wound in your hair as you suck him off in a fancy marble walled bathroom at a gala. The rush of potentially being caught always heightens the pleasure. When you were younger and he used to still live with his parents, he didn’t care for the thumping of his headboard against the wall as much as you did. He just loves that he can have you like putty in his hands wherever. It’s not about the people there, it’s about the fact he can drive you crazy and he is in full control and nobody even knows. Although, you too like to get your own back on him, shuffling around in his lap during movie nights so he has to stay glued to the couch the rest of the night because of the hard bugle in his jeans. He’s also into experimenting. Anything that could bring you more pleasure? Bring. It. On.

S - Stamina (how many rounds? how long do they last?)

Everybody says that Andy is one of the biggest grafters in the team in terms of his engine. He could run forever, so i don’t see him being at all different in the bedroom. He could genuinely probably go forever and he very, very much loves to do so. When you’re wildly overstimulated, muscles tight, skin shining with sweat as you pant and gasp for breath beneath him, he gets intoxicated by it. His eyes drink your in, flicking over your face and taking in every little bit of you. He commits it to memory every time, each better than before.

But yeah, Andy could go for hours and honestly he will. It’s a very special treat for you always. Plus, who doesn’t like a guy who can go hard and fast four three rounds and still be fully ready to go down on you afterwards?

T - Toys (do they own any? do they use any? if so, preference?)

He does own a few, all funny little things he bought to tease you with. Like little vibrators that he can press again your clit and stuff like that. He doesn’t use them often and many he got when he was injured and couldn’t have sex with you the way usually would it would want to.

U - Unfair (do they like to tease? if so how much/often)

Aaaaabsolutely. He’s a massive tease. Andy absolutely loves having you writhing and whimpering beneath him, begging to have him fully in you or to go faster, to just move. Loves it. Definitely a big fan of edging you so close until you’re hazy, incoherent and begging for an orgasm that’ll ripple through your whole body so every in a five mile radius will know his name. Whenever you’ve got the time and the freedom, he’s teasing you and sometimes it’ll start in the morning before he leaves for work and he won’t finish it till much later it the day, making for an even more intense orgasm.

V - Volume (are they loud? what sounds do they make?)

Not necessarily loud, but he is very very very into dirty talking right into your ear. His hot breath tickling at your neck between kisses, grazing his teeth against your sensitive skin, god it drives you crazy. He’ll hum against your clit about how wet and ready for him you are and tell you the whole time how beautiful and perfect you are. It’s both romantic and painfully attractive. Apart from that he’s mostly grunts and some groans of your name but the sound he makes when he cums is *chefs kiss*. It’s deep and guttural, coming straight from the base of his throat when his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops open. It’s unbearably hot.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

He low-key loves to be marked by you. Not even actively, just passively almost?? Like he doesn’t think about it at the time but afterwards when he’ll spot the scratches down his back when he passes the mirror or if the guys comment on it in the changing room, it makes him feel good. He’s glad everybody knows he belongs to someone in every way, from the most romantic and simply to the most intimate. And knowing you have the faint, painless bruises from his fingertips on your hips with little nipped in love bites around your breast makes him feel satisfied that he’s left you with a memory of the evening. Even just you wearing your wedding ring or looking down at his own on his hand proudly makes him silently happy and all fuzzy inside in a completely non-sexual way because you’re so happy to show off to the world that he’s yours and your his you both love each other so so much.

X - Xray (what’s doing on beneath the belt?)

Again, i’m sure we all seen that video on Jordan Henderson’s insta story the other week, so we all know he is fairly packing. He’s not got anything extravagant or jaw dropping, but it’s still moderately bigger than bang average. It’s honestly just more about what he does with it and how he reaches every but of you that’s the wow factor.

Y - Yearning (how high is their second drive?)

Pretty high, to be fair but nothing out of the ordinary. like it’s not overkill but it’s usually completely unscheduled. Some weeks you’ll want to jump his bones every single night and he’ll fuck you twice a day and other time they’ll be a week between it. Schedules can be awkward and after you get married and have kids it’s a lot harder for things to run to any kind of plan. At the moment, it’s more of an ‘if we have time let’s just fucking go for it’ kind of thing. Although his sex drive is always higher when you’re pregnant or if the team are having a winning streak.

Z - zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Both of you fall asleep pretty quickly after sex now to be honest. You’ll usually fall asleep first because he’s tells sweet, soft jokes while stroking your hair and drawing circles on your skin softly. It’s very soothing. And then once you’ve fallen asleep, fatigue usually finds him quite quickly, but he’ll get up out of bed and clean you up a little because he’s ever the gentlemen. Then he’ll climb into bed and fall asleep pretty much instantly once you’re wrapped back in his arms.

[organabanana]

What spring does to cherry trees || Supercorp

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Supergirl (TV 2015)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor

Characters: Kara Danvers, Lena Luthor

Additional Tags: mostly fluff, with some porn for flair, pre-canon, but also, post-canon, tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees. What does that even mean? It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained. No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak. Kara doesn't like poetry. Until she does.

Notes: Written for a very patient anon who prompted me with “Seeing the cherry blossoms in Washington DC” but I got sidetracked by Neruda and my favorite of his poems and it turned into This.  It's poem number fourteen, found in "Veinte poemas de amor y una canción desesperada" (Twenty love poems and a song of despair) by Pablo Neruda, which you can read here (Spanish) or here (English). I mostly translated the lines I needed myself, so I can't guarantee they'll match the official translation (I'm also not sure there is such a thing as an official translation, so there's that). With special thanks to the most patient anon in history for the prompt, to @lavenderrry for praising my vibes, and to @emiltons for the gorgeous graphic.

[ao3 link]

The first time Kara encounters Neruda's poetry she's nineteen and bored. In her defense, she thought taking a poetry class would make her feel sophisticated and cultured, but all she feels is annoyed at the insistence of using language to obscure your message rather than share it.

And yes, yes, she gets it. It all sounds very pretty and evocative. It's just Kara has been hiding her true self in plain sight for the last six years, and she can't understand why anyone would willingly and needlessly do that to themselves. To their feelings. She may never have been in love, but Kara is pretty sure if she ever is -- if her heart ever feels full to the brim with the kind of big feelings her professor keeps making them read in metaphors and symbolism -- she'll want to make them clear as day.

I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees.

What does that even mean?

It's taking a simple I love you and putting lead-lined glasses on it to keep its power contained.

No offense, Mr. Neruda, but that's just weak.

***

Kara doesn't take any more poetry classes, and she doesn't think of Neruda (or any other poet, for that matter) for years. She has so many other things to think about. She moves to National City and starts working for Ms. Grant. She grows into herself, she thinks. She becomes Supergirl and feels more like herself than she has since her pod left Krypton. She dates, a little bit. Dips her toe in the dating pool, if you will. She meets Lena Luthor.

And that's the second time she runs into Neruda. Right there on a shelf in Lena's living room, on a book that looks well loved and well read, spine full of small cracks and lines from being opened over and over again. Kara has always thought you can tell a lot about a person by looking at their shelves.  

"Pablo Neruda," Kara says, one finger tracing a line down the spine of the book like she's trying to read something in the pattern of the cracks, "I didn't know you liked poetry."

"I don't dislike it." Lena's heels click-clack on the hardwood floor before she sets the bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table and sits on the couch. "Have you made up your mind on what we're going to watch?"

Kara can hear the faint electrical hum of the TV being turned on, but she's a bit too distracted by the book to focus on deciding whether tonight is a night for a romantic comedy or an epic drama. She couldn't say exactly why this book feels important. It just does. Maybe it's because Lena keeps so much of herself hidden somewhere not even Kara's X-Ray vision can reach, and finding little clues about her thoughts and feelings feels a lot like she's struck gold.

Yeah. Maybe that's why.

Her fascination with the book only grows when she pulls it out of the shelf only to find the title written in Spanish. "Veinte poemas de amor--"

"And a song of despair," Lena finishes in English. "Atonement? I've heard good things about it."

"No way. I said I could be persuaded to watch a tear jerker, but I did not sign up for actual depression." Kara brings the book along when she walks over to sit down next to Lena. She's so focused on the book, still, that she miscalculates her landing just by an inch or so and her thigh bumps against Lena's as she settles on the couch. But Lena doesn't move away, and Kara figures there's no reason why she should. They're friends, after all. Close friends. Figuratively and now very, very literally close.

"I didn't know you spoke Spanish." Kara speaks again, breaking the silence before it solidifies into something potentially awkward.

"I don't. It's a bilingual edition. Can we please pick a movie?"

Kara would love to do exactly what Lena wants. In fact, giving Lena everything she wants has become sort of a constant in this fledgling friendship between them. It just feels nice, you know? Giving her what she wants and making her smile. But this book. It's all so very distracting.

"So. Do you prefer the twenty love poems, or the song of despair?"

Lena rolls her eyes, but she can't quite hide the amused smirk behind the glass when she sips her wine, so Kara knows she's not nearly as annoyed as she's trying to appear.

"What is it with you and Neruda? I didn't know you were a poetry fan."

Kara scoffs. "I'm not." She still remembers the feeling of relief washing over her when she saw her passing grade on that stupid course and realized she'd never have to read another line of poetry in her life. "I don't even like poetry. I'm just curious, that's all."

Lena cocks one eyebrow at her. Studies her, in a way that makes color rise to Kara's cheeks and has her wondering if Lena can see through people, too. 

"Anyway!" Kara shakes her head like she's hoping that'll make the blush fade. "The love poems, or the song of despair?"

"The poems," Lena finally concedes, "and I'm very surprised you don't like poetry. You seem the type."

"What?" Kara is already thumbing through the edge of the book, trying to find the place where it'll open naturally and hopefully show her which of the twenty love poems Lena happens to like the most. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, you have a big heart. Big feelings." Lena looks into Kara's eyes like she's trying to read all those feelings right there in shades of blue, and Kara finds herself looking down at the book just in case. Just in case all those big feelings she can't even name herself are there for Lena to read. "Seems like a recipe for liking poetry."

Kara shakes her head and pushes her glasses up, just in case. Just in case the lead in them can shield more than just her powers. And just as she's about to argue -- just as she's about to tell Lena precisely why she doesn't like poetry -- she opens her book and her gaze lands on a familiar phrase.

"Quiero hacer contigo," she reads out loud from the page on the left, and her fingertip is already finding the next verse on the right when Lena finishes for her.

"What spring does to cherry trees."

If Kara was just Kara Danvers, she'd have missed it all. She'd have just heard her best friend speak a line from a poem that -- much like most poems -- means very little to her. But she's not just Kara Danvers. So Kara hears the way Lena's heart beats just a little bit faster. The way her breath catches just so. The exact fraction of a tone her voice drops when she speaks. The faintest hint of a sigh.

"See? This is why I don't like poetry." Kara chances a look into green eyes, and she's so very grateful Lena has no superhearing to tip her off to the way Kara's heart seems to trip all over itself.  "'I want to do with you what spring does to cherry trees'. What does that mean?"

Kara swears -- she swears -- she catches Lena's pupils dilating just enough to make her think she knows exactly what the poem means. 

"It's not about what it means, Kara. It's about what it makes you feel." Lena lets out a soft chuckle, something light and airy like this is just a silly little conversation with no weight to it at all. Like she can't feel the way the air itself seems to have changed into something new. 

"Is it your favorite line?" Kara pretends she can't hear the way her own voice has changed, too.

Lena shakes her head. "No. My favorite is actually--"

Kara hears the DEO alarm before Lena's fingertip can make contact with the paper, and she almost considers ignoring it. She almost considers letting whatever danger is looming over this whole city have at it because finding out what's Lena's favorite line in her favorite poem seems far more important right now.

But of course, that would be crazy. Crazy! Kara would never.

"I'm so sorry, Lena, I--" Kara stands up, already hearing Alex's voice telling her where she's needed as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and pretends to read a text, "I have to go. I forgot I had this thing with--"

"Go." Lena's smile is just small enough to make Kara's heart twist in an uncomfortable way that's become familiar since she started lying to her friend. "Sounds important. I understand."

Kara nods, just once. "Tomorrow?"

Lena's smile doesn't grow, but it suddenly reaches her eyes, and something settles in Kara's chest. "Of course. Tomorrow."

Five hours later, foe defeated and safely locked away at the DEO, Supergirl touches down on Lena's balcony. There isn't a single light on inside the apartment, and Kara hesitates for a second by the sliding glass door. She shouldn't sneak into Lena's apartment in the middle of the night. That's a little creepy, right? Even if she knows Lena's said over and over again Kara's welcome any time.

It's just.

That book.

Lena's favorite line.

Kara may never be able to sleep again if she doesn't find out what it is.

So with a non-zero amount of shame at her own choice, Kara ends up sliding the door open and slipping into Lena's living space. She listens for Lena's breathing to make sure she's asleep, and once she's satisfied that's the case she makes a beeline for the shelf and the now-familiar book. It doesn't take her long to find the page she'd been reading before, and soon enough she's reading the lines Lena had been pointing to.

How you must have hurt getting used to me, to my savage, solitary soul, to my name that sends everyone running.

The words wrap around Kara's heart like a vice. If she could do it without blowing her cover and putting Lena in danger, she'd go in her room right now just to wake her up and tell her what Kara thinks about her soul. About her name, too, while she's at it. She'd tell her everyone else is free to run if they want, but Kara isn't going anywhere. 

But she can't do any of those things. 

***

The two lines stay with Kara, sort of swirling under the surface of her thoughts. She never actively thinks about them -- about poetry in general, for that matter -- but they're there. 

She remembers them sometimes. When their friendship grows and strengthens and one day Kara realizes Lena may be the person she loves the most in the world (tied with Alex). When the secrets and lies catch up with her and she thinks she may have lost Lena for good. When she finally gets Lena back.

It's been five years since she snuck into Lena's apartment that one night to find out about her favorite line in her favorite poem. Five years since she's actively thought about Neruda and the book and the words inside it. But for some reason, when Kara wakes up a couple hours earlier than she needs to and finds herself unable to sleep, she feels like that's precisely what she needs to read to soothe her brain. Maybe poetry will have the same sedative effect it used to have in college.

Wearing only an old t-shirt, Kara walks out of the bedroom and into the living area, scanning the shelves where she thinks she last saw that book. It's hard to keep track when your book collection has multiplied and turned into more of a home library situation than anything else, but she eventually finds it -- spine still cracked and pages still well-loved and well-read -- and settles down on the couch.

Kara flips from poem to poem, not really paying attention to any of them. A line from the third and then two from the eighteenth and a word or two from the seventh, eyes flicking between the Spanish lines and their English counterparts on the other side of the page. It's soothing, in a strange way. Like white noise, she figures. Nonsensical but calming. Until she lands on the fourteenth. 

"Oh, those cherry trees," Kara half-groans in a whisper. The cherry trees and the spring and the convoluted way to say I love you. And Lena's favorite lines. 

Kara feels it all over again. The pang of pain at the sight of that line.

My name that sends everyone running.

It lands different this time, five years into a friendship that turned out to be so much more and nearly went up in flames at one point. Because of names and lies and... well. Everything else. Lena was right after all, wasn't she? It's not about what the poem means. It's about what it makes you feel. And right now Kara feels a lot more than she'd be able to put in words if she had to.

Maybe Mr. Neruda was on to something after all.

"Hey," Lena's voice is laced with sleep, and Kara smiles as she listens to her footsteps bringing her closer, "what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."

Kara wouldn't call it the middle of the night -- more like a very early morning, really -- but she's not about to argue. "Reading. I couldn't sleep."

"Everything all right?" Lena reaches the back of the couch and makes the most of the rare height advantage over her girlfriend to press a kiss to the top of blond hair. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Kara opens her arms before Lena can even think about sitting next to her instead, and smiles at the familiar weight of Lena sliding onto her lap. Even as she shrugs off Lena's question, Kara is already burying her face against the soft skin of her girlfriend's neck, breathing her in and letting the familiar scent filling her lungs soothe her like no amount of poetry ever could.

"Kara," Lena's fingers slide into blond hair, blunt fingernails scratching at Kara's scalp and making her hum in delight, "that's not an answer."

"No reason. I'm just not tired anymore I guess." A deep, content sigh. "Baby, you're so good at that."

There's still a slight crease between Lena's eyebrows, but that doesn't stop the smile Kara's praise brings to her face. "You'd tell me if I had to worry?"

Reluctantly, Kara pulls away from the warmth of Lena's neck. Her arms wrap around Lena's waist as she looks into green eyes. "You know I would."

And Kara watches Lena let the words sink in. They've had this conversation before, and Kara knows they'll have it again. They both have sore spots that need special care from time to time. And just to keep Lena's mind from going down any sort of rabbit hole, Kara decides it's time to continue a conversation they left unfinished five years ago.

"It didn't hurt at all, you know. Getting used to you." Kara shows Lena the book she's been holding, and grins when Lena smirks as the reference clicks.

"I thought you didn't like poetry," Lena chides, taking the book and flipping through the pages until she lands -- unsurprisingly, if you ask Kara -- back on poem fourteen.

"I don't. It's like... giving feelings a secret identity."

Lena arches one eyebrow, looking somewhere between amused and curious. "Care to explain?"

"Well, you know," Kara leans in to steal a quick, soft kiss, "say I want to kiss you. I can just say it. That's better than hiding it behind some kind of... flowery metaphor that'll make you wonder if I'm even saying that in the first place. Right?"

There's this look on Lena's face. Kara knows it well. It's like a challenge. Like she's playing chess and she's already thinking six moves ahead and knows you're toast whatever you do from that point on. Kara finds it nothing short of delicious.

"So you're saying," Lena says, and there's victory right there simmering under the surface of her words because she knows -- she knows -- she's won, "you'd rather I say 'this is a lovely sunrise we get to see together'," Lena's gaze drops to the open book in her hand to refresh her memory on the line she's about to quote, but she makes sure she's looking into blue eyes once again when she speaks, "than 'so many times we've watched the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the grey light unwind in turning fans', right?"

Kara swallows, hard. Her cheeks burn with a blush that will simply not be contained, no matter how hard she tries to keep some semblance of dignity. Her mouth feels dry all of a sudden, heart beating just fast enough -- hard enough -- that she's sure even Lena's plain human hearing can pick it up. And the look on her girlfriend's face lets Kara know she knows exactly what's currently happening to her.

"W-- well." Kara blinks, shaking her head like she's trying to physically clear the fog inside. To her credit, she thinks she manages to sound more indignant than turned on. "I mean that's unfair. You made it hot."

Lena lets out a delighted chuckle that hits Kara right in her heart, like a little pinball ball making it ding with the knowledge that Lena Luthor is happy enough to laugh. Really, truly laugh. 

"What?" Lena asks, still grinning, fingertips teasing the soft hairs at the back of Kara's neck like it's nothing -- like she doesn't know what she's doing to her. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ohh no, ma'am," Kara grins, cheeks still burning with the feeling simmering down low in her belly but too charmed by her girlfriend's teasing smile to stop, "you don't get to pretend you didn't do that on purpose."

"Kara," Lena says, in that way, because she knows, she knows, she knows Kara's weaknesses so perfectly well, and Kara wouldn't have it any other way, "I was just quoting Neruda, I didn't do anything."

"You did the voice thing!" 

"What voice th-- Kara, if you can't just admit plain language and poetic language are simply not on the same level I--"

"You purred the words! How is that fair!?"

Kara presses her lips together like she can retroactively keep the words from exiting her mouth. Too late, though. Lena looks positively delighted.

"I purred the words?" Lena echoes, barely able to keep a straight face. Actually, you know what? Scratch that. She's openly pleased with herself. Smug, even.

"I mean. I mean," Kara says, and she touches the bridge of her nose with one fingertip because for a moment she's forgotten there are no glasses to push up at all, "obviously it's not the same. Poetry and prose, they're inherently--"

"Different, right," Lena finishes Kara's thought, "so you see how you'd use one or the other depending on how emotionally charged--"

Kara shakes her head. "But you don't need flowery metaphors to convey emotion! You can just say what you mean and mean what you say."

"But you just said it yourself. It felt different when I just said it's a sunset, and when I quoted--"

"You purred poetry at me, Lena, of course I'm going to feel a certain kind of way!"

And there it is. Kara feels it in her bones. The checkmate Lena had seen coming a mile away. She sees it right there in the smirk on her girlfriend's face. In the way Lena's pupils dilate just so. The way her tongue peeks out to lick her lips as she looks at Kara like she's lunch.

Or, you know. Breakfast, as the case may be.

"You feel a certain kind of way?" Lena shifts on Kara's lap and they've been together for long enough that Kara absolutely knows there's nothing innocent or coincidental in the way Lena's night shirt (Kara's high school gym t-shirt, mind you) rides up to expose Lena's lace-covered ass. "What kind of way is that, Supergirl?"

Kara perks up at the sound of her name. Her other name. Because maybe it wasn't checkmate after all. Maybe it was just check. Because the thing is, it's not just Lena knowing all of Kara's weaknesses. That knowledge very much goes both ways. And Lena calling her Supergirl? 

Oh, Kara is absolutely not the only one who's feeling a certain way.

"You know." Kara shrugs slightly, pretending to still be the mouse in this little game. She rests one hand on Lena's knee and lets her palm slide up her thigh, slowly, listening to Lena's heartbeat speeding up with each inch of skin Kara explores. "You know the way I mean."

Lena's breath hitches just so when Kara's hand slides further up, and Kara savors the sound of Lena's heart tripping over itself when her fingertips drag along damp lace.

"You're listening, aren't you?" Lena cocks her eyebrow, but her lips stay parted and her breathing comes in short, warm puffs so the whole thing really doesn't come off as stern as Kara is sure Lena would like. 

"Hmm?" Kara knows she's probably pushing her luck, but she bats her eyelashes anyway, her face the very picture of innocence as if her fingertips weren't tracing the very edge of Lena's panties, hinting at what they could (will) do if she just happened to push that fabric aside. "Listening to what, baby?"

Lena tries not to -- Kara can see the struggle right there in her eyes -- but she whimpers anyway, quiet and just barely audible to the human ear. 

"Kara." It tries to sound like a warning, but it falls just this side of pleading instead. Lena blushes so very pretty when she's feeling a certain kind of way.

"Yes, Lena?" 

"You're listening," a breath, slow and measured like she wishes she could take in a deep one but her lungs can't quite cope with that right now, "to me."

"Well, I mean," Kara shrugs slightly, like she can't feel the warmth of Lena's pussy against her fingertips, "I try to. I feel like it's good girlfriend etiquette."

Lena is trying so hard to look at least moderately annoyed. It's not working at all, but Kara can see that's her intent. She also knows exactly what Lena means, too. She means Kara is listening to her. To the beat of her heart and the air in her lungs and all the tiny, inaudible (for everyone else) sounds that tell her exactly how much Lena wants her. 

"You're listening to what you're doing to me." Lena drops the book on the floor to wrap both hands around Kara's neck, hips shifting forward just enough to get more contact with Kara's hand between her legs. Kara knows Lena doesn't need superhearing to notice the way Kara's breath catches in her throat. 

"And what am I doing to you, baby?" Kara won't cross the barrier of Lena's panties just yet, but her fingers becomes more purposeful, less teasing as two fingertips press against Lena's clit through damp lace. Lena's eyes flutter closed and she takes in a sharp breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and Kara rewards such a gorgeous sound with a kiss to Lena's jaw. "What Spring does to cherry trees?"

Lena must feel Kara's teasing grin even if she can't see it, because she lets out a breathless chuckle even as her hips start rocking to meet the movements of Kara's fingers. "Just admit poetry can express richer emotions than prose ever cou--"

Kara's mouth is on Lena's before she can finish her thought, and Kara would maybe feel a bit guilty for interrupting, but Lena's fingers fist in blond hair and pull her close and there's no way someone who's offended would kiss her like that. And Kara isn't even listening anymore, because Lena's tongue is in her mouth and all she can hear is her own heart thumping along anyway.

When she breaks the kiss, Lena keeps Kara close. She's panting slightly, breath hot and wet against Kara's lips and pupils so dilated Kara wonders if she can see her at all. A quiet, hitched moan escapes parted lips, and Kara swears there's nothing in the world -- in the universe, really -- more beautiful than Lena when she's like this. Like putty in her hands. And Kara just can't resist. 

"Admit you purred," she whispers against kiss-swollen lips, knowing if there's one chance for her to win an argument with her girlfriend this must be it. When she has Lena rocking against her fingers, wet and wanting and just the right amount of needy to get her to give in, for once. 

"Kara." It's practically a whine, and Kara swears it sounds like victory. Until she sees the glint in her girlfriend's eyes, and Lena gets her checkmate move after all. "Shut up and fuck me."

Kara feels the words rather than hears them. They hit right between her legs and spread all over her body, and you know what? Kara really is okay with losing under these particular circumstances.

Two fingers hook under the crotch of Lena's panties and Kara tugs lightly, almost like she's testing the strength of the lacy fabric. "Do you really like the..." Kara's voice trails off as Lena pulls the t-shirt up and over her head, blue eyes staring unabashedly at her girlfriends breasts as she struggles to finish her thought, "...these?"

It's just polite to ask before tearing someone's panties to shreds, if you ask her, even if you're currently transfixed at the sight of her breasts.

"I don't care." Lena's voice is doing that thing again, except this time Kara is pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose at all, it's just that's what Lena sounds like when she needs Kara now and isn't that just the best thing ever? "Baby, please, I don't care."

Kara doesn't know if she rips the panties off first and then leans in to catch Lena's left nipple with her mouth or if it happens the other way around, but she honestly doesn't care either, as it turns out. All she knows is two fingers slip inside Lena in one smooth, firm thrust, and her free hand grabs Lena's right breast, and then--

"More," Lena moans, breathy and greedy, but when Kara starts thrusting harder into her Lena shakes her head, "no, no-- more fingers," and Kara lets out a quiet whimper around the stiff nipple between her teeth. 

Kara pulls her fingers out of Lena and stretches her ring finger to join the first two before sliding them back inside. Her movements are slow and careful, all of her senses focused on detecting even the slightest hint of discomfort in her girlfriend until her three fingers are fully inside Lena. 

"Go on, Supergirl." 

Lena's tone is just the right amount of teasing to make Kara chuckle lightly, mouth leaving Lena's breast to trail kisses up her sternum and to the freckles on her neck as her arm starts pumping once again. She's so very close, Kara can tell, and even more so when she turns her wrist just so to press the pad of her thumb against Lena's clit.

Lena's fingers dig into Kara's scalp, into the strong muscle at her shoulder as Lena holds on and rides Kara's hand, hips rocking hard and fast in time with Kara's thrusts. Kara couldn't listen to any one thing if she tried. It's a symphony of sighs and moans, whimpers and ragged breaths and stuttering heartbeats that nearly overwhelms her senses until she feels Lena clench around her fingers, hips losing their rhythm as Lena comes with Kara's name on her lips.

Kara pulls her face away from Lena's neck just so she can look at her. Watch her come around her fingers and then relax, chest heaving with the effort of trying to catch her breath. Kara swears there can't be a more beautiful sight in the universe, especially not now, with the sun rising and bathing Lena's damp skin in early morning light. And as much as Kara tries to suppress it, there's a thought running through her head. A line from that stupid poem with its stupid cherry trees.

A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body... 

"You're thinking very loudly," Lena whispers, already resting her head on Kara's shoulder as her fingertips play with the hem of Kara's shirt, "what are you thinking?"

For a second, Kara considers telling her, but Neruda's words aren't what comes out when she opens her mouth. "Just how beautiful you look," she says, which is in fact the truth. Kind of. She can't let Lena win every single time, right?

***

"Apparently the first cherry trees got here in 1910, but they had to burn them all because of a bunch of insects." Kara holds the little guide book in her hand as she reads, her other hand safely in Lena's as they walk along the Tidal Basin. "These ones are newer, from 1912."

 "Oh, like the Titanic!" Lena looks delighted with the coincidence, and the bright smile on her face makes Kara lean in to steal a kiss from her lips. Her fiancée is super cute when she lets her inner dork show, if you ask Kara.

"See? I told you buying an actual guide book would be worth it!" Kara holds the small book in her hand with the pride of someone who's just won an argument (for once). "Where else are you going to get that kind of high quality trivia?"

"You do know the prototype L-Corp keychain I gave you last week can access Google, yes?"

"Not the same."

"Not to mention the actual supercomputers we all carry around in our pockets. Or the high-tech communicator in your wat--"

"Lena!" Kara groans. "Look around! The cherry blossoms! The quaintness of springtime! A romantic stroll along the river! Where's your sense of romance?"

Lena chuckles lightly, her free hand sliding up Kara's arm to wrap around her bicep. And Kara would complain about the obvious use of one of her many Lena-related weaknesses, but you know what? It works.

"Kara Danvers," Lena says, voice low and teasing, "that's all very poetic."

Kara rolls her eyes, but she can't quite stop the bright smile that's already appearing on her face. "Don't you start with me," she warns, not very convincingly. 

Lena presses a kiss to Kara's shoulder, and it makes color rise to Kara's cheeks even through the soft fabric of her cardigan. Even after all these years. But she figures if there's one day to be particularly enamored with one's fiancée, that's the day she's scheduled to receive a Presidential Award for her contributions to science and the betterment of humanity.

Not to brag. But Kara is proud.

"I love you," Kara says, because she can't not, "and I'm just so proud, I--"

Lena presses a finger to Kara's lips, stopping what was potentially about to turn into a whole speech about the many ways in which Lena Luthor could not possibly be any more perfect if she tried. 

"Kara," Lena warns, all cocked eyebrow and slightly pursed lips, "you promised. You promised you wouldn't cry before the actual ceremony."

And Kara would argue. She'd argue that she's perfectly capable of going on about Lena's many virtues without actually crying, but you know what? Her eyes are feeling just a tiny bit misty already so she's just gonna go ahead and trust Lena on this one.

"You know what I also love?" Kara presses a kiss to the pad of Lena's finger and obediently changes subjects. "Sushi. Let's go get some." Kara starts walking away from the beautiful soft pink trees and in the general direction of the street festival, tugging Lena along. She's all for the romance of blossom-watching, but she'd be lying if she said hearing about the culinary side of this whole festival hadn't excited her a bit more than that.

It's only when she hears a sigh coming from Lena that Kara's focus shifts from food to the woman next to her. That wasn't a happy sigh. 

"Are you okay, baby?"

Lena smiles. It's not a fake smile, but there's a hint of something in it that isn't fully happy, either. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It's just... between the cherry blossoms and all this talk of sushi, I guess it made me a bit nostalgic for Sendai." 

"Sendai?" Kara looks at Lena with curiosity written all over her face. "What's Sendai?"

"Oh, it's a city in Japan. I lived there for a few months for an exchange when I was in college. Did I never tell you?" Kara shakes her head, her face the picture of delight at getting to learn something new about Lena. "There was this little restaurant near Tohokudai, I swear they had the best sushi in the world." Lena hums, letting her eyes flutter closed for a second like she's trying to imagine the taste. "I'd do anything for some negitoro maki from that place right about now."

Kara listens intently to her fiancée's words. She knows it's just a silly little comment. She knows Lena will be perfectly happy eating the undoubtedly delicious sushi currently being sold at the street festival. And yet.

She can't resist a chance to make Lena just that little bit happier, can she? 

So Kara looks around to make sure they're not being watched, and lets go of Lena's hand. "Be right back."

"Where are you--?"

But all Lena gets is a quick kiss and a gust of wind on her face before Kara disappears.

She's only gone for a couple of minutes -- just enough for Lena to wander back towards the cherry trees -- and when she comes back she's holding a small box which she immediately presents to Lena.

"Sushi for my... sushi," Kara lets out a chuckle, her now-free hand coming up to scratch at the back of her head like she's aware she may have gone just a little bit overboard but she's hoping it won't be too much, "Sendai's beautiful, by the way."

Lena's smile is soft, and Kara has a feeling -- not to toot her own horn -- if she'd been listening she would've heard Lena's heart skip a beat. 

"Kara Danvers," Lena sighs, shaking her head like that'll do anything to hide just how charmed she is right now, "you're something el-- what's that?"

"Nothing," Kara shifts slightly and puts her hand -- and the little carton box it's holding -- behind her back, fully intending on letting the focus of this moment be on her romantic gesture, but Lena raises one eyebrow and Kara loses her resolve. "Potstickers." Kara's voice is quiet as she shows Lena the box. "What? I was in the neighborhood!"

"In the neighborhood of," Lena squints slightly as she reads the words on the box, "Shanghai?"

"Well, China is next door to Japan, if you think about it."

Lena chuckles, clearly too charmed by this whole thing to even continue teasing Kara about it. "Thank you. For this. You didn't actually have to fly all the way to Japan to get my favorite sushi, but I appreciate it."

Kara shrugs, chopsticks already grabbing the first potsticker in the box. "I'd go way farther than Japan to make you happy. You know that."

"I do know," Lena nods, looking just a little thoughtful, like she's just now realizing she fully believes Kara would stop at nothing to make her happy, "you even promised when you proposed."

Lena wiggles her finger, flashing the kryptium ring that's been there for a few weeks now along with a teasing smile, and Kara can only shrug. "Well, I meant it," she says, popping the potsticker in her mouth and leaning against the trunk of a nearby cherry tree.

"I know," Lena says again, but this time she's smiling, amusement shining in her eyes, "if only Lex had figured out the one true way to have the world in the palm of your hand is to make a Kryptonian fall in love with you."

"To be fair, I really don't think your brother is Kal's type."

***

Eight hours later, they're seeing the Tidal Basin from above, the cherry blossoms looking nearly white in the moonlight. They could be in National City already, but Kara figures there's no reason why she can't take the scenic route with Lena in her arms and enjoy the view without the crowds and the bustle they experienced earlier today. Perks of being your own private jet.

"Go a bit lower, baby," Lena's voice is soft against Kara's ear, like she's afraid if she speaks too loud she'll break the spell and they won't feel like the only two people in the world anymore, "I want to see the flowers."

Kara doesn't make her wait. Lena's just been awarded an actual medal by the President, and spoiling her a little is the least Kara can do. So she dips until they're hovering just above the soft pink blossoms and then a little lower still, close enough that Lena can smell the sweet, fresh scent of Spring.

The night is clear and quiet, just cool enough for Lena to reach for Kara's cape and pull it forward to wrap it around herself. Kara holds her a little closer, just enough to hopefully provide a bit of extra warmth, and she figures it was the right move when Lena slips one arm from under Kara's cape to reach for the tree and pick a particularly pretty blossom from one of the branches that's closer to them.

Lena looks at it for a moment, twirling the little stem between her fingers like she's pondering what to do with it. And then she turns and tucks Kara's hair behind her ear, sliding the small flower between soft blond strands and smiling when she's satisfied it'll stay exactly where she wants it.

"Happy?" Kara chuckles, something soft and quiet and a little teasing because there's something equal parts amusing and endearing about Lena's perfectionism when it comes to silly little things like putting a flower in Kara's hair.

"Very."

And there's something about the way Lena smiles, more with her eyes than with her mouth, that makes Kara see, clear as day, just how serious Lena is. How sincere, when she says she's very happy. 

Maybe that's why Kara gets a little transfixed just looking at her, suddenly aware of just how different this Lena -- the Lena wrapped in her arms and her cape, wearing her ring and smiling with a smile that's just Kara's -- is from the Lena she first met all those years ago.

"Kara Zor-El," Lena's voice is soft just like the sound of Kara's true name on her lips, "what are you thinking about?"

And Kara wishes she had the words to tell her. But how does she even begin to explain what she's feeling right now? How she's still the same Lena that made Kara's heart trip all over itself the first time she saw her, but she's so very different all the same time. Brighter. Lighter. Loved. God, she's so loved, and Lena knows it, finally, and that's what's different, maybe. Not just Kara's love, because Lena's had that from the very first day, probably, but the fact that Lena can feel it now. 

How do you put that in words? I love you just doesn't feel like enough. 

And then it hits her.

"I'm thinking," Kara smiles, cheeks pink with the knowledge that she's just been proven wrong, "about what Spring does to cherry trees."

[loveislattes]

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

You can find Chapter 1 here!

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them.

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Depression, talks of death, smut, dom/sub, rough sex, Demon!Dark, demon-like anatomy, shadow tentacles, oral (male receiving), very minor breath play, teasing, pet names, dirty talk, minor degradation, praise kink, unprotected sex, primal/power play, and multiple orgasms!

A/N: Other than the kink warnings, this one is safe to read! No gore/death. No beta- there may be a few errors.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

Tags: (If you want to be tagged in my writing, just let me know!)

@when-the-sun-goes-dark

@underthedark13

@fruitypieq

@another-thirsty-blog

@hcrystal02

@just-a-little-bat

“You’re sure? The doctor is sure?” you questioned earnestly.

“Yes! Yes! They say it’s like some kind of miracle. They expect her to make a full recovery after some physical therapy. Isn’t it great, Y/N?!”

You could feel your lips twist up into a bittersweet smile as tears poured from your clenched eyes. The taste of salt was bitter on your lips as you nodded asininely into the phone.

“Yeah, that’s- that’s amazing,” you whispered, “Listen, auntie, I’ve got to get ready for work but please keep me updated if anything changes.”

The phone fell into the fluffy blankets across your lap and you let out the choked sob that you’d been holding back. Wish number four had been a success. You’d done some actual good with your imminent death.

Despite the good news, the oppressive cloud around you didn’t dissipate; Unsurprising but disappointing nonetheless.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you hissed, smacking your cheeks a couple of times.

Suddenly, a terribly wonderfully awful idea popped up and there was a modicum of relief in your chest. You snagged up the coin from its perch on the bedside table and clutched it to your chest close.

“Dark, I think I know my last wish. Is it possible to wish for death?”

There was no immediate answer, nor did you die immediately. A tremor in the atmosphere of the room was the only sign that something had changed and you brought your head up in surprise. The sight of the debonair demon standing amongst your depression room instantly filled you with shame. Great. Just what you needed to be added to your already heaping pile of negative emotions.

“Hello, darling.”

You managed a weak little hello in reply as he began to stroll your way. You weren’t sure whether you should stand up to greet him or just allow him to come to you, but he quickly made that decision for you as he came to a stop at your side.

“I regret to inform you that you’ve managed to find one of the three types of wishes I’m unable to grant. Is there something els-”

“Please, Dark!”

He leveled you with narrowed eyes and stated factually, “I can’t kill you. Killing you negates the contract. That includes putting you in any imminently dangerous situations, so don’t try it.”

Finally, you found the power to stand and glared up at him through tears.

“Can’t you break the rules, just this once?! I give you permission to keep my soul after I die if you do it! I just- I can’t take this anymore! Maybe you don’t understand it because you all Mr. Powerful Demon but I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of being alone! I’m tired of hurting when there’s literally nothing wrong! I’m tired of not being able to do a damn thing to make it better or change anything or- or-”

You fell into a messy pile of limbs and blankets on the bed, wrapping yourself up as best as possible, sobbing into your hands to keep a modicum of your dignity intact. Much to your surprise, you felt fingers brush against your hair as sharp nails began to massage through your strands.

“I must say, you’re definitely one of my more interesting clients,” he hummed lowly, “Even so, I’m unable to bend the rules, even for you. There’s a lot at play here that you’ll never understand but the short of it is that even I do not play with Death’s dealings, darling.”

As he spoke, you could feel the first peek of daylight glimmering through the shadows of your mind. Whether it was from his odd praise or the sensations his fingers were provoking, you weren’t sure, but it was nice. Ever so slowly, you found yourself leaning into his touch, chasing the dopamine rush he provided.

He let out a humored chuckle as you nearly fell off the bed in the pursuit and you could only manage a subdued apology in reply.

“Don’t apologize for being adorable, pet,” he teased.

Cheeks warming harshly under the sudden pet name, you buried your face in your hands and groaned slightly.

“Now that that’s sorted, I will leave you be. When you’re ready to make your last wish, you know how to reach me.”

There was a strange catch in his voice that you couldn’t quite place but it was enough to put you into action.

“Wait!” you called out when he turned away.

Carefully wiping the tears from your face, you stood up and took a steadying breath before reaching out to him. It was such a simple request but you could see the curiosity and confusion plain on his face. Nonetheless, he took your hand and allowed you to pull him in close. It had been so long since you’d even held someone else’s hand. More of the demons in the back of your mind were backing down, the sudden influx of serotonin of skin-to-skin contact turning them away.

“Okay, I get it, you can’t kill me,” you murmured, licking your lips nervously, “But you said you find me… interesting, right? Erm, do you think you would be able to do something else for me instead?”

It was like you had flipped a switch, the way his eyes clouded over with the devious smirk that curled up his lips and how his head tipped to the side in obvious inquiry.

“I’ll need you to be more clear on what you’re asking for, pretty little pet,” he cajoled, “It would be quite remiss of me to act without being completely sure what you want from me.”

Oh, the asshole! He was going to make you say it out loud! It was obvious in his gaze that he knew he had all the power here, in every sense of the word, and he was using it to his advantage… and you couldn’t deny that you loved it.

Face hot with mortification, you chewed on your lower lip before whispering, “I- I can’t. I can’t ask.”

Fangs peeked out in a grin as he leaned down, tipping your head up until you were nose to nose with him.

“Do you want me to kiss you? Touch you? Fuck you?”

Gods, he made it sound so dirty, so sensual. Shivers rolled through your bones as he teased the apex of your jaw and throat with his sharp claws.

“I need to know.”

You gathered every last drop of confidence and finally stammered out, “Fu-Fuck me, please?”

“With pleasure, darling,” he hummed softly, “But first…”

Fingers tangled in your locks once more, jerking your head back and his mouth slammed against yours. A choked sob passed from your mouth to his as he guided you back onto the bed, following with the grace and ease only an inhuman being could manage.

“If it gets too intense, just tell me to stop,” he breathed out as his lips fell to your jaw, “It’s been some time since I’ve allowed myself to indulge with a human and you are just so damn breakable.”

A sick thrill shot through your body at the warning. Why did a part of you want that? It was terrifying, thinking of a demon losing themselves and going feral on you, and yet it sounded so deliciously taboo.

“Okay,” you finally replied when you realized he was waiting for an answer, “I will.”

“Good girl.”

Oh. OH. It felt like all the air left your lungs and you couldn’t stop the tiny little noise that escaped your lips in embarrassment and desire.

His lips curved up against your throat as they slowly moved. Nibbles and kisses blazed a path up the sensitive column of your neck until teeth toyed with your ear lobe and he let out a little chuckle.

“You are going to be so much fun, pet.”

Your hands found his hair and held on for dear life as his fangs dug into your neck; not deep enough to draw blood but rough enough to tear a pained scream from your lips. Throbbing agony blossomed through your skin and still, you found your body arching into his, silently eager for more of what he could give you. Oh and the endorphin rush! The moment he released your abused flesh, it was like your body was on fire.

Moving without thought, you guided him by the hair into a frantic kiss, hoping to convey your need without words. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended by your little takeover of power and allowed you to soak in all you needed until he finally put a stop to it with a nibble on your lower lip.

“Enough, it’s time to prove that you really want this, darling,” Dark purred as his fingers dug into your cheeks symbolically.

You nodded the best you could and followed his lead as he pulled you to your feet. With a snap of his fingers, suddenly his clothes were gone and you were left staring at him in awe. While he looked incredible in the suit, it did a complete disservice to the glorious form hidden beneath. Black tattooed tendrils encircled his arms and legs, tapering out somewhere on his back, creating the most tantalizing contrast of shades against his toned limbs as he flexed them teasingly.

As your eyes traced the designs down his solid form, he suddenly gripped your shoulders and pushed you down onto your knees, tossing one of your pillows down after.

“If you’re going to worship me in such a way, you might as well do it from in your rightful place on your knees,” he purred.

Lips parting in surprise, you felt your insides curl up with embarrassment as you slipped the pillow under your knees and nearly apologized, but then he was stepping closer and you lost all thought.

Fuck, was he ever right; It was akin to staring up at a god! Not only were you given the best view of his body, but the way he stared down at you with desire and complete superiority had you trembling with need.

“Now, show me what that pretty mouth can do, pet.”

Oh, that, that you could do. Scooting in closer, you reached out to grab his cock but your hand was smacked away instantly. It stung more than hurt but it was surprising nonetheless.

“What-”

“Hands behind your back,” he demanded.

Cautiously, you did as he asked and were rewarded with a much softer smile.

“Good girl.”

Those words again. It was like they had a direct line to your cunt. Clenching needily around nothing, you let out a soft whine and let him pull you back in. As his cock neared your lips, you were finally given the chance to look it over closely. Despite being only half-hard, he appeared average length and a bit thicker than most you’d encountered. It was also darker than the rest of his skin but what set it apart the most was the ridges encircling it. Every inch or so down his cock were these ridges, smooth but creating quite an obvious size difference.

As you pondered over the way it would feel inside you, you let your tongue tentatively trace the tip and moaned at the familiar taste. He let out an encouraging sigh and tightened his hold, subtly pulling you closer until you threw away hesitation and took him in your mouth as far as possible.

“Mmmm, that’s it pet,” he praised huskily, “Get me ready to fuck you.”

Clenching your thighs in hopes of relief, you shifted higher onto your knees and followed the pace he set. Another difference you began to notice was the massive vein on the underside of his cock, the way it throbbed against your tongue with every swipe quickly became an addicting sensation. It was like his body was praising your efforts in its own way.

“Take a breath,” he warned.

You barely got a lungful in before he arched into your face, hastily fighting back the urge to gag as he slid into your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as saliva pooled in your mouth. You were mortified as both spilled out the instant he began to fuck your mouth. Embarrassing noises escaped your throat, far beyond your control with each thrust of his cock, but it didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

“Look at you,” he rumbled out huskily, “What a good little pet you are, swallowing my cock like you were made for it.”

As suddenly as he had started he stopped, releasing his hold on you so fast you nearly toppled over as you coughed for breath.

“Impressive, now get up here.”

Once you felt you were stable enough, you climbed to your feet with his assistance and were immediately thrown back on the bed. As your skin rubbed against the cool sheets, you were suddenly made aware of your lack of clothes.

He apparently sensed the shock in your expression and offered you a sly grin.

“What can I say, pet? There are some things I am impatient over.”

Dark kneeled on the bed and gripped your ankles, spreading your legs so he could easily fit between them. Rather than climb over you as you had expected, he instead traced gentle lines up and down your legs, slowly bit by bit growing closer and closer to your cunt but never actually touching. It was maddening. You could feel yourself quaking and twitching uncontrollably under every pass of his claws; your silent pleas coming out louder and louder each time until you were nearly sobbing with need. Teeth soon joined in the effort, searing bite marks into the meaty parts of your thighs while his tongue lavished the wounds fondly after.

“I haven’t even touched you and you’re dripping wet for me,” he groaned quietly as he traced the crease between your sex and thigh, “Imagine what a mess you’ll be once I’m finally inside you.”

Desperation tore from your chest in the form of a whimper at the mental images burning in your mind. Your heart nearly flipped on itself in pleasure as he finally moved up the bed.

“You look like you’re struggling, darling,” he teased, “Is there something you need?”

You nodded frantically and whimpered out, “Please!”

Tantalizing shocks ran through your core as his fingers oh-so-tenderly ran over your lips, ghosting just where you needed him the most. Frustration began to well up like the sweat beading your forehead and you couldn’t help the huff that escaped.

“Tell me that you need to be used,” he breathed, ghosting sharp canines along your throat, “And I’ll give you what you want.”

“I- I need to be used,” you gasped out.

His responding moan was pure ecstasy as his fingers finally found your clit; the way his cock twitched again your leg an overwhelming aphrodisiac. The scrape of his facial hair prickled against your chest as his head ducked down and his lips pressed chaste kisses along your breasts. Swallowing hard, you bit back the overwhelming urge to demand him for more and were rewarded with the gratifying sensation of his tongue across your nipple. Pain and pleasure coalesced into one as he mercilessly sucked and bit into your flesh, drawing louder and faster moans from your chest by the second. When he finally pulled off with a pop, your entire body felt the bombardment of endorphins.

“And who do you want to use you?”

Pride shone through his playful teasing as you attempted and failed to whimper his name multiple times, ruined over and over again with each pass over your clit.

“Hmm? I can’t seem to understand you. Who do you want to ruin you?”

Thighs shaking and heart pounding, you fought through the onslaught of pleasure coiling in your belly to gasp out, “You, Dark! Please, fuck- fuck me!”

It was too much, not enough: The ache in your throat, the rawness of your lips, the imprints of his teeth burned in your flesh, the throb of your cunt under his fingers.

When he finally slipped his fingers in your core, you cried out. Relief! It didn’t take more than a few seconds for his stretching and thrusting to put you right on the edge of no return. Unfortunately, he jerked away before you could fall and, before you could even complain, you were tossed over onto your stomach with a sharp slap to your right cheek.

“Perk that pretty ass up for me, pet,” he demanded, gently guiding your hips up.

As you came to rest on your knees, you let your face rest on the pillow and arched your back until you could feel his cock brush against your cunt. Instinctively you pushed back against him with a little moan and were immediately rewarded with fingers to your clit.

But… his hands were on your hips…

“How-?”

When you stilled in thought, he let out a husky chuckle behind you.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he crooned lowly, “Sometimes they just have a mind of their own.”

Lifting up just enough to peek under your body, you were both startled and aroused to find black shadow-like tentacles where you expected fingers to be, and in turn, his legs were now free of those pretty tattoos. Realization hit hard and a pathetic moan fled your lips as you buried your face in the pillow.

“Glad to see you approve, darling.”

In the next breath, he slammed forward and yanked you back simultaneously. You were immensely grateful that he had taken the time to prep you as he sunk in, inch by inch, stretching you open like none ever had before. A wicked thrill sent a tremor through your body as you realized you could feel each and every ridge as it pushed into you.

When his hips finally came to a stop against yours, the noise he let out had your hair standing on end. Animalistic, inhuman, primal. You wanted to hear it time and time again.

He finally started rocking his hips, taking his time with deliciously languid strokes, until you begged him for more. It was with a cruel laugh that he gave into your desires.

“Oh fuck!” you whined, fingers snarling in the blankets for balance.

There was no more hesitation in his movements, gentleness abandoned in exchange for all-out fucking you in a way that made your toes curl and tears fill your eyes.

“You are so fucking wet,” he snarled out between breaths, “Taking me so well.”

A noise of agreement escaped your lips as you arched back to meet his thrusts. You couldn’t form words even if you wanted to, too focused on the raging storm brewing in your core.

Pain blossomed through your hip as one of his hands squeezed tighter, his growls and panting growing in volume to rival your cries, while the other found your hair and yanked your head back. Your body reacted instinctively, clenching down hard around him and startling a moan from you both.

“You feel so good! You going to come for me, pet?”

Reaching back, your hand found his and your nails found purchase, returning a sliver of the savage pain he bestowed upon you. All the while you bounced back harder on his cock, chasing the edge that was just out of reach. The tendrils between your thighs suddenly came back to life once more, their cool touch contrasting so perfectly with the heat of your bodies as they swirled around your clit in time with his thrusts.

“A-Ah! Dark, yes, pleeaaasse! Fuck- Fuck!”

“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Come for me and let me claim you, pet.

As if mimicking the hold on your hip, another tendril slithered up your back and encircled your throat. The unexpected pressure elicited a tantalizing response, your body suddenly feeling both free and trapped in the best of ways as he bound you to him

“Mine. All mine. My filthy little slutty human whore.”

Something in your psyche broke at those words and ecstasy rushed forward like a tidal wave. Every inch of your body trembled with pleasure as you screamed his name, voice cracking under the duress of it all. You could feel the proof of your indulgence dripping down your inner thighs, the sounds of your debauched pleasure growing louder with every slap of his hips against yours.

“Fucking hell!” Dark bit out harshly, “Good girl. Good fucking slut. Who do you belong to?! Say it!”

“You! Only you, Dark! O-Ooh, f-ffu-fuck!”

With inhuman speed, he slammed into you, over and over until the smack of your bodies was almost continuous. His choked roar filtered through your senses but it was was easily washed away with your second climax teetering on the edge. There was a sudden torrential shift of energy, pulsing eerie screeches filling the room as his voice echoed off the walls when he finally buried himself as far as possible inside of you. Any pain was quickly washed away by the thunderous roll of pleasure brought on by the touch of his tendrils mixed with the throb of his cock releasing deep in your cunt. Claws trailed down your spine as he practically purred your name, leaving behind five raw lines that stung under the combined sweat of your bodies, and somehow you found yourself okay with it; loved it, in fact, knowing that his marks would be on you for quite some time.

Quaking with bliss and exhaustion, you collapsed to the bed the instant he slipped out of your core and let out a little delighted whimper. You reached out blindly for him and were appeased when he laid down beside you, pulling you against him so your face was resting on his chest.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed that,” you murmured, fingers tracing up and down the little scar in his abdomen, “It goes without saying but that was fucking phenomenal, so thank you.”

Your head bobbed up and down with his laughter and you couldn’t help the grin that turned up your lips in return.

“I have to say I’m in agreement, pet,” he hummed back, “It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to let go in such a way.”

With a hand on your bicep and the arm under your head, he pulled you up and shifted you over his hips until you were perched on quaking knees. You almost questioned him but were silenced when he leaned up and captured your lips in a stinging kiss. It started out rough and slowly devolved into a passionate tangle of tongues.

It wasn’t until he pulled back for a breath that the reality of what was to happen started to sink in; the serotonin in your veins being replaced with anxiety.

“So, does this mean I die now? You have to take my soul, right?” you asked softly, “Since I made my last wish?”

“Hmm? I never heard you make a wish, pet,” he replied as he stretched back languidly.

Eyebrows furrowing, you let your confused expression convey your thoughts as one of his hands began to travel down your curves.

“But I asked-”

Your words were cut off by your own gasp when you felt his cock rising between your thighs. Wide-eyed and warm-faced, you gaped at him in shock. Apparently, a very short cool down period was also a demon perk?!

He smirked at your awe as a thumb traced your lower lip seductively.

“You asked and I gave freely,” he explained, fingers dipping to trace sharp claws along your throat, “You still have one wish remaining. Although, I’d suggest you save it for later. I feel like we have much more important things to attend at the moment, darling.”

[liddolwhynot2000]

Falling

____________________________________

Summary: Cause Levi can't help falling in love with you.

____________________________________

Pairing: Levi Ackerman X Reader

____________________________________

Levi sat on a log, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, staring at nothing in particular. The sun was setting, but he hardly cared to watch it, too lost in thought.

When Kenny had taken him under his wing all those years ago, he had taught Levi plenty of things. How to use a knife, how to make ‘friends’. Some lessons he preferred to forget, while others he latched on to as a way of life. There was one lesson in particular that he would spend the rest of his life following, almost religiously.

Violence is always the answer.

Hungry? Threaten someone into giving you food. Being held at gun point? Kick the crap out of them. Not getting the answers you want? Torture. Rip out their nails. Break their back.

That was the guideline for surviving in the underground. Dominate everyone using brute force. Make a reputation so fierce that only senseless morons would challenge you. Admittedly, it had worked well for him. He had become the top dog in that dreary, dark hell. Able to eat three times a day, wear decent clothes. He, Farlan and Isabel had survived well for a good amount of time. That is, until they had their first taste of sunlight.

In hindsight, taking that mission had been a foolish mistake. He had lost his cherished friends, and while he now got along with his cormades, it just wasn’t the same. Other parts of his life, however, continued to remain as before.

The surface may have lacked the unhinged lawlessness of the underground, but Levi still utilized his usual methods of living, albeit more legally.

In his years in the military, he had used his superior physical strength to instill fear and discipline. Cadets, high ranking members of the military, even the Queen often cowered before him in fear. Any other man would enjoy the thrill of it, reducing the most powerful people in his country into meek versions of themselves, unable to properly look him in the eye.

And he did. A part of him would always be smug about it, solely because underground filth like him, who had been expected to waste away his life, had managed to climb to a position at the top that no else held.

But it was tiring now. He had become so.. lonely. Everyone he had let into his heart left him. His sweet mother, crazy Kenny, his siblings in all but blood, Farlan and Isabel. Here he was, surprisingly wealthy and popular, but missing his precious people.

Alas, he would never let someone in like that again. The rest of his life was destined to be spent alone, threatening everyone in hearing range and dying on the battlefield. And, with a sigh, he accepted this miserable fate.

What he didn’t know was that meeting you would lead to him burning down his self established fate to ashes and dust, with his very own hands.

____________________________________

Why you had even thought about approaching him was incredulous, Levi mused to himself. An exhausted soldier sitting in the dark of a room, staring mindlessly at the table. He had showed no expression on his face but still, normal people would have been scared off just at the sight of him. You weren’t, and that’s how the two of you met.

You had made him some nice herbal tea and brought it to him. Giving him some plain biscuits along with the beverage. He had eyed you suspiciously, not willing to entertain you with even a thank you. Your intentions had been unclear to him at the time.

What was a beautiful woman like you, even Levi privately admitted to double taking at the sight of you, doing offering tea to him of all people. Kindness didn’t exist in people, he had never seen it in anyone besides his mother and Isabel. So you probably had a hidden motive. Maybe you needed a favour? Or were trying to integrate yourself in with the higher ups for better pay? Or maybe one of those dumb admirers that thought they could change him?

Once you left, after giving him another smile and telling him you hoped he would enjoy the tea, he decided to dismiss all thoughts of you. He wouldn’t help you with shit.

He did enjoy the tea though.

____________________________________

For the next two months, he began seeing you everyday. Not by choice, he told himself. He had accidentally made it a habit to sit in that room, all by himself, everyday, at the exact same time.

And everyday, without fail, you would bring him tea and biscuits. Sometimes there was a cake slice, or cookies, or even a nice meal, like rice with boiled vegetables.

He learned about you in that time. Your name, for one, which sounded oddly pleasing on his tongue. You were a garrison cook, tasked with making meals for the garrison engineers, whose office had been established right next to the Survey Corps headquarters. It explained why he kept seeing you everyday. A part of him had been strangley thrilled to hear that, as if the idea of seeing you everyday was something he actually wanted.

You never flinched around him or stuck around to talk to him for too long. Bringing him his tea with that sweet smile, asking about his day, wishing him well. You never made a face or took his obvious reluctance to talk to heart. His short answers and grunts, his crass language, they all had no effect on you. It was clear you really wanted nothing from him. No favours, no urge to get close. You were just being… kind.

And as someone who had hardly experienced genuine kindness in his life, he would let you continue. Besides, it was the first time someone was behaving around him without Levi having to force them. It was too refreshing for him to stop.

____________________________________

Levi eyed the tray in front of him warily. There was a cup of steaming tea, some sugar cubes he could add, a few biscuits and two sandwiches. He hadn’t touched it yet, even though he knew it would taste amazing, much like everything else you made. But he was rather preoccupied, unable to make sense of what he was feeling.

You hadn’t showed up today. He had waited, expecting that knock on the door, your light footsteps as you entered the room, your cheery voice to greet him. Instead, it had been another cook. Levi had scowled as the girl had blushed and stuttered around him, putting the tray on the table, not quite able to talk to him, or look him in the eye.

‘C-captain I was told to give this to you-’

His irritation had shot up through the roof and with his usual impatience, he snarled at the girl, asking for your whereabouts. Initially, he got no solid response out of her, because she didn’t know. But in the end, as she made to leave, terrified beyond belief of him, she said something that had his heart inexplicably stopping.

‘Sh-she might be o-on a date. That’s why- why she didn’t bring it today. I think’

Now here he was, eyeing the delicious spread infront of him. Except he didn’t have much of an appetite. His mind was jumbled up, unable to comprehend why he felt so.. Hurt?

Were you actually out on a date right now? Allowing some shitty lowlife to woe you? He felt resentful, unsure of himself. It shouldn’t matter to him. It wouldn’t matter to him. He refused to allow it to.

With a grimace, he put his feelings aside and began eating. He knew better then to waste good food.

____________________________________

The next day, when you came with the tray, you told him you had gone to visit your cousin who had given birth to a baby girl. The relief he had felt, knowing that you hadn’t been making goofing off with some hormonal piece of shit, had stunned him. He continued to suprise himself, by behaving like he had been possessed. As evidenced by how before you could leave, his hand shot out to grab your wrist and the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.

‘Oi, stay. Let’s…eat together. ’

Your eyes had widened, no doubt shocked that he actually wanted you around. With a tentative smile, you nodded in agreement, taking the seat next to him. You carried the conversation, with him silently listening and interjecting his own opinion. Somehow, he had even managed to make you giggle, causing a warmth to spread in his chest. Before the two of you knew it, the tray had been emptied of its contents, yet neither of you made to leave for at least an hour more.

Later, while sitting in his chair, preparing to sleep, Levi thought back to when he had held your wrist. He marvelled at how soft and delicate you had felt in his grasp, wondering what it would feel like to have those arms hold him. Would you feel just as soft, pressed up against him? He could tell you would be gentle, he knew you possessed no mean or rough bone in your body.

Fantasising about you, and yearning to feel more of you, he drifted off to sleep.

____________________________________

He hated being on sick leave. Abhorred it. He felt useless, couldn’t do shit. Yet here he was, on a one month leave and it was all becuase of his dumbass titan brat.

Eren had been practicing hardening in his titan form, but had positioned himself wrong. He had gotten out of the crystal carcass too soon, and the damn thing had toppled over the entire crowd of soldiers standing near by. Which included him. Most had made a get away with their gear, but Erwin, having only one arm, hadn’t been fast enough. Leading to Levi having to save him in the nick of time. And fracturing his left arm and spraining his right leg.

The doctor had banned him from strenuous activity and had made it clear that he would have to spend at least a month taking it extremely easy. His Ackerman bloodline meant that, unlike other normal people, he would be completely okay within a month.

That hadn’t been enough to stop Levi from grumbing or threatening Erwin or calling the doctor an old hag. Once his fury had partially subsdided, he grudgingly accepted that he needed the rest.

He had thought of going to live at the modest house he owned, which was near headquarters. It had been a gift from the Queen, for his part in taking down Zeke Yeager. The new beast titan shifter had gained all his memories and had been instrumental in them winning the war against Marley. Last he checked, Connie had been appointed to the Northern branch, his power better utilised there in case of attacks from behind.

Erwin hadn’t allowed him to leave, insisting he had no one to take care of him and that he would probably start doing push ups after resting for a day. Which was true. Damn that bastard for knowing him so well.

So here he was, stuck in his room, waiting on the annoying brats to give him food three times a day. There was a knock on the door, probably a soldier with his breakfast, having no idea they were about to be on the recieving end of his ire. And God help Eren if he was dumb enough to be standing out that door. He called them in, only to freeze at the sight.

There you stood, that precious smile on your face, holding a tray of food in one hand and a basket. He couldn’t care less about anything else, all he could focus on was the fact that you were standing infront of him. He felt enchanted, he hadn’t seen you the entire week he had been forced to spend at the hospital.

I missed her, Levi realized.

‘Good Morning Levi!…’

You began chattering, asking for his well being, handing him the tray of food. You had brought him a care package full of goodies, which included lemon cookies, his favorite flavour.

‘Why are you here?’

The question had been asked with his usual bland tone, but there was an emotion behind it only he could identify. There was an excitement welling up in him, as though he knew the answer already.

When you told him you had heard about his injury and had wanted to visit him, he had felt pleased and touched. When you continued on and told him that you had offered Erwin to personally take care of him with your usual duties, so that all the other soldiers wouldn’t have to divide the work between them, Levi was stunned.

’.. Since we’re friends, I figured this way I could help you out and.. ’

Levi took a sip of his broth, which tasted far better then the stale soup the kitchen usually served, watching you move around his room. Anyone else would have been physically hauled and thrown out the window by now, doctors orders be damned. Yet he felt okay with you neatly folding his blanket, straightening out things that he hadn’t been able to because of his injury, comfortably taking charge of his room.

For a brief moment, he saw a vision of you taking care of him like this in his house, as his wife.

As you sat before him, drawing him into conversation, Levi decided that having the month off wasn’t going to be as miserable as thought it would be.

And he was right.

Seeing you three times a day, enjoying meals with you, you fussing over him because you caught him doing pull ups, your bell like laughter that rang in his ears long after you went back to work, it all made him feel more then he could ever define.

Remembering you bandaging his arms everyday, your hands gentle, expression sympathetic as you shyly avoided staring at his bare, muscular chest, Levi decided he would have to acknowledge what he was feeling after all.

____________________________________

Love.

He was in love with you.

Levi leaned into his chair, setting down the pen had had been writing with. The realization had struck him suddenly and he needed to process it. He had never felt so alive, so amazed.

It had been a year of knowing you, and without even trying, you had made him fall in love with your very existence.

He cherished any moment of time he could spend with you, and you often haunted his thoughts when he couldn’t see you. You were the one he wanted to see first after getting back from a mission, becuase he knew if anyone gave a fuck about him being alive, it was you.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to smile, remembering how you had hugged him that one time. He had seen you straight after a deadly battle, covered in blood and small wounds. You had been so concerned, grabbing him by the hand, dragging him to his room.

He recalled how you had been applying alcohol on the injury at the corner of his mouth, causing him to hiss in pain. Frowning, you had applied it more carefully, then brought your mouth closer and lightly blowed air on the wound to reduce the sting. You had either been too caught up in worrying about him or had pretended not to notice, but his eyes had defintiely darkened at having you in such close proximity. Your lips only inches away from his, a hand resting on his shoulder, it had been an effort to not tug on your wrist and seat you in his lap and starting something he had been craving to. Once you had finished helping him and had decided he was in better condition, you had hugged him, a moment he could never forget.

You were shorter then him, so your head rested on his chest as your arms wrapped wrapped around his back. His arms had a mind of their own, immediately taking the oppurtunity to rest on the small of your waist.

Breathing in your scent, burying his nose in your hair, he had savoured the moment. When you pulled away from him, he had frowned, not liking the tears welling up in your eyes.

‘N-never be so reckless again! I got so worried and..’

You had buried yourself in his arms again, silently crying, berating him for being so careless. Your soft form had been pressed against his rough stature, he had never had someone be so gentle with him, care about him this much.

Back in the underground, doctors often had to be threatened into treating him. He had always used force, but there was no need to use any on you. There never had been. And hopefully, there never would be.

Knock knock

Startled, he snapped out of his day dreaming, chuckling to himself. To think he had gotten so lost in his memories with you..you really had become his everything

Expression neutral, he regained himself and called the soldier in.

Now, if only he could somehow tell you.

____________________________________

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed this! Maybe I should do a part 2? For the confession? Does anyone want that? Constructive criticism is always welcome. My asks are open so pls send requests. Till next time!

[fanfoolishness]

five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea.  Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t.  Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din.  Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune.  3800 words.

***

i.

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows.  Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children.  Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan.  Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter.  The girl took off eagerly to join the others.  Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight.  “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him.  My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.”  She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones.  He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head.  He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away.  “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly.  “No.  That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?  I see the way you watch out for him.  You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly.  “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down.  Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else?  The less said about it, the better.  “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips.  “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands.  “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly.  “Huh.”  He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  

“Good for you.  Just don’t  -- no!  Drop it!”  He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky.  The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing.  “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din.  He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet.  “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child.  “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin.  Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?”  She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.  

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said.  He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited.  “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived.  Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear.  Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life.  The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe.  The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood.  This one had seen suffering.  It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child.  She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet.  And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn.  She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded.  No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them.  He was a resourceful man.  She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear.  The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear.  They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented.  “I’m staying.  I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path.  His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep.  The truth could not be hidden.  A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly.  “A foundling is in your care.  By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not.  He was not ready.  Not yet.  Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk.  “You have earned your Signet.”  Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.  

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him.  “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable.  “I will wear it with honor.”  

There were certain truths she had long known.  The best warriors did not harden their hearts.  Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste.  Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.  

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world.  It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.  

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready.  She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape.  She knew she would not fall this day.  

Beneath her helmet, she smiled.  For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market.  Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches.  Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed.  He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid.  He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap.  She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered.  As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready.  I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando!  Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.  

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him.  Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms.  The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said.  “Thanks for watching the kid.  He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor.  Sticky fingers.”  And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time.  Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed.  “I don’t believe it.”  Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was.  I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din.  The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed.  “I know, I know.  You didn’t mean it.”  He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf.  “Always a pleasure.  It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked.  “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands.  “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys.  Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks…   It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still.  The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one.  He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned.  “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…”  He swallowed.  “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said.  “But dads aren’t just a blood thing.  I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all.  You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly.  “Do anything for him.”  The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.  

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady.  “I would die for him.  This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion.  “And again, you’re not his dad?  I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.  

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her.  “Thanks again for watching him.  We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”  

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him.  “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away.  Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting.  It was nearly time.  Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away.  He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock.  He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world.  He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy.  He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.  

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands.  They trembled.  

This is what I came to do.  This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking.  “It’s time to say goodbye.”  He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest.  The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum.  He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee.  He looked at him.  Really looked, though his vision blurred.  I have… I have to remember.    

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green.  He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate.  He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip.  Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him.  Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive.  He would never forget them.  

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered.  “You’ll learn how to use your powers.  You’ll get even stronger.  You’ll see.”  You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.  

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.  

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body.  Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch.  He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment.  The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant.  She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.  

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally.  “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak.  He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm.  He had to try again, for the kid’s sake.  “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke.  Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi.  He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms.  You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before.  He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble?  Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.  

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***    

v.      

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings.  This wasn’t the Crest.  This was Slave I.  This was Boba Fett.  Fennec Shand was down below.  And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone.  Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered.  He’d been stolen, been lost.  Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back.  His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars.  Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head.  He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett.  “I hope it works.  For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started.  They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests.  “I’m… grateful for the help.  Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know.  Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead.  He didn’t care about that.  But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer.  “I didn’t know.”  

There; the man should take it as a compliment.  Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.”  Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful.  There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out.  “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out.  “I saw it.  That’s not nothing.”  

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically.  “Any Mandalorian would have done the same.  The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed.  “You can keep your Creed.”  The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege.  Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke.  “You were a father to him.  That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound.  It hurt his throat.  “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold.  He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies.  He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face.  “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time.  Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears.  Knew that she’d put two and two together.  Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded.  She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale.  She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her.  Didn’t want to see the pity in her face.  He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly.  “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said.  “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently.  “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe.  Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed.  Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters.  And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said.  He took a drink of his ale.  He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.”  Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side.  He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak.  “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.  She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder.  And sympathy etched in every line of her face.  He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked.  “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t.  They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara.  She finished her drink.  “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale.  “Really.  You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze.  She’d never used his name before.  Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display.  “Stop.”

Cara flushed.  “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser.  I saw what you did to them.  It wasn’t…”  Her mouth twisted.  “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me.  You know that.  But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat.  “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface.  “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go.  This isn’t you, Mando.  And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed.  It pressed.  It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking.  He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled.  He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he?  Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed.  “I know it’s wrong.  I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder.  She waited, her eyes soft.  

He bowed his head, shaking.  “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands.  “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him.  Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late.  It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all.  The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked.  “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him.  In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

[ookamihanta]

Fan jovillains! I was gonna make a fake screen shot with Anastasia and Josie too, but I got lazy -_-

Fan Jojos

Fan Jobros

First up is local spoiled brat himself, Aaron De Lisle. As stated in his trivia, he’s technically not the ‘main main’ villain, but he’s the main antagonist in Jordan’s story and therefore, is more important lmao. Aaron goes to the same high school as Jordan (and previously, Dallas) and in the same grade as him. The two start on the wrong foot, as Aaron has a very high sense of self and cannot fathom as to why people flock to Jordan when he himself is already more than enough for peoples’ attention. Long story short, Aaron declares them rivals and competes against Jordan at pretty much everything. It’s only later on when Jordan suddenly starts working at Disney did Aaron really start acting up. Ironically, they first bumped into each other at one of Disney’s parks while Jordan was in costume, so Aaron didn’t know he was in it. While in costume, Aaron was surprisingly kind and nice while speaking to him, making Jordan a bit confused as to why at school, Aaron was always rather arrogant and pretty much an ass. Tldr, when Jordan is revealed to be the one in the costume because an enemy stand user forced him out of it so he could save Aaron, Aaron is thoroughly surprised, and honestly, a bit pissed. Since the incident, the two have been head to head with each other. 

Aaron’s All Star has the ability to control memories. Via contact with someone or something, he can alter one’s memory of anything, going as far back as to bring back up their memories as an infant or stages of an item previous to the one it has at the moment. Aaron typically uses his stand to manipulate other stand users into doing his father’s bidding (the ACTUAL villain of this story) and doesn’t like engaging in battle himself unless it’s against someone who he respects strength wise. Aaron’s father of course, is just using Aaron’s ability for his own gain and doesn’t actually love his child, neglecting him of all praise and affection. The only reason Aaron goes along with what his father wants is because he simply hopes the things he does for the man will one day earn him genuine love and care. Being able to do things to please his father, even if only for his father’s greed, is a form of affection for Aaron, so he can never go against anything he says.

Next up is Giselle Carter. I’ll need to explain her stand first for her story and motives to make sense. Giselle’s Black Parade allows her to shapeshift as well as shapeshift other nearby objects. Giselle is actually a succubus hiding in plain sight as a scout for night clubs and singers. She was summoned and brought to life by an idiot cult that thought they could bring back the Devil himself, but of course, they failed and simply unleashed a frenzy of demons and curses onto the country of France instead. Giselle was one of those demons and through pure coincidence, gained a stand. Now that Paris was filled with monsters crawling its streets, Giselle wanted to make sure she could go about her terrors in peace, so she takes up a disguise to roam freely. She never makes a move against Josephine specifically until she comes across the small pub the jojo worked as a singer, and immediately found herself enamored. Both as a scout and demon, Josephine had a certain flare that appealed to all sides of Giselle. Their relationship starts as Giselle trying to scout Josephine into her record label, but Josephine constantly refused, no matter how many attempts Giselle tried. This constant rejection wasn’t something the succubus was used to and took her frustrations out on the population of Paris. People were vanishing one by one and the other lingering demons and curses were rising as well. Josuke eventually recruits Josephine and Clara to help him get rid of all the demons summoned to France, but when they thought they’ve gotten rid of all of them, Giselle remained hidden and undetected. 

One night, Giselle reveals herself to Josephine and nearly kills the singer, but Josuke comes to the rescue right at the last moment. Swearing to get her prey, Giselle decides to finish the ritual that had brought her to this world in the first place. TLDR. Josephine has to stop Giselle from doing so LMAO.

And lastly, is Anastasia Blanco. She’s both Josie’s childhood friend and sworn nemesis, as both of them see each other as backstabbers. Ana used to be in Passione as Josie’s right hand, the two fighting side by side, back to back, them against the world. However, as two grew older, their morals and sense of justice began changing. Anastasia, as much as she thought they were doing good in the Mafia, didn’t believe it was enough and wanted to change the system itself from the inside, as it seemed like the mafia’s efforts would never be enough for actual long term change. Josie disagreed, saying working from the inside was exactly what was corrupt and that nothing would change definitely if they tried doing something like that. The two had a major argument, ending in both of them severely injured and only stopping short of killing the other when other members of the mafia stopped them. Ever since, the two have been trying to take the other down in their game of justice. However, even with their opposing sides now, other mafia members can see the hesitation Josie has whenever it comes to fighting Ana. Everyone knows deep down, Josie wishes Ana will change her mind and come back to Passione, but Anastasia has no intentions to. Ana recruits other stand users into her ranks and since she knows Josie so well, knows just how to strike where it hurts most. When Anastasia first meets Griselda, she’s both shocked and appalled. Even though she had left Passione, it felt like Josie had replaced her with someone MUCH less worthy to help Josie run the mafia. This complex only worsens their relationship and adds much more drama between the trio.

Ana’s stand is named Be Like Water because Josie thought its cape was like the color of the sea. It simply stuck. BLW’s ability is basically best described as decay. Anything in her range will die and crumble away, as if it didn’t exist in the first place. If focused enough, BLW can also only decay something to a certain extent and keep an object in that form for as long as possible. A living object going through the decaying process can feel all of the pain of its cells dying, so Ana often uses her ability in interrogations. 

[kinktae]

bitchin’ || pt. 7 (M)

↳ PART OF MY REWIND SERIES

The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

pairing: fratboy!jungkook x reader

word count: 3.4k

genre: 1980s au, eventual smut, e2l

warnings: sorry this chapter is so short :(

A/N: This fic was inspired by To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. Thank you to @junqkook for letting me use her likeness!

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

PART SEVEN

Your fingers wrapped around the metal handle, prying open the door of your dorm.

Unsurprisingly, you were met with a mop of dark hair and a full set of white teeth, Jungkook's smile wide and blinding. You had figured the incessant knocking was his doing.

"Yes?"

Your tone was dry, clueing Jungkook in that despite the 24 hours that had passed since the day of your event, you were still, in fact, pissed at him.

Moving a hand from behind his back, he presented you with a bouquet of yellow flowers, jutting them your way. Your eyes fell onto the flowers with indifference, clearly not impressed.

"These are for you." He enthused.

"Is this your way of apologizing?"

Jungkook sighed, flowers falling to his side, “Change into something nice, we’re going out.”

You quirked a brow at him.

“Uh, or don’t! What you’re wearing right now is cool too! Totally up to you.” He backtracked quickly.

You were in polka-dotted pajama pants, a plain white t-shirt on your upper body– his shirt actually. You had stolen it from him some time ago, he was just good-natured enough to pretend like he hadn't noticed.

Rolling your eyes, you snatched the bouquet out of his eyes, the faintest hint of a grin on your lips.

"Fine." You agreed, hand coming out to press back against his chest as he tried to walk into your dorm. "But you're waiting here."

Jungkook pouted as the door shut shortly after, feeling very much like a puppy who had been put in time out.

And just like a puppy, any grudge he felt towards his owner was forgotten the moment you came back out, his cheeks warm as you intertwined your hand with his, unable to hold a grudge against him either.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"Is the blindfold really necessary?" Your voice wavered nervously, a scarf wrapped tightly around your head to block your vision. You had both of your hands gripped around Jungkook's arm as he attempted to guide you up a set of stairs.

"Yes, it'll ruin the surprise if you see where we're going."

"My ass is going to be ruined if I fall and bust it."

"And what a nice ass it is." Jungkook tutted sadly, causing you to snort.

"Make sure you're paying attention to where we're going." You scolded, slapping his bicep.

Jungkook rolled his eyes, "Relax, nerd, we're here."

Your steps were brought to a halt, the sound of a heavy door opening ringing out. You cocked your head as a breeze washed over you, the kind that didn’t feel like it came from air conditioning.

"Grant me sight, oh powerful one." You joked as Jungkook began to untie your blindfold.

You squinted harshly as light flooded your eyes, blinking away spots the blurriness as you took in your surroundings.

"Where are we?" You marveled.

"The multimedia building rooftop." He informed you as you stepped out of the doorway, admiring the garden that was spread across the entire space. A makeshift greenhouse, you deduced. "It's where the Botany Club and Gardening Club meet and work."

You were absolutely enthralled, you hadn't the slightest clue that a place like this was sitting hidden on your campus. And as beautiful as it was up here, it was the woven picnic basket sitting by a bush of familiar-looking yellow flowers that caught your attention. Immediately, you recognized them as being the flowers Jungkook had gifted you with back at your dorm. You grinned.

Accompanying the basket was a pile of colorful blankets laid out of the concrete floor, along with pillows and another bouquet of yellow flowers, this time set up nicely in a glass vase.

"You know I don't cook, but, uh, I do know how to make a mean PB&J sandwich so..." Jungkook laughed nervously, gesturing towards the picnic he had set up.

A strange feeling fluttered in your stomach, and you brought up a hand to press up against it reflexively. He had arranged all of this... for you?

"Oh, wow." Was your response, the butterflies in your stomach hard to ignore.

Your reaction was hard to decipher and it made Jungkook incredibly anxious. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "Well, let's go, nerd."

You followed Jungkook over to the picnic scene, sliding off your shoes before stepping onto the blanketed spot, flopping down with an excited giggle. You had been toying with the tassels of one of the pillows near you when Jungkook pulled out a small portable radio for the basket, a word of approval leaving your lips. He really did think of everything, didn't he?

"How did you even find this place?" You marvel as he fiddled with the radio dial, flipping through stations until he found one he was content with.

"I went to a photography club meeting and they mentioned this place being a good spot for sunset shots."

You had taken note a little wooden popsicle stick poking up from the soil of the yellow flowers. Acacias, they were marked. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you considering his words.

"You went to a photography club meeting? Wait, are you–"

"I'm considering switching majors, yeah." He cut you off, leaning back away from the radio and taking a seat beside you.

"Not even!" You gaped.

"It's not that big of a deal." He shrugged nonchalantly. He was only changing his entire career path because you had told him you believed in him. No biggie, right?

"It's huge news, I mean, you're taking the initiative and pursuing your passion. I'm amped for you." You grinned to which Jungkook couldn't help but return, reaching into the picnic basket to pull out your sandwiches.

The two of you sat beside each other comfortably, washing your food down with sips from your respective juice boxes, which Jungkook had so endearingly provided. You hummed along to the radio as the sun slowly started its descent down the sky.

Suddenly, Jungkook cleared his throat, a clear sign that he was asking for your attention.

"So, you probably know why I brought you here."

You nodded.

"You're proposing, right?"

"Yeah, I– oh, shut up." He laughed, the serious mood shattering as you joined him.

“No, I just really wanted to apologize for the way I behaved at your event. I acted on impulse and wasn't thinking past my... raging man ego or whatever." Jungkook sighed, eyes meeting yours earnestly. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, eager to hear him out.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I would never want to do anything to hurt my best friend and I know how hard you worked on this event and— why are you looking at me like that?” He huffed, cutting himself off mid-apology.

“You just called me your best friend.” You beamed, cheeks round.

Jungkook felt himself redden, turning away from your admittedly adorable expression.

“Yeah. So?”

“That’s so cute.” You fawned. “And you did all this for me. You can be really sweet when you want to be, you know.”

Jungkook wasn’t used to this kind of doting affection being directed at him, much less coming from you of all people. He swatted away your hand that had reached out to pinch his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, just zip it before I demote you back down to classroom acquaintance.”

You hummed contentedly, “I accept your apology. And for what it's worth, I also consider you to be one of my best friends.”

"Ouch, just one of them? That's cold." Jungkook pouted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Sorry, Yara's got spot number one on lock." You shrugged, bringing your juice box to your mouth as you took a sip. "Chicks before dicks."

"Fine, but tell me I'm at least best friend number two."

"Hmm..." You tapped at your chin, pretending to think about your response.

"What the hell? Who could possibly be before me? Taehyung?...Kiri?" Jungkook teased.

At the sound of Kiri's name, you physically tensed, something Jungkook didn't fail to notice.

"...Yep, definitely Kiri." You played along half-heartedly.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" You straightened up suddenly, turning towards the boy. "You told me Kiri left you for Eunwoo, right?"

"Yeah... Why?"

"Oh. Well, I dunno, I heard from someone that you and Kiri were actually broken up at the time." You fiddled with your fingers anxiously, choosing to omit the fact that his ex-girlfriend had been your source of information.

The long-haired boy stared at you for a moment, expression unreadable as he took in your uneasy state.

"Well. Yeah. We weren't together." He answered finally, causing your stomach to drop.

Wait... Kiri had told the truth?

"But you said she left you for him? You lied to me." You breathed in disbelief.

"Hold on, I didn't lie." He pressed, brows furrowing at your words. "Yes, we weren't together, but we weren't broken up either?"

You flashed him a confused look, urging him to explain further.

He let out a sigh, stretching out his legs in front of him, "We had been arguing a lot, like more than usual, so we both agreed to take a break from each other– nothing permanent, just some time apart where we didn't see each other every day like we had been. The morning before I met you, however, I was coming down one of the halls at the Beta Tau Sigma house when I caught her sneaking out of Eunwoo's room. She broke up with me before I even got to say a single word. So yeah. She left me for Eunwoo."

You felt your shoulders fall, body relaxing at this new information.

"Oh."

"I was going to take her out for dinner that same day too. Clearly, we were on different pages on what this break was supposed to be for. Any other questions?" Jungkook quirked an eyebrow up at you pointedly, and suddenly you were filled with guilt.

Was this whole thing really just one giant miscommunication between the two? Kiri under the impression that they were broken up while Jungkook wasn’t? Jeez, you really jumped the gun there, didn't you?

"Ah, shit... Well, now I feel like a total wastoid for accusing you of lying." You expressed your regret, poking a finger into his thigh sheepishly.

Jungkook gave you a once over before chuckling, a hand reaching out to take your face between his fingers as he squeezed your cheeks.

"Say you're sorry."

"'M s’rry!" Your muffled words came through squished lips causing him to giggle.

"Say 'Gosh, Jungkook! You're such an honest and wonderful person. I'm a fool for ever doubting you.’'" He smirked. You rolled your eyes, face having grown sore.

"Asshole, let m’go! M'cheeks hurt!"

Thankfully, he granted your request, freeing your cheeks from their state of enslavement so that you could rub at them woefully.

"You're a child." You scowled.

"You sound like Kiri." Jungkook reminisced, recalling how his ex-girlfriend often said those very words.

"Yeah, well, soon enough it'll be her saying that instead of me." You joked.

The joke fell flat, failing to earn even a smile from him.

"Nah," he replied coldly, "like you said, if she wanted me back, she'd already have come back."

You cursed internally. You had completely forgotten you had spat that out while scolding Jungkook for nearly going apeshit on Eunwoo, and once again, you were left feeling shitty.

"Hey, I said that out of frustration, I didn't really mean it. I'm sure she'll come crawling back soon." You attempted to comfort him, hoping to sound sincere.

"Even if that's true, I'm not entirely sure I want that anymore."

"What?" You blinked. Jungkook shrugged.

"What about us?" He met your eyes, causing your breath to hitch.

"What about us?"

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, noting the way the timber in your voice had become higher pitched as if panicked.

"Yara told me how you'd be really bummed if you lost me once Kiri and I got back together. But Y/N, Kiri is going to think you're my ex-girlfriend... there's just no way she'd be okay with me hanging out with you. I don't know if I want to get back together with her if it's going to hurt you..."

The chirps of nearby birds slowly fizzed into a dull hum, drowned out by the deafening pounding of your heart.

Your face felt hot. When you told Yara all that stuff about how fond you had grown of Jungkook, you had been notably drunk from Roommate Wine Night, uncharacteristically vulnerable and in your head. Even so, you didn't think that Yara was gonna go and tell him.

She was so dead.

But what the hell was he saying? He would give up on Kiri just so you didn't have to lose him? He'd give up what he wanted just for you?

"Idiot." You scoffed suddenly, taking him by surprise. "Who cares about me? Yes, I'll probably be really sad that we don't get to hang out anymore but, whatever, I'll get over it. I got my event. You're going to get your end of the deal too, I'll make sure of it."

Your determination was hard set in your eyes which held his pensive ones.

"Kiri will come back, okay? Like, c'mon! She knows she can't do better than you."

Jungkook shot you an insincere smile, "Ah, I'm not so sure she thinks that's true anymore."

"Stop. Listen to me, Jungkook, you're a fucking great guy, okay? You're charismatic and funny and care about your friends... sure, you almost ruined my event, but it was mostly to defend my best friend when Eunwoo got too pushy, right? You're a good guy, meathead. I know I joke about your ego, but I really believe you're capable of more than you think you are. Seriously, Kiri is so lucky to be the object of your affection."

Jungkook watched the way the sun's orange light kissed your face, a bittersweet feeling growing in his chest as he contemplated the object of his affection. Just a couple of months ago, he would have had no doubt about who held his heart, but as you held his stare, he found himself unsure and yet, entirely sure all the same.

“Jungkook? You okay?” You frowned, catching in the sadness in his eyes.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. I just… realized something.”

“Oh? What's that?”

“...It doesn't matter.” He smiled, the gesture hardly reaching his eyes.

You looked at him for a moment, skepticism evident in those beautiful eyes of yours that reflected the sky's deepening orange and red colors. Jungkook felt like he was sinking into them. Burying himself further and further into a hole that he was unaware had even existed until now and he was in too deep to pull himself back up.

"Kiss me." He spoke softly, making your eyes grow wide. "Please."

There was a note of melancholy to his tone, unlike you had ever heard come from him before. You fought back to urge to dissect it further, choosing instead to oblige his request and press your mouth into his, the thought that he was holding you tighter than usual failing to cross your mind.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! What is going on here?”

Yara giggled at the television show, popping a chip into her mouth, the crunching sound pulling you from the thought that had been occupying your mind. Tugging at scrunchie you had on your wrist, you searched for the right way to go about sharing your feelings.

“Yara?”

“Yeah?” The girl in question responded, eyes still fixated on the ever so charming A.C. Slater.

“...Nevermind.” You retracted, shaking your head dismissively.

And just like that, the Saved By The Bell episode was entirely forgotten, Yara's hands taking purchase on your shoulders.

“Bitch, you already have my attention, don’t just blue balls me like that.” She whined, shaking you slightly. You turned away from her curious eyes.

“It’s just… ah, seriously, nevermind, I’m pretty sure I’m just up in my head.” You shrugged her off, leaning back into the couch.

Your best friend watched your suddenly indifferent presence with pursed lips, not buying it for a second.

“You’re gonna ask about Jungkook, right?”

You turned towards Yara, suspicious written all over your narrowed eyes, “How did you know that?”

“I’m a mind reader.” She rolled her eyes passively, turning back to the television. “So, what’s up?”

“I dunno, I just feel like things are so... different between us.”

At your revelation, Yara’s eyes flicked back over to you, “Bad different?”

“No. It’s actually kind of nice. I think.” You frowned, trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“So... good different.” Yara concluded.

“It’s just funny. When I look at the start this whole deal between Jungkook and me—”

“You mean back when you and Jungkook weren’t going at it like animals and having secret rooftop picnics?”

You held her stare for a moment, teeth sinking down into your bottom lip.

“Yeah. Things are so different. I remember a time where I couldn’t even stand being in the same room as him and now…”

"And now you're completely infatuated with him." She sympathized, shaking her head sadly.

“W-What? What the hell are you yapping about? I was gonna say that I actually think of him as a close friend.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Yara let out a breath, her hand placing itself on your head.

“Poor, poor stupid Y/N.” She patted it with a sad look. “How blind you are.”

You swatted your best friend’s hand away, “Get your grubby paws off of me, weirdo. I do not like Jungkook!”

There was an uncomfortable feeling in your throat as you said those words; you swallowed it down immediately.

“Seriously? Y/N, you’re whipped for that kid. Big time.”

“I thought I told you to lay off the crack.” You deadpanned.

“Funny.” Yara glared. “Seriously though, you guys are walking around in a fake relationship while having real feelings for each other and real sex. If anyone’s trippin', it’s you two.”

“Okay, just because people have sex doesn’t mean feelings are always involved.” You scoffed.

“Oh girl, you don’t have to tell that to me, my emotionally constipated ass knows that better than anyone.” Yara mused before shaking her head. “But it’s different with you guys. I see the way you light up whenever he’s near. It’s totally palpable the way you two yearn for each other.”

That wasn't true, wasn't it? Sure, you did notice yourself thinking about him whenever you weren't with him, but wasn't that just because he was a friend? Don't friends usually wonder what the other is doing whenever they're apart? Didn't friends spend hours thinking about the time they spent with each other after they parted?

Suddenly, you felt nauseous.

“Fuck.” You breathed out.

Yara pressed her lips together, taking in the way you suddenly looked like you were one second away from barfing into the bowl of popcorn you had on your lap. She had a reasonably strong guess as to what exactly was running through your mind at this very moment.

"Wanna hear something funny?" She said finally, offering you a change of subject should you take it.

"Yes, please." Was your weak reply.

“I’ve fucked Eunwoo. Eunwoo has fucked Kiri. Kiri has fucked Jungkook, and Jungkook has fucked you."

You blinked, "Yeah?"

"Hello!" Yara exclaimed, "Isn’t that wild? It’s like one big orgy!”

A sharp snort left your nose, sufficiently amused.

"Only one thing left to do for this love chain to come full circle." Yara's eyes suddenly grew mischievous, scooting in closer to you.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"We gotta get it on, baby!" Yara waggled her eyebrows suggestively, sending you into a round of laughter. She grinned back at you. "Why are you laughing? You don't think I could rock your world?"

"I think you're insane and need to get laid by someone who isn't me." You reasoned, nudging your shoulder into hers.

"Ugh, you're probably right." She sighed in defeat. You knew Yara well enough that this was her attempt to distract you and make you feel better, and honestly, it had worked. For the most part.

You let out a sigh of your own, leaning over to rest the side of your head against hers.

"Do you really think I like Jungkook?" You asked quietly.

Yara let out a contemplative hum as if considering her reply before speaking.

"Honestly, what I think doesn't really matter. What matters is how you feel, you know?"

"Yeah," you exhaled, biting the inside of your cheek as a sinking feeling of understanding finally washed over you, "I think I do."

[amberwild420]

one step back, two steps forward (pt.4)

masterlist

Not all heroes wear capes

Kaylan stood tall on the roof of the building. The spotted heroin was having trouble keeping herself safe.

 For the love of God please work!

 Closing her eye she took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, her yellow green eyes glowed and she swung her rope lasso and threw it towards ladybug. The loop secured at ladybug’s waist that made the said hero startle. With a strong tug Kaylan pulled the hero upward before she started falling down right in her arms. (here)

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

Her mind was exploding with worst case scenarios like a bullet train. The feeling of rope and the strong pull made her believe that she was going to be out of commotion just like that. But the moment she landed in someone’s arms, she was startled to see her savior.

 For as long as Marinette can remember, she never got fascinated by some glowing eyes. And she never voiced that. Not once in the future.

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

The beeping from the earrings startled them both. Ladybug looked around.

Thank you for your help but I need to recharge.

 Ladybug kept looking for any place to hide. With a wave Kaylan made a blue colored cube. The shocked face didn’t go unnoticed by her but she ignored it.

 It’s my magic. I made sure no one can’t either see or hear you.

Huh?

 The spotted heroin who looked baffled at the sudden reveal couldn’t process what was actually happening. Rolling her eyes Kaylan pushed the other girl to the cube.

 Tsk! get inside.

 Once she was safe inside, Kaylan turned to observe the situation. From what she gathered from Marinette’s general information and her own research she just needed to find the thing that has the magical butterfly in it.

While the whole situation looked abstruse, she knew as a magic user herself, it was possible to defy logic rather easily and the living proof was rather in front of her.

 Since I saw many victim with the mind control ability the minions are nothing but an obstacle. Considering that they can turn the other like themselves it would be best if they could be separated from the main boss.

 Miss?

With the speed of lightening, the knife was at speaker’s neck. Ladybug looked frightened for a moment but it was gone. With a sigh she put the knife away.

 I believe that you are Ladybug.

 And you are new in Paris.

 And how do you know that?

Considering I know almost everyone in the city and I don’t think that there would be someone with such abilities here. It kind of give away.

 Kaylan looked away from the heroin and looked at the crowd that gathered at the base of the building trying to climb up.

 Your partner is incompetent.

 *sigh* I know.

 I have a few plans that can help you but it involved me in a dangerous situation.

 A surprise gasp left her lips as ladybug looked at the other girl astonished.

  I can’t put the life of a civilian in danger.

 Well too late for now.

 Huh?

Looking at what she was pointing at, ladybug felt a little nauseous. There wasn’t a single civilian in sight that was not affected by the akuma.

 Give me a few sample plans and I will tell you your role.

 The words forced themselves out of her mouth but she didn’t seem to care. There was a hint of frustration and helplessness hidden by the sheer determination in her eyes. A smirk made its way towards her face making the spotted heroin regret her words by a long shot.

Sure!

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

This is so nauseating. Do they eat brain? Do you think they die if we crush their heads?

 A high pitched excited voice pierce through the crowd and every minion looked at the general direction. The shadow of two people behind a wall could be seen.

 Would you shut up? Your glass shattering voice is making me deaf.

 Excuse me?!

Geez you’re scaring the akuma with that voice. I think they are bleeding from their ears. Screechy voice!

 My voice is not screechy! Everyone knows it. Just because they are weak and pathetic and can’t bear a little loud voice doesn’t mean I’m the one to blame. God forbade, that akuma just couldn’t get any other ability from Hawkmoth……….like seriously! Zombies! So third class! And there are so many akumas that had minions. Like no originality! Don’t they have copyrights!

 A tick mark appeared on the akuma’s head.

Get them whoever they are swarm them and break them apart. How dare they say that I’m weak? I’m the strongest akuma yet. Get them! Get them! Get them!

 In no time the minions ran towards the two people leaving the main akuma all alone.

 I can’t believe her plan actually worked.

The spotted heroin called from behind before dodging the beam and knocking the weapon from plague doctor’s hand and tying her from her other yoyo. The main yoyo broke the akuma item and captured and purify the butterfly.

 Bye bye little butterfly.

 After a miraculous ladybug, the spotted heroin comforted the victim. Kaylan jogged towards the pair and extended a card towards the victim.

 My mother is a psychiatrist. You can schedule a time with her and go for a therapy. I’m sure it will do well if you don’t have to bottle up all emotions.

 The nurse gave a strained smile and left promising that she will schedule the session so something like this never happens.

 Milady!

The sing song voice of the leather clad hero made the other one flinch. Chat noir came smiling like a Cheshire cat.

 Chat noir! One again you came late and got hit instead of listening to my plan. You need to take this seriously!

 But I always take you seriously.

 Ladybug felt like giving a hard slap to his face. He didn’t listen to a single word she said and just spoke of his fantasy. It was nice listen to these when he was a good hero. It helps when the stress got into her but now it is just plain irritating.

 Chat noir you need to be a serious hero!

I am a good hero! I always save you like a knight in shiny leather.

 Th-that’s not what I mean!

 The one sided argument was enough to bring a headache. With a big sigh she pushed chat noir away from ladybug making him tumble down on the ground. It was lucky that there weren’t people around yet but the time was limited.

 Ladybug you should leave. You need rest anyway.

 Ladybug sighed in relief and left quickly. Kaylan turned to the cat themed hero with a fierce glare making the said hero flinch. Grabbing him by the collar, she pulled him up to her level.

I’ll say it just once, you better stop making her do all the work you dumb, lazy cat or so god help me I’ll be the one you will have to worry about.

  You can’t say anything to me. You’re just a new girl who came here yesterday. Ladybug and I are destined to be together.

 Chat noir yelled while struggling to get away from her. For a girl she was strong, far stronger than he is and he was the one with the miraculous, he should have more strength than a normal girl.

 If you think that you can get out, well you thought wrong.

She shook him violently before shoving him to the wall, rather violently.

  I hate people who think they are heroes and deserve the best. You are one of those heroes. Acting all high and mighty and calling himself a hero while you do nothing to live up to that claim and ladybug had to do all the work.

  You……… how dare you………….

 The anger didn’t last a second when Kaylan slammed a knife right next to his cheek. Now it was sticking right there on the wall.

How dare I? How. Dare. You? You think that the world revolves around you and they owe you a favor. Or worse. Ladybug owe you something. I might be new to all this but I can assure you a single piece of magical artifact can’t decide your destiny. So ladybug don’t owe you her love. GET. THAT. THROUGH. YOUR. THICK. SKULL.

 Chat noir didn’t move a bit. He had been scolded before but as Adrien not as chat noir. And this girl, she not only dare to scold him but she is also disrupting the peace of his class. She even sits next to Marinette.

 Marinette.

 This girl is dangerous, he need to warn Marinette or Marinette will be trouble.

During his inner turmoil, he didn’t notice her taking out her knife or leaving. When he did came to his senses she was turning a corner. He wanted to follow her but his miraculous started beeping.

 “Guess I’ll have to warn Marinette tomorrow.”

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

Stepping down to the stairs after classes was dismissed, Kaylan found herself being hugged by her mother. She was asking question at a rapid speed. Some relevant and some irrelevant. Well not like it mattered. Her mother was safe anyway.

  In a distance she saw Marinette looking at her. When their eyes met, she send her an apologetic smile before waving her and leaving towards the bakery.

 Guess I’ll be asking her tomorrow.

   Life was great. Even with hilariously dangerous situation.

previous

next

(Fiction fact: 

Kaylan has magic. 

she can make solid structure. 

she didn’t said any type of incantation like Zatanna or Constantine. it makes her a different type of mage or maybe a superior one. 

Kaylan do not use magic much, instead she uses her knife, especially for threatening. ladybug was an exception.

the two shadows were illusion that she made and manipulated the emotions of the akuma to separate the minions and the main akuma.

 Ladybug is the only one that can be seen in the head to head fight. 

lucky charm of this akuma was yoyo)

[animebaby00]

Early Morning Welcome: Soma Yukihira X Reader - One-shot

Summary: You've already been welcomed in as the newest member of the Polar Star Dormitory, but a certain redhead extends your welcome with a delicious morning breakfast. 

It wasn't your alarm clock that woke you up. 

It wasn't the early morning sunshine peeking in through your curtains or the faint chirping of birds from your closed window. 

It was your nose. 

Or rather the action of your nose inhaling so deeply that it had caused a new aroma to overcome you from the otherwise plain scent of your room and crumpled sheets that were covering nearly half of your face.

And it smelled...delicious. 

With your intrigue fully captured, you swung your legs over the edge of your bed, tossing the covers away into a crumpled heap at the base of the mattress. Feet sliding into your slippers, you stood, and shuffled out of your room. 

Once in the hall, you noticed how quiet it was. All doors were shut with no traces of your fellow dorm mates in sight. 

The smell was a little more powerful now, as it wafted through the air and entered your nostrils. You could only make sense that someone was cooking, and considering this was one of the  dorms to the greatest cooking schools in the world, it supposedly made sense to a certain extent. But still, this early in the morning?

With crossed arms, you slowly padded to the stairwell and took quiet steps to reach the bottom floor, turning to head towards the kitchen. 

Your ears then picked up the sound of clanging pans and the sizzling sound of something being cooked. You sniffed the air again. 

It smelled rich, hearty, and delightedly greasy.

Bacon perhaps? 

Your nose carried you further until finally, you reached the large kitchen of the Polar Star Dormitory. 

And you were right. 

Someone was up and cooking away without a care in the world. 

He was male, lean yet slightly muscular, the curvature of his biceps evident through his thin, blue shirt as he expertly whisked away at a substance heating in a pot over the stove. 

A strip of white fabric was tied around his forehead, contrasting against his slightly tanned skin and vibrant red hair. 

But even though he seemed heavily drawn in by his work, it didn't stop him from noticing your slightly hidden form from out of the corner of his eye.

He turned his head, causing you to stiffen as you met his friendly, golden gaze. His free hand flew up into a wave.

"Hey ! Mornin Y/N !" 

His greeting caught you off guard, especially since you weren't too familiar with your new dorm mates yet. They welcomed you humbly the night before and you could only recall a few of their names in full. 

Still, he had greeted you and you didn't want to be rude, but…

"G-Good morning. It's...Soma, right ? Sorry, I... don't remember your last name." You admitted shyly, "I would have addressed you as such but I didn't really get a chance to memorize the names of everyone here."

"Ah, don't worry about it," he shrugged off, "The formality isn't necessary. But you're okay with me calling you Y/N aren't ya?" He asked, flashing you a toothy grin.

You nodded, finding a strange, immediate comfort in his friendliness,"Yeah. Absolutely."

"Awesome!" he stood straighter, extending his right hand out while he continued whisking,  "I know last night was a little crazy so I'll go ahead and introduce myself fully. Soma Yukihira. It's nice to meetcha."

You smiled warmly, stepping fully into the kitchen and over to where he stood, reaching your hand out to grasp his in a shake.

"Y/N L/N. It's nice to meet you too."

He flashed another smile, before letting go of your hand and turned back to the stove. 

You tilted your head at him thoughtfully. 

Even though you just met, you were very intrigued by this boy and for some reason, you wanted to know more about him. 

But just as you opened your mouth to speak, he beat you to the point.

"Say, Y/N. Are ya hungry ?" 

You blinked. This boy certainly had his ways of catching people off guard, but you answered him nonetheless.

"Uhm...maybe a little. I guess."

"Perfect. Go and sit. I'll make you something."

"Uh, no it's okay !" You waved your hands in front of your face, "You don't have to."

"I've already kinda got a head start anyways. Go ahead and take a seat. It won't take long "

You held your breath, thinking that there wasn't any way to turn down his offer, mindlessly adding 'persistent' to the unknown list of traits you were giving him in your head. 

Soma turned away, going back to the stove as you made your way to one of the seats at the bar, pulling out the chair and situating yourself comfortably, a palm resting on your cheek while your arm propped itself up on the counter. 

There weren't any other sounds in the kitchen beside the occasional chop of a knife and the continued sizzle of food being cooked. And even though you practically had a front row seat of his actions, you had no idea what Soma was making. 

He was very quick and precise with his actions, his timing with everything near perfection and you were completely transfixed as he moved almost gracefully with nearly everything he did.

"Do you do this alot ?"

He looked up, "What ? Cook?" 

You shook your head, "No. I mean obviously you cook because why else would you be here." Your hand gestured to the clock on the wall, which currently read 6:15 AM, "I mean cook this early in the morning, and for other people so randomly like this."

"Well in a way," he started, cutting a lemon and squeezing the juice into a pot, "My dad and I own a family eatery and we opened pretty early in the morning. But most of the time, it's just to get in some early practice." 

"Practice ?" 

"Uh huh. I mean I won't get any better if I don't experiment and work with different things. And if I don't get better, then I'll never beat my old man." 

His words piqued your interest, "What do you mean 'beat him' ?" 

Soma looked up at the ceiling, "He and I battle in the kitchen sometimes, but I have yet to whip up something better than him." He clenched his fist, "He's one of the greatest chefs there is, and it's my goal to beat him one day along with being the best chef at this school so I'm good enough to run our eatery." 

You smiled, admiring his determination, "Guess that video means you weren't lying then." 

He tilted his head, "Video? What video?" 

"The girls showed me a recording of your speech at the entrance exam. I didn't get a chance to see it since I was late arriving here. You seemed really dead set and," Your hesitated, remembering the angled shot of the people in the crowd and how poisonous their features looked,"...A lot of people looked sort of mad at you."

"Did they? Huh. Guess I didn't notice."

You practically fell over. Of course he didn't. For someone to have such big aspirations and goals, he was kind of an airhead. 

But you honestly kind of appreciated it. For some people, it took a lot to ignore the negligent opinions of others, but Soma seemed to shrug any bad omen about him off completely. 

You sort of...envied him.

"All right, breakfast is served !" 

Your thought bubble popped once his voice breached the air, looking down at the plate he had placed in front of you.

And what you saw had your E/C irises snapping open in shock. 

They were pancakes, thick and fluffy, cooked to a golden perfection while the middle remained a delightful off-white. There were two of them, stacked and topped off with pieces of crispy, pan fried bacon that stuck out delicately from their placement on top of the fluffy mounds. A deep yellow sauce cascaded from the top and over the edges, it's supposed thickness adding a strange elegance to the dish, making even the mediocre light in the kitchen glisten off of its polished finish. And the whole thing was garnished with a pinch of parsley. 

You were completely awestruck.

"Well ?" Soma inquired, that same grin plastered on its face, "Aren't you gonna try it?" 

You looked up at him, still totally bewildered, "I-Well, yes but it...it almost looks too beautiful to eat. Like I'd be destroying a piece of art or something." 

Soma laughed, "Well I'm definitely happy that it's pleasing to the eye. But good food is meant to be eaten so don't think you're ruining anything." He gave you a thumbs up, "Go ahead and enjoy !"

You smiled softly and picked up the fork and knife he had laid out next to the plate, preparing to cut off an edge of the pancake.

"Ah, wait !" 

You looked up, "What's wrong ?"

He folded his arms, "Cut it right down the middle."

"....Huh ?"

"Just trust me."

You blinked, your next words trailing out with confusion, "O….k…."

He gave you a wink and watched as you moved again to cut into the pancakes, but this time, right down the middle like Soma had told you. 

Your knife glided right through the top, piercing what you thought was the pancake. That is, until a rich, orangey-yellow substance burst out and flowed down the edge of your knife and soaked through the fluffy center of the pancakes while also mixing with the thickened sauce below. 

"Woah…" you breathed. 

"Doesn't take much to wow you, I see." Soma chuckled, "Now make sure to get everything together."

You nodded slowly, taking care to create what looked like a perfect bite of fluffy, rich, and crispy.

Lifting the fork to your mouth, your lips encompassed it fully before pulling it back out clean and your eyes widened again as your mouth went to work in letting everything glide over your taste buds. 

So much flavor and so many different textures. 

The pancake was just as soft as it looked. The bacon was still crispy, even as you noticed it's thicker cut in biting it with your teeth. The sauce was thick and absolutely divine, buttery with a hint of acidity.

Acidity.

The lemon you saw him squeezing earlier.

Its classic yellow color. 

Hollandaise sauce.

You inwardly gasped, now tasting and recognizing the other component of the dish that had burst out when you had cut into it.

It's smooth subtlety mixed perfectly with everything, the taste so familiar and oddly vibrant even though it was an extremely common breakfast food whether scrambled, boiled, fried, or in this case, poached.

"So what do you think ?"

You savored it for as long as you could before finally, you swallowed, refraining from taking another bite of what tasted like heaven on a plate so you could answer the red head.

"It's... incredible!" 

Soma grinned, watching as your eyes quite literally started to sparkle which each additional bite you took.

It didn't take long for you to finish, and when you did, you sat back happily, humming as you relished in your delightful fill.

Soma leaned over the counter, "I take it you liked it ?" 

You nodded eagerly, " Mmhm ! I've never had pancakes like this before. It was so unique! Everything fits so well together! The bacon, the Hollandaise sauce, and was that a-"

Soma snapped his fingers, "Egg ? Yep ! You're exactly right ! You definitely know your stuff ! What you had there were Souffle Pancakes Eggs Benedict style. Not a lot of restaurants serve it and it was my first time making it. Kinda risky but I wanted to welcome you somehow."

You tilted your head up with a smile, "Well...you definitely did. Thank you, Soma." 

He beamed, removing the strip of fabric from his forehead and tied it around his arm, "Your Welcome, Y/N." 

You weren't sure if it was from the meal you just had, but you felt full, especially when it crossed over on just how thoughtful Soma had been to you even though you just met.

Come to think of it, everyone had been thoughtful the night you had arrived. 

You had been so nervous to cook for Miss Fumio, but you proved all successful in the end after she had tasted your dish. Everyone had been eavesdropping to see how you would do and surrounded you with all the congratulations in the world once you passed. 

Everyone celebrated that night with a feast and you appreciated their kindness with every out of gratefulness you could muster. 

They accepted you and wanted you to succeed.

No one at this dorm was at each other's throats like other students you had seen, especially the ones you had seen on the video of Soma at the entrance ceremony. 

No, everyone here was considerate and friendly with a want for everyone to do their best even if they had powerful aspirations of third own.

Wholeheartedly, you did feel welcomed, and Soma's actions increased that feeling tenfold. 

[homogrimoire-archive]

Kingfield's Fourth Anniversary - Final Day

If I Rose To Power It'd Be A Bouquet

Dwight has the wonderful idea to propose. Needless to say, David is in for a surprise.

AO3 Link

Dwight loved David with all his heart. He really did. Sometimes, it felt like he wanted to shout it out into the world for all to hear. He wasn't the kind for such public displays though. But, he was about to do something pretty close to announcing his love to the world.

He and David had been dating for years now. Everyone who they cared about knew. And just about anybody who was at least somewhat invested in pro boxing. As a pro boxer, David had a lot of eyes on him. David wasn't bothered in the slightest. He liked the attention, and had no desire to hide who he loved.

Dwight was scared of the notion, but was swayed by David. Deep down, he didn't want to hide who he was anymore. So, it had been public knowledge that they were a couple for a few years now. It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but being able to kiss and embrace and display their love to one another whenever they pleased far outweighed any negativity it brought to their lives.

Dwight never regretted a single moment of their time together. He imagined that David felt the same. Thus, with David’s boxing career nearing its glorious end, Dwight figured he knew how to start this new chapter of their lives.

Of course, Dwight wanted this monumental moment in their lives to be very special. So he spent many a month planning. He knew he wanted things to be private. To do such a thing in a crowd with spectators was pushing it for him. He was quick to figure out how he wanted to do it, but where was a different matter.

He considered spending a night out and doing it at their condo, but the location admittedly wasn’t so romantic. Renting a boat for a scenic night of sightseeing along a beautiful coast was considered, but was quickly ruled out when he remembered that he would probably get seasick. But, then it hit him! Ocean sunsets were beautiful and very romantic. So, after more deliberation, Dwight decided on California. A popular tourist destination, so it would be easy to kill time before the main event. Next was finding the time to do the exciting deed, which was easy since all Dwight needed to do was look at David’s schedule.

Convincing David into taking a little, much needed vacation was easy. A little bit of seduction went a long way. It would be a week-long affair of sight seeing and fun, culminating to a fanciful dinner on the fifth day. Dwight never really got used to having the finer things of life such as a dinner that cost a week’s check for a part time job, nor did he gain the taste for it like David said he would. Hell, he still liked to eat cup noodles warmed up in a microwave. But he’d accept the indulgence for such a night.

Since the restaurant was not too far from their hotel, they decided to walk. They could have called an uber or something, but it was a comfortable and clear night. Holding hands, Dwight leaned against David as they walked. He smelled vaguely of his cologne, a scent which eventually came to bring Dwight a sense of comfort.

Time seemed to move so wonderfully slow in such reposeful moments. Yet, it always seemed to end too quickly, for they were already in front of their hotel. And suddenly, Dwight was hit with a wave of anxious anticipation.

“Hey, uh, I’ll be up there soon. I’m gonna take a quick smoke.” Dwight said with a kiss to David’s cheek. He knew David didn’t like it when he smoked, for a number of good reasons. Admittedly, it was a guilty pleasure.  But Dwight wasn’t actually gonna smoke. He just needed an excuse, even if a cigarette did sound very tempting to help calm his nerves.

“Alright, but don’t keep me waitin’, luv.” David replied, and leaned in close to Dwight’s ear and whispered something real low that made Dwight’s face flush. Well, two could play that game.  Dwight pulled David down by his shirt and whispered something that made David feel rather excited, to say the least. With a reminder to not start anything without him, David made his way into the building as Dwight pulled out a box of cigarettes just for show.

After a few minutes of waiting, Dwight made his way to the receptionist’s desk to get a bouquet he had ordered and set to be delivered to the hotel. The bouquet consisted mainly of beautiful red roses, with white lilies scattered throughout. Wonderful as could be.

He took the envelope, with the letter inside he spent weeks perfecting, out of his pocket, and gently placed it in the bouquet. On the elevator ride up, he checked his pockets for what must have been the hundredth time that night for that precious box. After getting out of the elevator and reaching the end of the hall where their room was, he looked out the hall’s large window to see the beautiful beach down below as it stretched onward. It was the first time he really got a look at the beach at night. It captured him, making him decide to make a change of plans. He hurried back to the elevator and made his way back down. Once he was outside, he took out his phone.

“Hey Dwight. What is it?” David answered.

“Come outside and meet me at the beach, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

“…Really?”

“Yes, Really! You’ll love it, I promise.” Dwight assured him.

“Well, If you say so. See ya in a moment luv. Love you.”

“Alright, love you too.” he said, and they hung up.

Dwight practically skipped to the beach. He was excited for how wonderful things were gonna be. It would truly be something to remember, more memorable than a balcony anyhow, even if it was a nice balcony with a nice view. As he waited at the edge of the beach, he checked his pockets once more. He felt his heart drop when he didn’t immediately feel the box, but let out a sigh of relief once he searched his other pocket.

”Oh, David, over here!” Dwight waved as soon as he saw the other man. He was careful to keep the flowers hidden behind his back as David jogged over to him.

"So, wot does mister handsome here 'ave in store for me?" David wondered as he playfully tried to take a peek.

"Close your eyes! It's supposed to be a surprise." Dwight said, and David followed his order. He brought forth the flowers, but pocketed the envelope before letting David know he could open his eyes. He decided its contents would best be given to start the height of the night.

"Awwh…" David said as his expression softened as he gazed at the flowers. "Aren't you a sweet thing?" he added with a kiss to Dwight's cheek. "They're lovely."

"Ah, well, I'm glad you like 'em. I was gonna give them to you earlier, but I saw the beach, and thought we could take a walk. The night's still so young, and you know, why end it soon?”

“I think that's a wonderful idea, luv.” David answered while still gazing into the flowers, and then turned back to Dwight and gently slipped his hand into Dwight’s. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.”

Dwight felt his heart swell. If he was uncertain before, which he wasn’t, he knew that he loved David more than anyone, and was determined to follow through with his plan.

“You’re a sap.” Dwight lightly laughed as they began their walk.

“Only for you.” David teased, knowing very well how sappy that was. “But, I’d say you’re a pretty big sap yourself.” he said, putting some emphasis on the flowers. With the evidence present, Dwight had no choice but to concede.

“Well, only for you.” he smiled.

They continued their walkdown the beach in the sand, David holding onto his flowers with his free hand, the plastic that encased them crinkling as he walked. It mixed with the quiet crunch of the sand as they walked on it and the ocean’s gentle night sway to form the background noise to their conversation. Dwight has his free hand shoved into his pocket, clutching the box.

It was indeed a beautiful night. They were relatively far away from the hustle and bustle of civilization, letting a few stars shine with the lower amount of light pollution present. They passed a few groups having a bonfire, eventually coming reaching a stretch of beach devoid of others. The bright, full moon shone down onto them on the near starless clear night. The moon formed a shimmering, thick wave of light on the dark ocean that stretched from the horizon to the edge of where the sand met the ocean waves.

"I'm glad you thought of this." David praised. "It's relaxing. Nice."

"It is." Dwight responded. Now or never. And now was perfect as could be. "Hey, um, I got you one more thing." Dwight said, and pulled out the envelope for David to take.

w3sZAEqaq

"And you really called me a sap." David jested as he jokingly shook his head and took the envelope. It was plain, but of a sturdy, textured paper. Inside was a folded up paper also of good quality. He unfolded it and turned so the moonlight would illuminate the paper. He also had to hold it close to his face, so he could read it clearly. Thus, he began to read it aloud.

"David, we've spent many years together. A number of 'em were in hell, but you helped make my time there more bearable. I'm glad I was able to do the same for you.  I'm glad we were able to make a life together here. And through those years we've spent building a life greater than any heaven, I grew to love you more than I thought I could ever love. It happened when we got our first apartment together and you cuddled against me that night, when you kissed me on live tv when you won your first championship, and it's happened a million more times. I love you more than anything. And I know I love you as much as you love me." David was sure he was about to cry out of pure elation. He went on to read the last sentence. "So, I've one question to ask you now:"

"Will you marry me?"

Shocked, David lowered the paper to see Dwight down on one knee before him. David was most certainly crying now. Unto him, a beautiful ring was offered. The intricate piece of fine jewelry could have been made of plastic and glass for all he cared though. What mattered was what the ring represented, what was happening.

"Yes!" he proclaimed once the reality caught up to him. He let Dwight slip the ring on, and then hoisted him up, pulling him in close and laughing and spinning with joy. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

He slowed down and let Dwight down as well, keeping him close as he expressed his own love with a deep kiss.

"Of course I'll marry ya, you angel of a man."

Dwight giggled, and pulled David in for another deep kiss. There were no words he could use to accurately describe the magnitude of the wonderful emotions he was feeling.

The blessed letter in his pocket and bouquet in hand, David walked back to their hotel with Dwight holding his other hand. Both fidgeted with the ring as they walked, whispering sweet words and recalling beloved memories.

Fiancé and fiancé, they spend their first night together as such, feeling a love they knew would never end.