#she rears it and trains it in the face of much opposition

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn and the rehabilitation of Minas Morgul into Minas Ithil has completely taken over my brain. I'm obsessing over this. No one else seems to care. I'm lost and alone in this spiral of hype.

Eowyn and her husband were tasked with destroying and rebuilding the very city that had been ruled by the Witch King of Angmar who Eowyn slew in battle how do you expect me to be normal about this?!?!!

[mncxbe]

Can you write how the hunting dogs would react if jouno is a complete sweetheart to his S/o? If not, That's okay, don't stress yourself ((: <3

Aww this is so sweet I love it. It's a bit sillier than I intended it to be but it kinda matches the group dynamic of the hunting dogs. Hope you enjoy♡

°☆○

7:24♡

𝑱ō𝒏𝒐 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff/ silly♡

𝑻𝒆𝒕𝒄𝒉ō

let's start off with our sweet boy

I feel like he's quite unfazed by Jouno's saccharine affections; he knows that at heart his colleague is a good person

but he still feels awkward sometimes

he's lowkey happy for the two of you and the fact that Jouno finally has a safe space to express his love

Tetchou likes to observe the sweet, little interactions between you (especially when you think no one's watching) and smiles so gently

if Jouno is especially annoying one day he'll tease him about it; "Jouno how can you be so nice to Y/N but so mean to me?"

It was Monday morning and Jouno was once again smothering you with kisses. He only indulged in these affections when he wasn't at the headquarters.

The three of you were currently on a mission and decided to take a coffee break. You and your boyfriend were on one side of the wooden table and Tecchou on the other; awkwardly tracing the outline of the cup he was holding.

"Darling do you want a sip of my coffee? Or maybe a slice of cake or another kiss?" asked Jouno in a playful voice as he leaned in, placing another peck on your plump lips.

"Sai please stop we're in public" you protesed but the tender tone of your voice hinted the opposite. You were enjoying this display of affection just as much as he did; a rosy colour tinting your cheeks as soon as your partner pulled away from you.

Tetchou couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy around you. He felt like an intruder, interrupting such a private and peaceful moment. Nevertheless he felt a warm feeling blooming in his chest as he watched the two of you.

He was happy that his colleagues found comfort in one another and enjoyed your sweet interactions. A childish smile rose to his lips as you leaned in, kissing Jouno's nose.

𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒖𝒌𝒐

she always makes snarky comments about the two of you and teases Jouno, saying that he's growing soft and all that

but in fact shs's really supportive of your relationship

the first time she saw him willingly kiss you in front of them after a mission her heart exploded

if you ever go out together she's like mama y papa, mama y papa

You and Teruko were just about to end one of your infamous girls' night out. Spending half of your salary on expensive dinners and elegant dress you were probably never going to wear was something you did at least once a month.

"Shall I call us a cab, Y/N?" asked the woman as you exited the dimly lit restaurant.

"Actually Jouno's going to pick us up. He said he can also drive you home."

Teruko's brows furrowed, a look of obvious concern on her face "How does a blind man even get a driving license? Is that possible?"

"I dunno. Beats me" you chuckle "But it's Jouno after all."

"Fair enough"

Soon enough a car pulled in front of the two of you and your boyfriend stepped out of it. With a wide smile on his face he pulled you in for a hug, twirling you once.

"How's my beautiful girl doing tonight? Did you have fun?" he asked in a tender voice as he placed you back on the ground.

"As per usual we had a great time" you beamed, urging Teruko to get into the backseat.

Jouno quickly opened the passanger door and, with a bow, gestured you to take a seat.

"Wow Jouno I didn't know you were such a gentleman. Looks like Y/N trained you well" teased the rosy haired woman as your boyfriend occupied the driver's seat, turned on the engine and drove off.

In the rear-view mirror she could see her colleague's lips curl into a sly smile at the sound of her words

"I am always well mannered with beautiful ladies, Teruko." he replied in the same tone.

"But you never opened a door for me or- Wait. Are you saying that I'm ugly you idiot" yelled the young woman, causing you to burst out laughing.

"Just wait 'till we're out of the car Jouno I'll beat your ass." pressed Teruko.

"Hey guys, be civil" you added between giggles.

Teruko pouted, crossing her arms over her chest as she laid back in her seat. She caught a glimpse of Jouno's smirk in the mirror but didn't dare say another word as not to ruin your wonderful evening.

"You're lucky I like your girlfriend. You'd be dead otherwise."

"Yea, yea kiddo. Don't forget to fasten your belt." mocked the man.

Teruko didn't find this conversation amusing; she hated being given a taste of her own medicine but she couldn't deny how happy she was to hear your laughter. You've been friends ever since you joined the Hunting dogs and she knew that getting together with Jouno was the best thing that happened in your life; probably in his too. So she was willing to let the man's jokes slide.

As the three of you drove home Teruko's gaze remained fixated on your pinky, which was loosely interlocked with your boyfriend's on the shifter; a smile rising to her lips.

𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂

out of all the hunting dogs he's the most confused and shocked

what happened to the cold hearted Jouno? he could be arguing with Tetcho about some trivial matters but the second you step foot in the room he has a wide smile on his face and hugs you???

nevertheless he's happy for the two of you and constantly reminds you of that

he does sometimes tease Jouno about it tho but in a sweet way

Tachihara had his suspicions about Jouno's crush on you but he didn't expect you to start dating so soon. It's been two weeks since he last saw his fellow colleagues and he was shocked to find you and Jouno cuddling on the cushioned couch in the back of the conference room.

"Uh... What's that?" he asked Teruko, barely able to conceal his surpirse as he pointed at the two of you.

"Oh them? They've been at it for a week now. Jouno's all over her all the time really they're quite enamoured."

Before he got the chance to reply, the captain stepped foot in the room and announced the beginning of the meeting.

You and Jouno haistly rose from the sofa and occupied your designated seats opposite to his.

During the meeting he kept stealing quick glances at the two of you: that giddy smile never left Jouno's face for a second.

As soon as Fukuchi dismissed you, you all went to your offices to finish the last reports for the day. Tachihara decided not to let this opportunity go to waste and walked after Jouno.

"Hey man. How're you doing?"

His colleague nodded "Quite well actually. And you?"

Tachihara had never heard Jouno sound so light-hearted in his entire life; a sense of pride and joy washed over him.

"I'm great too actually. It's good to be back. What I wanted to say... Congrats. I'm happy for you and Y/N."

Jouno's face turned a light shade of pink upon hearing his words, his lithe fingers adjusting the collar of his vest.

"Thanks, Hara. I'm happy too."

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊

secretely hoped that the two of you would date from the beginning

he's still surprised by how affectionate Jouno is with you

gives you that half smirk of his (y'all know what I'm talking about) when he sees you holding hands under the table during a meeting or hugging throughout the day

tries to avoid pairing you up on missions cuz there's a big chance y'all get distracted

It was a usual Friday afternoon and Fukuchi had summoned you all in the conference room to hold the weekly debrief meeting.

"So. What's the status of your missions?" he asked in his usual stern voice.

Tachihara was the first to speak. He talked about the Mafia's plans and recent activity but soon started rambling on about what the other mafia members were doing in their free time. Fukuchi didn't interrupt him and actually tried to pay attention to what the redhead was saying but his throughts slowly drifted off to the bottle of sake hidden in his desk.

To take his mind off of the alcohol he scanned the room; his gaze slid idly from Tachihara to Tetchou, who was doing pushups behind his chair then to the opposite side of the table: to you and Jouno.

His lips curled into a smirk when he saw that the white haired man was toying with your fingers in his lap, tracing their outline.

You were doing your best to remain composed as your boyfriend glided his nails along the skin of your forearm. Everyone knew how ticklish you were.

Seeing this innocent display of affection truly pleased the old man, who secretely rooted for you ever since you joined the team. He was however surprised by how doting Jouno was; always by your side, holding your hand, kissing your forehead when he thought no one was watching, allowing you to doze off on his shoulder after a straining mission or buying you cups of coffee from a nearby shop when you needed an energy boost.

Tachihara's voice suddenly snapped him out of his trance.

"Captain, are you still listening?" inquired the redhead.

He quickly striaghtened his back and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Yes, please go on."

And so Tachihara went on detailing Port Mafia's plans while he tried his best to ignore the hushed words you shared with Jouno.

[prof-peach]

Yknow what I don’t ever get to dive into this one, so for my own holiday fun, let’s elaborate on the ranger AU:

The girls are room mates, rivals for a long while, the tape line that divides their shared space like a battle zone.

Plum is obsessively neat about her books but otherwise is chaos, clothes everywhere, shoes scattered. Bed is about the only thing she makes and keeps clear to sit and work, desk is a mess of research notes and dog eared manuals. Her dratini is utter chaos, unruly doesn’t even describe how Missy is. Plum was raised in a very well off household but her family never came home, work keeping them almost completely busy. This leaves one girl who knows what she’s all about because she had to figure it out, plum is just as wild and chaotic as her Pokemon in her own snooty kind of way. Very particular teenager.

Meanwhile peach has never been allowed to be a kid, she was told what to do and when to do it, hobbies we’re chosen for her, free time used up working hard, training harder, her Pokemon just as pushed to keep up standards. The prodigal daughter put on a pedestal has nothing but pressure from day one. She doesn’t listen to music, have toys or hobbies, even her clothes are plain and not really things you’d fully expect a teenager to wear. She had to just go with her family always pushing her to do what they want and be who they expected. Failure was not met well. Her personal space is painfully tidy, purely because she doesn’t really have much to fill the space at the start. Val is volatile at best, but Bob keeps his sunny disposition, often out in the dorm room happily.

Plum soon realises peach has not developed a personal taste of her own, and cannot understand how that just never happened. So begins her task of getting peach to find things she likes and enjoys. None of her skills sound like things that excite her, peach is this dead pan teenager with no fire for anything. Her hot head rears up when she’s backed into a corner, so when pushed too hard peach snaps, she doesn’t know what she’s suppose to like or do, out of her family home she can only sit and watch others and try to assimilate quietly. A skill she’s quite good at, so most just assume she’s cold and distant by nature, an angry face leading to most leaving her alone.

Plum proceeds to open up a whole world of things for a teenager who never got the chance to just exist without an objective. Music, junk food, staying up late to play games or gossip. They sneak out to town, maybe they steal some overly sweet awful booze, maybe they hide it in their dorm to stay up and talk some nights. Plum gets peach to pick clothes she wants, tries to encourage her to care about anything noticing she’s got piercings, so like…punk?? Is that her thing? No clue, but it’s the total opposite to plums sporty preppy cute outfits, so together they look like night and day.

Their initial arguing and dislike of each other eases off fast, peach realises that maybe not everyone is so awful, and that she’s been stuck with a highly intelligent if not a little scatter brained girl who actually encourages her to live, not just simply exist. It is tentative steps into realising she is more than the weight of her family name.

Other dumb teenager things: peach pierces plums ears for her. Ranger team work tasks that the girls smash through. Late night dorm activities with the other students, you know, typical junk like spin the bottle and such.

Plum 100% is cocky and straightforward during a party and makes sure peach never lives down that she stole the grouchy girls first kiss, etched into her memory forever.

Peach realising “oh no. Very very not straight. Oh no.” To which she’s in deep denial and horrified, because her family CANNOT find out. Seeing as her mom likes to dig through her memories from time to time, peach is utterly terrified to go home.

Plum seeing her roommate return from a weekend back at her family house looking more exhausted and worn out than when she left. Never asks why, never pries, tries to be cheery and help peach not feel so crappy. Peach can’t ever tell her what she’s done, or the guilt she’s carrying around, and as they grow closer, it becomes harder to lie.

Then Booker happens, where the story line splits from canon to the ranger AU. Instead of peach taking the little mon and running, leaving plum without more than a ‘sorry’ and an old bangle on the dorm door handle, she instead cracks, can’t hide the truth anymore, packs up to leave, but can’t go without telling someone, anyone that she’s been a monster, and has to change. Has to do better than she had before. Through tears and drama the truth comes out, plum learns it all, and sees her best friend with a bag on her shoulder, running away.

Through a convincing speech and an understanding and grounded view on the situation plum gets peach to stay, with her, with the rangers, they’ll face it together. For once peach does not want to feel so alone, everything she’s ever done has been singular, even though she’s been surrounded by people pulling her strings, it’s never been because of care or love, just progress. ‘The family comes first’ echos in her mind, and she has to stop this cycle. So peach stays, is deathly afraid her family will hurt plum for getting involved, she hardly sleeps for a while, making sure the night is safe, that no one’s trying to tamper with the path she’s trying to stay on. A good one. A kinder one with less bloodshed.

Plum encouraged peach to take up boxing, for her anger, so she joins a club and finds a love for it. The gains begin, and plum is at every fight, shouting from the side lines. Peach loses a few and takes it really badly. Loss in her family is usually cause for punishment, for isolation or consequence. She expects the same from plum, shocked when it never comes. Her partner is nothing but worried bout the bruises, but seems very encouraging. This is not what was expected.

Plenty of later year teenage shenanigans. Usual suspects, figuring out things like future career options, sexuality, the parties, sneaking out, stress over exams, first hangovers, smoking a little pot after handing in final coursework as a celebration. Peach finds herself, but both girls find a family in each other. Thick as thieves, forever entangled in each others memories now.

The girls grow as rangers, have a few run ins with peach’s cousins but otherwise are left with only a few scars, scrapes and bruises, and eventually they graduate, top of their class none the less. The powerhouse duo that others couldn’t compete with.

Plums become the agile ranger she was meant to be, strategist, a woman who knows every option before you even take your first move, but she lacks practical instinct and brutality, which is peach’s area of expertise. It’s head and heart at it’s most perfect balance.

————————————————

I have so many little headcanons bout this alt set up, but I’m tired, it’s the holidays, and I wanted to blurt this one out. Sorry to all for putting up with me haha

Give me peach gut laughing for the first time and plum realising she’s totally mad for this person.

Give me ranger prom/graduation where they both dress up and get to sneak off and dance together.

Give me chaotic but perfectly drift compatible fights with them and their Pokemon.

Give me prank wars, makeup help, hair style tests, bad hair dye attempts, pizza hang outs.

Give me plum learning how to train Missy well with peach’s help.

Give me adoptive momma bears for Booker.

Give me them laughing so hard one of them nearly throws up at something so stupid and dumb.

Give me the moment that penny drops and they realise they can’t move forward without each other.

I am thriving on this.

[dasphinxone]

As Above, So Below Chapter 7 Preview: Wedding Preparations 𓐬 🦈

NSFW, MINORS DNI

Ever since the picnic, Attuma gifted Okoye with more and more water proof clothing from Talokan. Mostly on account of their increasingly normal routine of meeting at the river shore a meandering walk from the rear of her house. While she was well aware of the various inlets and small islands of the winding tributary that fed from the Nyanza (Lake Victoria as the colonizers called it), she’d never discovered them so up close and personal. Now she could with Attuma’s rebreather. Along with how easily he carried her on his broad, warm back as he walked into the river for their swims. 

On this early afternoon, she could only steal away from training the new recruits for an hour or so. Much to Attuma's disappointment. 

“I won’t apologize for doing my duty,” Okoye shrugged. Eyes bright with challenge, she dangled her calves in the water from where she sat along the wide, sandy strip of beach. It formed the peninsula of an inlet a few miles south of her home. “Ukulungiselela okona kubi, kufuneka uqeqeshe ngezona zibalaseleyo,” she hummed as Attuma leisurely bobbed in the water in front of her. 

“To prepare for the worst, you must train with the best,” her beads translated aloud.

"A worthy sentiment," Attuma replied as he smoothly paddled closer. He didn’t require his mouth rebreather in the water. Okoye was swiftly learning that without it, his handsome face bore a myriad of expressions. A far cry from the predatory focus he directed at he on the bridge that night. 

“I also do not begrudge you your obligations," he grinned, "Even if it means I cannot constantly feast my eyes upon you."

“Greedy shark,” Okoye admonished while aiming a splash in his direction. He easily dodged it while moving closer.

Okoye had changed out of her Midnight Angels uniform back at her home into another of Attuma's waterproof gifts. The light orange tunic's short cap sleeves were embroidered in turquoise and green geometric shapes riddled with tiny white seed pearls. Their matching bloomer shorts sealed closed just below mid-thigh. Attuma took her in with rapt attention. Especially as her shorts rode upwards as she leaned back on her hands and turned her face up towards the sun while closing her eyes. His gaze traced the elegant line of her throat wrapped in the finely carved, gold circles of her dzilla necklace. The afternoon light bore down on her, casting her in its burnished glow. 

“Can you blame me?” he pouted, now within arm's reach of her,  “I simply wish to engage with my other half," he insisted. "You would deny me that? Such cruelty, woman,” the amusement danced around his words.

"I thought you mighty Talokanil were stronger than mere words?" she chuckled, looking back down at him.

"Not when they fall from your sweet lips, my warrior," he suggestively waggled his brows.

"Attuma!” she exclaimed. She couldn’t hold back a breathless laugh with her halfhearted slap of his hand away where he began running it up and down her knee. His battle worn palms tickled her warm skin as his other hand lightly grabbed her opposite ankle. 

Okoye didn't fight him as he swam closer to settle himself in between her spread legs. All despite how she admonished, “Someone will see us!”

“I promise they will hear you before that,” he murmured. 

“Always so full of jokes,” she hummed, arching a brow. 

He dropped lower into the water, shoulder deep. It allowed him to press a kiss to just above her knee. The wicked gleam in his dark eyes set her stomach fluttering as he hummed, “Who said I lie?”

Okoye bit at her lower lip in an attempt to stay quiet at the wonderfully wet drag of Attuma'a mouth up her leg. He pushed the hem of her tunic higher to expose her supple stomach to the attentions of his mouth as his other hand on her ankle swept upwards. Now she couldn't swallow down her gasp as began kissing little nips to her midsection. Playful, he followed them up with a swirl of his tongue to soften their sting.

She was struck by how easily he proceeded to haul himself out of the water. His wide shoulders glistened in the bright sun as streams of water recklessly spilled down the expanse of his thick body. She couldn’t help but marvel at how his skin slowly shifted from olive brown to soft azure. She’d learned weeks ago that he wouldn’t suffocate for some hours without his mouth rebreather since he also wore his gill one. Mostly due to the mouth one used more to ensure his people's throats wouldn't dry out in discomfort. He was also currently very close to water. 

Okoye raised her bare foot to press against his chest as he attempted to crawl over her. All predatory grace made tantalizing by how his obsidian gaze captured hers. Both his hands now fell to her waist. It caused her to lean back until she lay somewhat prone but still sitting up on her elbows. She didn’t mind how wet his grip was. If anything, it was a relief on this hot day. 

The corner of her mouth tilted upwards. "What are you going to do now, shark man?” 

“What do you wish of me?” Attuma growled before pushing aside her foot. 

It fell back to the blanket as he leaned down to nudge his nose against the side of her neck. Rapidly maneuvering himself had him now nestled between her open thighs. His hardening arousal under his loincloth could be felt against the front of her shorts. Combined with his full weight nearly all on top of her? It made the pleasant drag of his bone nose plug at her throat that much more satisfying. 

“Command me, in eek'e [my star],” he insisted. Words ghosting along her pulse point, he roughly added, “If you dare.”

She challenged him with a tilt of her chin, “What if I want you to take care of me?” 

"U yaan meent [It will be done]," he rumbled. His gentle fingers tracing her jaw, the bubbles in his gill rebreather swirled with his hitched, deep inhale.

Okoye tossed one of her arms around his blue shoulder. It caused him to pause and take her in. His gaze swept her stunning face as she breathlessly commanded, “So kiss me, oyena krebe wam umnandi kum [my sweetest shark].”

Her mouth fell open with a whine as he licked into a biting kiss to the pulsepoint on the side of her neck. The brilliant thrum of her heartbeat echoed in his ears with intoxicating zeal. Continuing his languid journey upward with his mouth, he noted what brought out her most pleased noises. He repeated his efforts as his other hand cupped down her side. His muffled laugh against her cheek met her giggle at the ticklish sensation from his calloused fingers working their way along her. Her surprised exhale allowed him to then steal a kiss from her full mouth.

Attuma marveled at the burning feel of her lithely strong body gradually falling pliant under him as she hungrily licked into his mouth. Her hand moved through his tangled tresses with a firm tug. It had him growling against her as he deepened the kiss and swept past her lips. Tasting her sweetness proved a reward beyond imagining. Particularly as she lifted her hips to grind her still clothed center to him. 

Attuma’s fingers slipped to the hem of her shorts. He broke the kiss, smirking at how she attempted to lift her head to chase him. 

“May I?” he murmured against her ear, his hand tracing back and forth along her lower stomach. Okoye clutched his wrist and pushed him even lower, below the hem. A kiss to the side of his mouth had her nodding in affirmation. Attuma shifted so that she could completely capture his mouth for a quick moment before he commanded, “Tell me you wish it so.”

Her legs fell open even more. “Yes.”

He lowered his head to nibble at the tops of her breasts. “You are certain?”

Okoye groaned, eyes fluttering shut as she buried both hands in his hair. “Stop with your teasing, you menace.” 

Attuma sighed into her neck before lightly biting down. “Look at you,” he whispered as she let out a moan at how his fingers worked lower to glide along her slick pussy, “So prettily wet. All just for me?” 

“Only you,” Okoye’s heaved out

“And so I am yours,” Attuma reverently murmured into the valley of her breasts. 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Okoye panted laugh.

She was rewarded with Attuma’s amused grunt before he shoved her tunic upwards with his free hand to expose her to him. She barely had time to yank off her top before he had her sighing as his lips sucked at her peaked, dark nipple. Her stomach twisted and turned with growing pleasure at the way he slowly slipped a thick finger into her damp center. It was in contrast with how he hungrily sucked at her skin. Along with his thumb languidly starting to play along her clit. Her thighs jutted up from the blanket to get more contact with delightful feel of him between her legs. 

At her eager pull of his hair, he mapped a pattern of kisses down her quivering stomach as he began rocking in and out of her plush lower lips. Okoye’s surprised exclamation only made him smile and speed up his motions. The higher lift of her hips allowed him to slide her shorts down her legs and she kicked them off. 

Pulling away, his fiery eyes greedily swept her naked form now fully bared to him. She was exquisite, deep umber skin glowing with a thin sheen of perspiration as she writhed. How she tried to pull him back down her as he thrust in and out of her pliant pussy at increasing speed only made his thick cock twitch for her.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you look, in yakunaj [my love]?” he mused...

CHAPTER 7 COMING SOON.

[melanie-ohara]

See How Deep the Bullet Lies

Whumpuary2024, Day 25 - Prompt: Left to Die

Shepard fights overwhelming odds on Elysium

AO3 Here

It was winter on Elysium and the wind nipped at Shepard's skin as she trekked up the hill to the shop opposite the space port. Most of the marines she had shipped in with were taking their shore leave in Illyria, the capital city, but she had taken a short-range shuttle to somewhere a little sleepier. Elysium was a tourist spot first and a colony second, and ever since she had escaped Earth Shepard had appreciated the quieter spots away from the bustle of city life. Agron was a worker town - a little grimy, a little shabby, a little rough around the edges - with construction contracts for the Grissom space station in high orbit above. It was just a frame at the moment, but even that had looked impressive on the viewscreen of the marine dropship as it teakettled past. 

The bell over the door jingled and the shopkeeper, Duresh, looked up and smiled. 

"Hello again, Service Chief Shepard!" he said, spreading his arms wide. "Your usual?" 

Shepard made a face - she hadn't realised quite how much she'd been drinking. "Sure," she said, and Duresh handed over a bottle of Illyrian whiskey and a box of strawberry doughnuts. The jam was synthetic, there was no way she could afford real fruit, but there was something unique about the compounds they used in Agron that Shepard really liked. She was walking towards the door when she heard the rumble overhead and paused. It wasn't an Alliance drive signature, and it was too big to be one of the automated shipping drones.

"Is something wrong, Chief?" Duresh asked. Shepard reached into her coat for her service weapon, and then a shockwave blasted the glass out of the shop windows and knocked her off her feet.

*

The Agron spaceport fell in the first wave. There was nobody to defend it from the stream of batarian raiders pouring out of the landing craft, just civilians they either killed or captured. Shepard had managed to briefly make contact with the SSV Agincourt but all she learned was information she already knew: most of the fighting was concentrated in Illyria, she was the only Alliance presence in the area, and she had to stop the batarians from sabotaging the factories and turning the whole place to radioactive slag. She wasn't trained for it, but she rallied the workers and their families, armed them with guns she took from the slavers she killed, and made her way to the factory district. Shepard and her slapped-together unit had a head-start and the batarians were stopping to make slave grabs as they went, which gave them enough time to reinforce the security already in place. 

If not for the paranoia of the manufacturing firms set up there, Shepard wasn't sure they would have much of a chance defending it. Most factories on colony worlds were built for efficiency, which made them easy military targets, but Agron's construction centres had been built into the side of a mountain to protect them from orbital and air strikes, and the administration buildings created a maze of chokepoints Shepard could use to trap or redirect batarian forces. It was a good plan. She just hoped her civilians could keep their nerve until the Agincourt could deploy reinforcements.

A good officer would lead from the rear - establish a command and control centre in the most defensible location and issue orders to the rest of her unit from there. Shepard wasn't cut out for an officer position. Instead, she was at the mouth of Breach 1 - the first of the two bottlenecks in their line the batarians would be forced through. They came with a stronger force than Shepard had hoped but they managed to hold them for almost as long as she had expected, peppering them with small arms fire from the buildings and the street. There were only ten of them there, but they killed at least that many batarians before the invaders realised they could force their way into the buildings too. Once they had their own snipers in position, Shepard ordered a retreat. She was too late to save two of her civilians, but she told herself to mourn later. The batarians were on them as soon as they broke cover, and Shepard's makeshift barrier tech wouldn't stand up to their weapons for long. 

"Close Breach 1," Shepard ordered, as bullets tore chunks out of the concrete walls around her. It was another gift from the corporations: a three-foot thick metal traffic barrier meant to ward off rioters. It wouldn't keep the batarians out for long, but it would slow them down long enough for the civilians to regroup at Breach 2. Shepard didn't look back until she had hopped the barricade that made up the second chokepoint. It was the main entrance to the core factory complex, which they had shored up by dragging every piece of furniture out of every building nearby. Shepard was confident it would stand up to anything short of a tank, at least for a while.

"Chief Shepard," Duresh said as she slid into cover beside him. His knuckles were white around the grip of the batarian rifle he was clutching. "Are we… doing alright?"

Shepard checked the heat sink of her pistol and shook it a couple of times to dispel the excess. "Just fine, Duresh," she said without looking at him. There were a hundred or more batarian pirates on their way, and this time they knew to expect organised resistance. It was going to be bloody. "We're doing just fine."

The second chokepoint was a better position, and the battle raged for almost an hour. Shepard stayed right at the front, her finger aching from pulling the trigger and her arm burning from the amount of incendiary plasma she had launched from her omni-tool. The batarians had bunkered down in the buildings opposite the entrance and the fight turned into a vicious standstill, and Shepard realised too late what was happening. 

The batarians had sent snipers back through the maze of streets and alleyways to look for other entrances. They had the luxury of time now, and they found routes that Shepard had missed. It took until nightfall, but their thermal scopes accounted for that. 

Duresh was the first to die. It was a round from a kishock harpoon gun, a vicious barb that smashed through the shopkeeper's back, destroyed his ribs, and sprayed his blood all over Shepard. He was lucky that it had gone right through him instead of sticking: she had heard it took people hours to die of wounds like that. 

"On our flank!" she screamed, but the other civilians were too horrified to react. Shepard hefted Duresh's rifle and fired it until it overheated, turning the corner of the building she was sure the shot had come from into a cloud of dust. If she hadn't hit the slaver, at the very least they were blinded for now. It was too late to help though: the spell of her command was broken, the civilians had seen too much. They weren't ready to see a man cut in half, and they bolted. Half of them dropped their guns and the other half fired them wildly behind them, forcing Shepard to curl into a ball and hope they didn't hit her. 

If she stayed down, the batarians would pick them off. If she ran with them, they'd kill her too. She hurried, crawling on her elbows, to the edge of the barricade where the civvies were less likely to hit her, and propped her rifle against the edge of the wall. Her suppressing fire was more accurate than the fleeing civilians could manage, and she even managed to kill a sniper in a third floor window. But her luck couldn't last forever. There was nobody to watch her back. She didn't want to believe they'd abandoned her, but she was alone against impossible odds now. It was just a matter of what bullet killed her.

It was a spear from a kishock, fired from the building next to her. Shepard ducked her head at the last second, which was the only reason it didn't pass straight through the top of her head and kill her instantly - instead, it slashed across her face, and she felt it burn her skin and sear her flesh. The scream she let out didn't sound human to her own ears, and the pain was indescribable. It felt like her head had cracked open and her brain was being forced out of the gap in her skull. Her hands were too numb to hold a weapon any more and her body could only writhe and howl on the frozen ground. Dimly, she was aware of the shooting dying down around her, and soon there would be a batarian boot on her neck and an executioner's pistol against the back of her skull. The peace of death would be a blessing now, but she wasn't prepared to stop hurting just yet. 

It was agony, but she forced herself to crawl. Her eyes were sealed shut by the blood pouring out of her shattered head so she wasn't even sure she was going the right way, but if there was a chance at survival she was going to take it. The pain was so intense it took her a moment to remember how to talk instead of just scream, but she could just make out batarian speech behind her and knew it was time. If she was clear, there was a chance a medic could save her life, if not her face. If not, then at least she'd take some of the bastards with her. 

"Close Breach 2," she managed to gurgle into her omni-tool. One of the factory workers had brought out some mining charges when they were setting up their barricade, and Shepard had laid them along the line they had made. Behind her blood-sealed eyes, Shepard was briefly aware of a blinding white hot flash and then… silence.

[goldencherriess]

Present time || Loki x Mortal! Fem! Reader

Pairing: Loki x Mortal! Fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Fate brings them together once again.

Warnings: fluff, emotional final scene (you have been warned!)

A/N: Here it is! The final chapter of Time after Time! Thank you to everyone who joined in the ride. It was wild and I hope you had fun as much as I did! Thanks for all the love and support you had showed this fic, it meant the world to me. And without further ado, have fun reading!

Previous part || Series masterlist

Rain was splattering against the workshop's window in thundering droplets and Y/N started scolding herself for forgetting her umbrella. The London weather was quite unpredictable, but she always carried her usual, red, polka dotted umbrella. "Always make sure you're equipped for the day, little one!" her father had said. But this time, it slipped from her mind.

Lately, her mind always seemed to be elsewhere, in the clouds or maybe in some long forgotten memories. She would drink a cup of Earl Grey and then stop abruptly, as if someone burned her with a stick on fire. Her gaze, then, would sink into the cup, looking for something but only finding her own reflection staring back. Other times, she'd wrap her red scarf around her neck, fingertips freezing in mid air, nose scrunched up. She'd lightly pick up the rear end of the scarf, as if she was seeing it for the first time.

And other times, she would be staring at nothing in particular, feeling something missing.

The thunderous droplets rained down on her like bullets as she fumbled with the keys, trying to lock her workshop. She had opened it a few years ago with only one sewing machine, a few fabrics and the knowledge of weaving ideas and textiles together. Les petites mains. The art of splattering creativity through a sewing needle.

With a click, the door was locked and she turned to look ahead, hair wet and clothes sticking to skin. Her red sneakers got soaked as they crossed a puddle. Y/N raised an arm in a poor attempt to hail a cab, but it just whizzed by, splashing her in a new wave of dirty, rainwater. Blinking through the silver drops, she took a step back, shivers running up and down her arms and spine. Of course a cab wouldn't take her like this, soaked from head to toe. A sneeze escaped her lips and she cursed the weather, pulling the coat closer to her body. She'd have to take the tube all the way home. Joy.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They called it the London underground. Cold air ruffling your clothes when a train whizzed by or stopped in the station. People milling around, stressed with their eyes in the phone or legs jittering.

Loki was standing with his hands in the pocket, a green scarf around his neck, watching people go by. Searching for her eyes. For the redness of her scarf. Sighing he turned on his heels, his hope slowly dimming. His ebony locks got picked up by a breeze that announced the arrival of a train.

He almost missed it. The flash of a redness. The fluttering of a scarf. If he had blinked, it all would had vanished.

There, on the opposite platform, she stood shivering against the chilly breeze, wet hair sticking onto her face. She looked so small, so fragile. As if she was stuck in a racing car, going 30 miles per hour. She might've been. For all Loki knew, time never did stop.

He caught glimpses of her through the sliding doors, as the train pulled to a stop. She got in, her hand gripping the bars.

And somehow her eyes found his across the whole station, through the doors, above the mass of people.

It was times like these that made Loki believe in fate.

He could see from afar the sparkle in her eyes. the secrets she held in them, the flash of recognition. It was gone all too soon.

And the train left. He was alone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The house was quite most of the times (only her father and her lived in it). Quite, but cozy. But not this time. The soft musical notes were coming from Garwin's study and Y/N found herself struck, a foot hovering over the first step.

Wise man say

Only fools rush in

Elvis Presley's voice boomed through the shells of her ears, all the way down to her core. She knew the song all too well (it was hard not to when the record store next to her workshop played it almost every day), but it was as if she was hearing it for the first time. Images of slow dancing and swishing dress flashed through her mind, stealing her breath. It was all too hazy. She didn't recall dancing to Presley with a brunet man, whose face was quite blurry in her memories. If anything, it could all had been a distant dream.

She took a step back and towards her father's study, the music getting louder. The old wooden floor creaked under her steps and she opened the heavy door. The sight of her old dear, father swaying to "Can't help falling in love" greeted her. Even in his sixties, he still had the moves.

"Little one! Come, come! Dance with your old papa!"

Y/N smiled, despite her suddenly shortness of breath. Her father twirled her around and she let out a laugh. "I didn't know we had a record of Elvis."

"We didn't."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Did you buy one, then?"

Garwin slid across the floor, shimming his shoulders. "A young man dropped it. He said it was for you. He looked quite familiar, actually. I couldn't pin point from where I knew him, though."

Y/N stopped in her tracks, slowly turning her eyes onto her father. "How did this young man look like?"

Garwin, picking up on the alarming tone in her voice, let his dancing feet stop. His crinkled eyes found hers, searching, trying to read through the furrowed eyebrows and the widened eyes. "He had jet black hair. Quite lanky, too. Little one, if you're in trouble, please do tell me-"

She shook her head, her ears picking up again on Elvis' strong voice again. "No, no, I know him from somewhere."

And in a quite voice, she added: "I just don't know from where."

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Every day, a package would appear on the house's step. Every day, Y/N would tear apart the wrapping, looking into the mysterious box and discovering secrets, things she could almost remember. It was as if she was looking into a steamed and blurry mirror. The lines were way too thin. She couldn't read them.

The next day she got an emerald ring that threw sparkles around every time she twirled it between her thumbs. It was cold to the touch, but it somehow spread warmth through her body.

She stared into the gem, trying to find some words of truth but only finding whispers.

Whispers of the past.

A curious voice in her head urged her to slid it onto her left, ring finger. It felt so right, like the moon kissing the stars in the night sky. She reveled in the way the ring hugged her finger, in the way she didn't even feel it heavy. In the way she felt like she wore it before.

Déjà vu.

And then she received a memory in the form of photographs, the kind which you take with your friends in some photo booth after a wild night. It was like looking into a mirror. Y/N saw herself as she was, wearing the same red scarf, but talking to a young brunet man. Smiling. Pecking his lips.

She saw him before. At the train station, but somewhere else too. His name was on the tip of her tongue and his familiar face was buried somewhere in the back of her mind, just below the dusty drawers of it.

She couldn't quite remember.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Meet me at The British Museum, in front of a tapestry. You'll know which one, I'll be waiting.

That's what it was written on the note she received that day. She stared at it, hoping the letters would arrange themselves into answers. But they didn't. Stubbornly, they stared right back and Y/N felt her throat closing up.

The note made its home in her coat pocket, burning holes into it and weighing it down. Her mind was off the rails the whole day. Her fingers would always slipped and the sewing needle would pierce through the skin, drawing blood and staining the material. She couldn't concentrate. So, she closed the workshop earlier that day, letting her feet carry her mindlessly through London all the way to The British Museum.

People went and came, stressed beyond belief, checking their watches and muttering under their breath, but all Y/N did was to scratch the back of her head while she waited for the red light to turn green, screaming at her mind to pull the pieces of the puzzles together.

She despised the feeling as if she forgot something. She was never the one to forget. She always remembered birthdays (especially her father's). She remembered her clients' orders and whims ("Can you cut the dress shorter, please? Just above the knees.") She remembered how to use a measuring tape and a sewing machine, although at this point her hands started to have a mind of their own, doing the work without too much thought. She remembered what year and day it was (in a month it would be Christmas and her birthday).

Why, then, couldn't she remember him?

It was annoying. Trying to remember something you might've never even lived or seen. Someone you might've never even met. Annoying.

Her feet halted to a stop in front of the towering building of the museum and her hair started raising in goosebumps. The photos were now weighing a tone, dragging her down.

One step at a time.

Buying an entrance ticket.

Another step. And another, weaving through the mass of people, passing by a group of scholars who were there on a trip.

Another step. Thoughts dancing through her brain, tearing down the calm demeanor she put on this morning.

Step. Step. Step. Passing by a couple giggling and pointing at the exhibitions.

Stop.

The tapestry was beautifully crafted, the threads closing into each other smoothly. The green of it swallowed her whole and her eyes drank in the scene woven on it. Two figures dancing. There he was again, ebony hair and green, shining eyes. She cursed her weak memory. Her voice had a mind of its own, speaking through the haziness of it all and drawing conclusions. "That is one marvelous piece of work."

"It is."

If you were to ask her if she recognized the voice from besides her, she would have answered in a heartbeat that yes, she did. It was familiar to her. But she wouldn't know from here. Maybe from a dream. Or from childhood, some faces and voices are never really forgotten.

Ever so slowly, Y/N turned her head, to put a face to a voice. It was him. Pitch black, shiny locks cascading down his shoulders, vivid eyes that could pierce through your soul. "You waited for me." she whispered.

He nodded, shyly putting his hands in his pockets. "I did. I just knew you would come."

The feeling that she had this conversation before was resurfacing once again, knuckling at the back of her mind. Her eyebrows furrowed. "Were you the one that sent me all that stuff?"

His eyes grew soft, catching the low light. "Yes. Did you like them?"

Y/N took a step back, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She brought her left hand to her forehead, the ring glittering in the light.

He noticed it. Of course he did. How could he not when his heart sped up just at the sight of it? "You're wearing my ring." he breathed.

She nervously laughed, avoiding his gaze. "It just felt right. It was a gift after all, wasn't it?'

"Indeed." His voice was like satin, like silk, like those textiles she loved to work with. Smooth, but tricky, rarely letting the sewing needle to strike through without any mistake. "Will you look at me?" he added eventually.

And she did, finally looking him in the eyes. And then she saw it all. The tavern they first danced in, the moment they met again in front of the tapestry. Slow dancing to Elvis Presley, his hand in hers. Kissing her knuckles. The "I love you"s. Waterloo. The photo booth. Fate bringing them together once again.

"I know you." she replied quietly. "I- I remember you. I know you, Loki. You came back for me. Every time."

Tears started gathering in the corner of their eyes. and Y/N took a step closer to him. "Please, forgive me. Forgive me for all the suffering I have ever caused you. I left you every time and I-"

His hand took hers, gently, like a feather falling to the ground. "Please, don't say that, darling. It was not your fault. It never was. It was something beyond your power. Or mine, for that matter."

A tear slipped from her eye and her trembling, free hand took hold of the photos from her pocket. "I remember this day too. I was wearing my red scarf and you were wearing your green one. And it was chilly. And I dragged you to this photograph booth from the corner of some street. And you humoured me."

Loki's thumb dried her tears, caressing her skin lightly. "You said that you'd remember me in your next life if I show you these photos."

A smile broke through and she nodded. "I did."

He let his forehead fall against hers. "You did."

"Never let me go, Loki."

"Never, darling. You have my heart 'till the end of time."

Bonus:

"Let them be happy, Odin. At least this time." Frigga's voice echoed throughout the whole throne room.

"I can't stop time and fate from doing their job, but I can slow them down. Even if it means a few more minutes to spare."

The end.

•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: there it is! The grand finale! I hope you enjoyed this little journey. I know I did. This story holds a special place in my heart and sharing it with you had been amazing. Thank you.

The ending is kinda open, so if you have any theories or thoughts on it, I'd love to hear them :)

Also, I'll post some visuals aka some edits for this series so keep your eyes peeled for that!

Please let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list by commenting under this post or by sending me an ask!

Main tag list: : @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead

Series tag list: @mischief2sarawr @mochie85 @strrvnge @salempoe @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @123forgottherest @glitterylokislut @lokidbadguy @highkeysimpingforloki @bored-as-hell-666 @french-vanilla-in-the-clouds

[kalsiferdraws]

The Deadlights: Many Reasons

Trigger Warning: Audrie... if you read the other chapter with her, you know what I mean. Homophobic language, cursing, fighting

Bill couldn't go to the diner, he knew that. Not until he cleared things up with the Audrie situation. Especially once he saw Richie and Eddie at the exit. Richie looked so defeated, and Eddie could've been mistaken for a train with how much smoke was coming from his ears.

"You guys ok?" Bill asked, genuinely worried. The feeling only increased when Richie kept his mouth shut and looked down even more than he already was. Eddie, however, glared at Bill with such venom in his eyes, Bill thought he was turning into a snake. Bill took a deep breath, letting out a defeated sigh. "What did she do?" He asked.

Eddie was about to snap his head off, before Bill saw Richie grab his hand, rubbing the knuckles gently. Bill totally could see what Stan meant about these two. Even best friends aren't that close. Best friends don't make each other blush as hard as Eddie was. Nor with the amount of yearning love Richie's face was showing.

"She's got some bite to her is all," Richie shrugged. The moment he and Bill looked at one another, that yearning love faded, only to be replaced by protective 'I'll still punch you' Richie. Bill felt his body tense up, making him swallow nervously. "Considering you had a little pep in your step, I take it the talk with Stan went well?"

Bill thought got a moment, before nodding, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. "And you know why I hit you?" Richie asked. Bill dropped his shoulders and nodded again. "Well then," Richie stretched and yawned. "I'm gonna go get some big, fat pancakes in my stomach."

Eddie was about to say something again before he was caught off guard. Richie had brought Eddie's hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles gently, their eyes locked on each other. Bill watched both of them turn red, thinking there was no way they didn't know each other's feelings. "Good luck Big Bill," Richie said, before pulling Eddie, hand and hand to the diner.

Bill couldn't help but roll his eyes, smiling on how clueless his friends were. It was sweet to see though. He walked out of the venue, looking the opposite direction of the diner and taking a deep breath. He had to confront Audrie. Today.

The walk to her house wasn't long. But Bill couldn't seem to get out of his own head. He was trying to pinpoint pros and cons of being with Audrie vs Stan. Even though honestly, there wasn't much to compare. Stan knew him, his interests, his quirks. Everything. Audrie never seemed to want to learn them. She still would get mad if Bill's stutter decided to rear it's ugly head. Stan however was patient, let him finish his sentence with no interruptions, no complaining. He was kind, Audrie was unpleasant, on the best of days.

Bill didn't even like her for the most part. She was convenient. He had always heard about guys his age dating. Hell guys younger than him were dating. She when she asked, he just thought it was something he had to say yes to. But when the other losers stated that none of them were dating. Bill felt confused, trapped and a little tricked?

Audrie did have some redeeming qualities, at least he thought she did. She like the same fast food, and some of the same music. She seemed to like the Deadlights. But she liked them a little too much. He remembered she had tried to flirt with Stan once, making Bill's blood boil. He didn't really understand why at the time. But it was starting to form in his mind. Especially cause it was only when she flirted with Stan.

Sure, her flirting with Richie and Mike got to him. But only cause it was highly annoying. It made them uncomfortable and that was enough to tick Bill off. When she had made a snipe at Ben, was the only time he was actually able to let that annoyance out. Covering her mouth to shut her up. That was his best solution at the time.

When Bill knocked on Audrie's front door, he clenched his fist back into his pocket quickly. He wanted this to be quick, at least so he could give Stan the answer he deserved. He couldn't help but kick some leaves on the ground as he waited. He took in a sharp breath as the door opened.

Audrie was currently hopping on one foot, her other foot noticeably red. Bill tried to tell her. He looked from her foot to her eyes. "I don't want to hear it, get in," she demanded, rolling her eyes. Bill wanted to stay outside. He always felt out of place in her house. She flipped her hair, turning away from the door, walking off.

Bill sighed, stepping in. Houses were always weird from him. This one wasn't broken down, nor did his have a seemingly evil smile from the window and doors. But it wasn't welcoming. It was cold, almost like it lacked colour inside it. Guess it had to match its owner.

"You sure took your time," he heard Audrie say, the sound of glasses clinking around. "Is 'his majesty' still high or something?"

"Stan doesn't get high Audrie," Bill said sternly. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her with his eyebrows pinched. "I told you that."

"You can't seriously believe that," she groaned, pouring some, what Bill could only guess, juice into the glass. "You saw how red his eyes were."

"There are more things that make people's eyes red other than getting high," he snapped back again. "He was crying." She leaned against the counter, a small smile in the corner of her mouth.

"Oh did he get too emotional about his performance?" She asked. Her tone was teasing, like she couldn't understand. Bill had to bite back his response. He was already upset, but he needed to calm down. "Maybe the little twink can help relieve him," her voice was low as she took a sip. But Bill heard. Every word.

His hands were shaking in his pocket. "Audrie," he started. She looked at him, but didn't look guilty or even sorry for what she said. "I have told you, my friends aren't your verbal punching bags. You got a problem with them, you got a problem with me." She hummed and put her juice down, flipping her hair.

"I do actually," she looked like she was looking down at Bill, like she was superior. "You have too many fags for friends. Not to mention porky, and a little slut that think she's 'one of the boys'. The only redeeming thing is two of the three band members in your group are actually cute." She ended her sentence with a wicked smile, like she was waiting for Bill to admit she was right. Defeat.

If she had been ranting about him, he'd shrug it off. But it wasn't about him. It was about the people he cares most about in this entire world. His found family, his best friends, his ride or dies. HIS group. Defeat? That was reserved for her.

"Listen to me," he walked towards her. "Ben isn't fat, he's slimming down and bulking up. He wears sweaters and hoodies because people like you make him feel shitty about it." He was close to her, still gripping hands. He may have to look up at her, but that meant nothing. "Beverly is not a slut. She is one of the boys. She is smart and funny. She pulls better jokes on us, than Richie. She actually cares for us, like any friend would."

"But she-"

"And!" She was not cutting him off this time. "As for Richie and Mike, here's a kicker, they can't stand you! They're nice cause they're part of a band, they don't want your big mouth, going around and ruining them. But believe me, every time you rub your sad excuse for a chest onto them they want to run out of the room!"

"Excuse me? My chest isn't-"

"And here's another thing for that empty head of yours to process!" He was jabbing his finger into her shoulder. "As for all those 'fags', I'm one too!" Her eyes widened, which Bill couldn't really understand why until his words replayed in his head.

"You're... You... I fucking knew it!" She shouted back. Bill raised an eyebrow to her before he felt her hand slap his face, hard. His cheeks were really going to bruise tonight. "You like that Stan guy right?! Does he get your rocks off? Did you show him a good time alone in that room?!"

Bill held his cheek, glaring at her. "We just fucking talked!"

"Oh, I'm sure!" She pushed him back, knocking him against the table. "You lying, cheating, short, pathetic man!" Bill was in the door frame again when she tried to swing at him again, making him stumble back, looking up at her. She stood over him, triggering a buried fear inside of him. Like he was in danger of being... eaten?

"I'm n-n-n" Of course he stutters now. He could hear her laughing start. It sent a shiver up his body, goosebumps spreading across his skin. "I'm not!" He pushed out.

She got on all fours, crawling to him as he crawled away. "Youre such a fucking loser," she laughed. She grabbed his thich, pushing it against the ground, and she crawled on top of him. "Not so high and mi-OW!" Bill had used his free leg to kicked her off.

He was going off reflex now, everything inside him screaming 'get out of the house'. He didn't want to question where this fear came from. He just knew it would get him away from her. "I'm d-d-done Aud-d-d"

"You can't even fucking say it you coward!" She snapped, rubbing her shoulder that he kicked. "You want to go be with your little fling? Fine! I hope the aids will be slow and painful for you fucking both! And I won't be there to take care of you!" She spat at him, hitting his jeans.

Bill didn't even respond, his instincts were making him bolt out the house. Running like it was going to collapse over him. Sink into a hole and disappear. And he wasn't about to be caught in it.

When he did break free of the front door, he looked back. It was still there, still standing, still unwelcoming. But at least he wasn't inside it anymore. His heart was pounding away, almost making it hard to breathe. It was just Audrie but he felt like he just escaped death. He wasn't sure how he knew that feeling, and it confused him more than anything.

His thoughts were scrambled until he swore he heard Stan's voice. *It's ok Bill,* it was clear as day, making Bill look around. Stan wasn't with him, he was most likely at the diner. Where was his voice coming from. *I'll meet you there.* There it was again. A feeling of hands on his back pushing him, caused him to start walking towards the diner, confusing him more. *I swear Bill.* Bill felt a weird feeling in his stomach. Stan's voice wasn't sad, but it was just like they were talking normally.

Still, he ran to that diner.

[greyhound-with-a-mega-wizard-hat]

The Necromancer and the Martyr: The Past

(Part 4 of The Necromancer and the Martyr)

horn led Rose through the forest, her armour juxtaposed the calm surroundings. The trees were densely packed and thick, and would have been foreboding, had it not had been for Thorn's demeanor, confident and purposeful.

Even now, after all this time apart, Rose still felt comforted by Thorn, as if his body knew it was safe with her around, she would protect him always. And he in turn would give everything to her.

Eventually, Thorn found a clearing, and started gathering logs for a fire. Once they were in position, Rose leaned forwards and touched them, causing them to burst into flames. He and Thorn sat opposite each other on the larger logs Thorn gathered. Thorn stared into the fire, mesmerised by the dancing flames. They lit her face in hues of red and yellow, giving her a sad and serious expression.

"You wanted to know how I feel?" Thorn asked, her voice solemn and low, not looking up from the flames. Rose nodded, nervous at what she would say.

"I think I need to start from the beginning. So that you truly appreciate how different I feel and why. So get comfy." Thorn slid off the log to sit directly on the ground, still staring intently at the fire.

"Destiny hurts. Really badly. It hurts in your bones, makes them heavy and stiff. I've been in pain my whole life. Ever since I was a little girl, I knew what it was. My destiny I mean. I was born a murderer. My purpose was to murder and slaughter my way into a better world."

Thorn tore her eyes from the fire and started intensely at Rose.

"Can you imagine what that's like? To know from birth that you were born to kill. No joy or beauty destined, no love or friendship. I spent my childhood training, and learning. Because it was my destiny to murder the Pyngitian Queen and any Pyngites that stood in my way."

"Murder!?" Spluttered Rose. "It's hardly murder to kill an oppressive tyrant! The queen of a species of beasts that delights in the massacre of humanity! A species that we were at war with for centuries until you stopped it and brought them to their knees! You were born to save us! You did save us!" Rose's insides squirmed, longing to be free. His bones and organs rearranged themselves beneath his skin and he was grateful that Thorn could not see his insides.

"Rose! You don't understand..." Thorn sighed "... the Pyngites weren't monsters. The Queen was a bad person sure, but not a monster. She was no different than any human tyrant. My destiny was to hurt an entire civilization, bring it to its knees by killing it's ruler. A fate that I prepared for for 30 years!" Thorn lent back against the log, and closed her eyes in deep thought.

"I spent my whole life carrying that weight. You said it yourself, I was supposed to be the 'saviour' and protect humanity from the Pyngitian expansion and end the war. Even if I dreaded my destiny, everyone else exalted it. Including you. I love you Rose, you're the only friend I've ever had. But it always pained me how much you delighted in my fate. I know Pyngites hurt you, but that doesn't mean they deserved to be slaughtered."

"I'm so sorry Thorn, I never thought of it that way. I didn't realise you resented your destiny." Rose whispered. He made his way around the fire and sat next to Thorn.

Thorn took Rose's hand in hers, and looked him in the eye. "It's not your fault Rose. It's understandable. And I did try to get on board with my fate, I wanted to end the war, I didn't mind killing the Queen. But I hated the fact that I had to kill innocents. Soldiers drafted who didn't have any choice, children defending their homes from our invading forces. We cut them down mercilessly. I cut them down mercilessly.

When we marched on Pyng, you stayed at the rear, using your magic to heal the wounded. I was at the front. My hands were stained with blood. Is it any wonder I was miserable? I never laughed, never smiled. I didn't see any reason to. I was a monster."

"And then it happened. I died. I remember the final battle so vividly. I remember every soldier. How young they were. And then the Queen, so fierce in battle. I remember the sorrow when I separated her head from her body. And the relief I felt when I saw my own heart on the end of her sword, taken at the last second. Death was a relief, I knew I would never have to fight again."

Rose cried. How could he not have realised his friend was miserable?Not stoic. Not a tough, determined warrior. A wounded child, so weighed down by the world, by people like him, she had never felt true joy.

Disgust welled up within Rose. He had almost rejected Thorn for looking happy. Joy disfigured her. He was a bad friend.

"I'm so sorry Thorn. I'm so sorry. If I'd have known.. I would have... I made it worse.. I hurt you... I'm sorry." Rose sobbed uncontrollably.

Thorn pressed her face into Rose's shoulder, tears streaming from her eyes.

"I would never have let you see it Rose. I hid this from you. I had no tolerance for anyone's weakness. Not even my own. It's not your fault, not really. It's not mine either. It is no one's. I love you." Thorn pulled back to look into Rose's eyes, their faces were so close. This was the closes she had ever been to another person. Rose could hear Thorn's heart racing with emotion, feel her breath on his skin. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently.

"I wasn't there for you before. I am now. It will be different now" He reassured Thorn.

"That's just it," said Thorn, "I'm not how I was before. Being dead, it gave me a new perspective. I don't really remember, I wasn't in a place. I didn't even exist. It's like I was everything, the trees, the wind, the soil, the starts. It felt like being clean for the first time, not happy, but deeper than that. And now I exist again and the Queen is dead. My bones feel light and free. I feel light and free. Like my soul feels clean and new. No dark destiny to muddy it"

"You're free?" Rose whispered.

"Yes." Thorn replied, pulling away from Rose and sitting next to him. "And I can't wait to find out who I really am, with no destiny to control me."

As the fire burnt low, Thorn removed her armour lay down to sleep on the ground. The one benefit of being a soldier by trade, Rose mused. He lay down too, but knew he would not actually sleep. He looked up at the canopy, and felt hope deep in his heart. Thorn was still herself. Not come back wrong, not an imposter. Perhaps she was even better than before.

[Part 3]

[Part 5]

[wandaluvstacos]

THE ONLY SECONDS THAT MATTER

CHAPTER SIXTEEN IS UP!

Genre: Contemporary Romance Rating: 18+

Includes: Extensive horse nerdery + cowboys, mxm romance (1 trans + 1 cis), some discussion child abuse, some instances of trans/homophobia (it is rural Oklahoma, y'all), depression, occasional sex scene (but it’s a slow burn for sure)

Victor Ortiz-Bennett had some reservations about moving to Oklahoma, but his late aunt willed him a 70-acre horse farm, and he decides to fulfill his dream of running and operating his own training facility. Victor’s been around the reining horse show circuit for a while, and he’s ready to settle down, travel less, and spend more time with the horses he loves and away from the people he can do without. That is, until he picks up a horse at an auction with a bucking problem he can’t fix, and he has to take her to the one guy who can ride anything– Johnny Stearns, a retired professional rodeo rider.

Johnny Stearns is loud, chatty, eccentric, and fears nothing, exactly Victor’s opposite. However, Victor finds himself sinking into an odd friendship with this new foul-mouthed cowboy without a filter, diving deeper into the mess that is Johnny’s life until there’s no way to extract himself from it. Johnny may talk a tough game, but there’s more to him than he’ll let most people see. Victor knows getting in too deep will mean a rough ride, but if there’s anything Johnny’s taught him, it’s how to stay in the saddle.

Excerpt:

As he laid in his living quarters at the showgrounds in Joplin one night, Victor looked up Johnny Stearns rodeo on YouTube. The results included a slew of clips from Johnny’s professional career, including a few interviews conducted afterward. One of the interviewers was a pretty slim blonde woman with a cowboy hat, and Johnny was unerringly charming, so much so that she seemed open to flirting a bit on camera. It made Victor sick to watch, so he moved onto another clip, this time of younger Johnny climbing into the shoot with his heavily fringed chaps, protective vest, and pale cowboy hat. When the shoot opened, out exploded a paint draft-type horse, probably at least 1200 pounds of rage. Victor found himself holding his breath as he watched, and he only released it when the horse dumped Johnny and Johnny hauled himself to his feet without hesitation. When he saw his score, the camera caught his huge gap-toothed smile and clenched fist of victory. Apparently this was the ride that rocketed him into notoriety on the professional circuit.

The most popular clip was the one Victor avoided until he could no longer resist. This was the recording of the ride that ended Johnny’s career, and if Victor had better self-control, he would have avoided it altogether. But he had to tap it. The clip started as they all did, with Johnny preparing himself in a shoot as the horse beneath him twitched and shifted nervously. Then the shoot flew open, and out the horse leapt, this one a huge gray with feet the size of plates and a neck and face obscured by a tangled, unkempt mane. The ride lasted all of three seconds, because the horse twisted and bucked to one side with supernatural speed, unseating Johnny just before lashing out with its rear legs and catching Johnny’s face on its way down to the ground. The horse took off upon landing, bucking with abandon. Meanwhile, Johnny was spread eagle in the dirt, and when he lifted his head, his whole face was dripping with blood. He staggered to his feet, then immediately fell to his knees, holding his gushing head with a hand. The medical team rushed to him, which seemed to be the time he passed out, because he didn’t move at all after that.

Victor turned off his phone and set it aside, gut twisting. He shouldn’t have watched it. If he’d seen it without knowing how it ended, he would have thought he witnessed someone’s death. Johnny mentioned having to learn to walk again. It was incredible and stupid that he was still willing to climb onto a horse’s back. Clearly he was a man who didn’t know how to quit. How could he be so stubbornly committed to this thing that nearly got him killed, but any attempt at a life with Victor was too much struggle? How could the danger of dating Victor compare to the danger of riding a feral horse that could kill you with one kick?

He looked at Johnny’s last text to him, which was just a notification that he was bringing Taylor by. Victor didn’t have many photos of him, let alone photos of them together. His words were most of what he had. They bounced around his skull like a song he could only half-remember. He wrote out a text knowing he wouldn’t send it.

Watched some clips of your rides on YouTube. I don’t know why you would voluntarily do that to yourself, but there are a lot of things I wish I knew better about you. I wish… Victor paused, tongue pressed between his lips. What the hell. He wasn’t going to send it anyway. I wish you cared about me as much as I care about you.

With a sigh, Victor added the text to his drafts and decided to go to sleep. He had a long day tomorrow.

[alrightberries]

Hi! So like what if Levi & F!Reader are like cuddling, and Levi over slept (maybe misses a meetings?) and Eren and his squad have to go find him and they see Reader and Levi all cuddly and stuffs. AND THEN Levi become super pissed bc they went into his quarters without permission and blah blah blah (you can decide the rest lolll) basically crack, fluff and humor lol. Please& thank uuu

the short end of the stick

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 3.3k

❈ summary: In which the 104th cadets were not prepared to find out that the terrifying and ever-intimidating Captain Levi... is a little spoon.

❈ trigger warnings: implied sex. brief mentions of blood and death. profanity

a/n: i made the reader gender neutral, hope y’all don’t mind. i had too much fun writing this and got kinda carried away. this is my first request ever and i’m glad that i finished it. enjoy!

Eren was shaking.

Sweat dripped down his forehead and his knuckles turned white from how hard he was clenching his fists, nails piercing his skin so harshly he swore it would draw blood. His heart angrily pumped inside his chest, every beat so strong he nearly anticipated for it to jump out of his ribcage at any given moment.

Fear.

He felt fear.

He puts a name to the feeling and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ears ringing, lungs breathing rapidly as he tries to steady his fear-induced heart. He was hyperventilating. His eyebrows crease from his anxiousness and he feels his knees weaken, daring to give out beneath him. Was he actually shaking right now? He couldn’t even tell.

Vulnerable.

He felt vulnerable.

Eren had seen many horrors throughout his short lifetime. He saw the colossal titan rear its ugly head over Wall Maria as its foot smashed into the wall’s gates, debris flying throughout the district as a boulder crushed his home with his mother still inside. He saw his mother get snapped in half and eaten by a titan right before his very eyes at a tender age as he sat by and could do nothing but watch.

He was orphaned. Forced to grow up too soon, too fast just so he could say he survived. His entire district was left homeless, forced to become refugees as titans rampaged throughout the outer walls, forced plow the fields to combat the famine and hunger, forced to have 250,000 people go on what was essentually a suicide mission to appease the growing population.

He trained in the military. He trained for three gruesome years and had his physical and mental psyche crushed into dust beneath the boots of the commanding officer, only to be thrown into a battle—completely unprepared— with the titans once more before he could even graduate.

He saw his friends, his family, his brothers and sisters in arms get eaten. Killed. Murdered. Swatted away like flies by the very beasts he swore he’d kill.

And yet, nothing could prepare him for this.

Nothing could prepare him for the blood-pumping, adrenaline-induced terror at the mere thought of having to carry out his mission.

Nothing could prepare him for having to wake up Captain Levi from his nap.

Jean groaned. “Dammit, just fucking do it already.”

Eren is snapped out of his reverie, suddenly reminded that he wasn’t alone. His fellow soldiers stood behind him.

“Well if you’re so brave then why don’t you do it, horse-face?” He grits back, turning around and clenching his fists at his side.

He glimpses around the hallway and his eyes loom over his teammates’ amused faces, each painted with a shit-eating grin. Everyone was relieved that they weren’t the ones tagged with waking up the Captain from his nap.

Rumor around the base is, the last person from his original squadron (may they rest in peace) who had to wake up Captain Levi almost had his ear sliced off. Levi wasn’t even carrying any gear or anywhere near a knife.

One look at Mikasa told Eren that even she was glad she didn’t get picked for this task, and he shudders at the thought of being the poor bastard who had to lose his ear just so the Captain wouldn’t be late for his meeting. He quite liked having both of his ears attached to his head, thank you very much.

“It’s your task.”

“Yeah but why is it my task?!”

“Because you drew the short end of the stick, genius.” Jean replies easily.

Oh. Right.

“There has to be something we can do! Another plan. One that doesn’t involve waking up Captain Levi.” His eyes are pleading as he looks at his fellow soldiers, yet none of them seem willing to switch places with him.

Dammit. They were really going to make him work for it.

All his dignity is thrown out the window as Eren quickly gets on his knees and starts begging his friends, the shit-eating grins on their faces turning into wicked smiles as they watch him beg for mercy.

“Mikasa? What about you? Are you seriously going to let them send me to my death?” He asks, but Mikasa simply turns her head the other way as she speaks.

“He won’t kill you. Just sever your ear.”

Eren’s eye twitches.

She looks at him once more. “I’ll pick up your ear and ask the medical unit to sew it back on you. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

As proof, she holds up a glass jar and some tweezers. She had gloves on her hands.

God, he was going to kill his teammates.

Jean, apparently fed up with Eren’s incessant whining, marches towards him and grabs him by the collar, forcing him to stand up.

“Yeager, you trained in the military for three years. You’re a goddam titan shifter. You got kidnapped and held hostage. Three times. Waking up a growth-stunted man won’t be the last of you.”

Jean’s words are reassuring but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. No, his eyes are still amused. Very amused.

Scratch that, he wasn’t going to kill all his comrades. Just Jean. Jean and his extremely punchable horse-face.

Before he could even reply, Eren is shoved inside the Captain’s office with a quick “Off you go!” and the door is quickly shut behind him.

Fear.

This was truly fear.

Captain Levi’s office is empty, Eren notices. It’s spotless as always and tall shelves line every wall, each filled to the brim with books and documents. A lone door sits at the far right wall.

The Captain’s bedroom.

Slowly, with bathed breaths, he forces his legs to walk closer to the door that held his fate. Briefly, Eren thinks about getting some protective ear covers (just in case) but he quickly shoves that idea aside when he realizes that Jean and Conny were likely blocking the door from the outside.

That, and he concludes that the Captain would just break another part of his body. Maybe his hands. He didn’t need ears for handling ODM gear but he did need his hands.

“Captain?” Eren’s voice is weak but clear as he knocks on the door. “Captain Levi, you’re late for your meeting.”

He holds his breath for a few seconds, and there’s no response. He tries once more.

“Captain,” he repeats, louder this time. “Captain, you really need to wake up. Commander Erwin says your attendance is required for the meeting to start.”

But there’s still no response.

His hands are shaky and he’s still extremely nervous, but he knew Captain Levi’s presence was urgent to the meeting. Classified, Commander Erwin had said when he asked what it was about. 

The third time Eren repeats his fruitless endeavors, he realizes that Captain Levi really wasn’t waking up any time soon.

He runs back to the door he came in from.

“Let me out!” He yells, hands throttling the doorknob as he tries to pull the door open but just as he suspected, Jean and Conny are sealing the exit and pulling at the doorknob as well.

“Let me out, dammit! Captain Levi won’t wake up, I don’t wanna die— just let me out!”

His feet are pressed up against the wall at this point and he manages to yank the door open by a few mere inches. A quick glimpse outside confirms his worse fears: all his friends are holding onto the doorknob as well, trying to keep the door closed. Even Mikasa.

He’d never felt so betrayed.

“You got this Eren!” His eyes drift to the back of the group where Sasha was smiling at him with a cheeky grin. “I’m sure the Captain won’t hurt you too badly when you wake him up.”

“No, fuck that! He’ll murder me and say it was because I went ape shit in titan form. He won’t even get arrested!”

It was when he made eye contact with Mikasa when he realized what true betrayal felt like.

“Good luck, Eren.” “No, don’t—!” Mikasa yanks the door close with one strong pull and he falls to the floor, on his ass.

The room is quite once more (save for the cheeky giggles on the other side of the door) and Eren brushes himself off as he stands up. He eyes the door to the Captain’s bedroom and he breathes in deeply when he comes to terms with what he has to do to wake the Captain from his deep slumber. He has to go inside.

He finds himself in front of the door once again, and this time his knocks are a little louder, a little more unsure, as he speaks. “Captain? I don’t think you’re waking up soon. I’m coming in.”

Slowly, he tells himself. Slowly.

Eren wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door to Captain Levi’s quarters. Maybe a torture chamber. Maybe swords and skeletons on the wall. Maybe a book on How To Murder With One Glare on a coffee table. He didn’t know.

But oddly, he thinks as he glances around, the Captain’s bedroom is... normal. The room’s dark, with its curtains drawn and the candles unlit. Tall shelves holding an impressive collection of books still line a portion of the walls. A bed is pressed up against the wall opposite the door, and there are two lumps underneath the blankets—

Wait.

Two lumps.

Two.

Captain Levi’s in bed with someone?

“Captain Levi,” Eren quietly calls out. He wonders who the hell managed to catch the Captain’s attention... or if someone even caught his attention at all. Captain Levi could just be hugging a pillow, he reasons. But Eren’s curiosity overtakes his fears and his legs start to walk closer towards the bed. “Captain?”

The blanket was pulled over the two sleeping lumps, and Eren gently tugs it down to reveal their faces.

No way.

No fucking way.

Briefly, Eren is speechless. His words get caught in his throat, hand frozen mid-air as he marvels at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier cuddled up within the arms of his lover. His normally stoic face is gone, replaced by relaxed eyes and a slightly ajar mouth, one cheek puffed up as it’s squished into his lover’s chest and his head is nuzzled into the crook of their neck. His arms disappear underneath the blankets, but judging by the fact that his lover’s arms were around him, Eren surmised that the Captain’s arms were most likely wrapped around his lover as well.

He looked innocent— cute, almost, and if Eren didn’t have to train under him everyday he might have actually believed that the Captain’s innocent sleeping face could be taken at face value.

Eren recognizes you, as well. He’s seen you around the base with your own squadron, an elite soldier with your own team of other elite soldiers. You’re known around the base as the squad leader who works their team to the ground, training your members so hard that they genuinely considered going to Captain Levi for comfort. But it wasn’t for naught, of course. Your squad’s survived longer than Captain Levi’s (again, may they rest in peace), barely making it out complete when the fiasco with the Female Titan occurred.

“Oi, Eren.” A voice behind him speaks, and Eren is briefly caught off guard as he turns around and makes eye contact with his comrades. Most likely, they got impatient with waiting for him and decided to see if he’d been murdered already.

Great, so now they decide they weren’t scared of going inside the Captain’s room.

“What’s taking so long?” Jean asks.

Eren is still speechless, opting to instead shakily point his finger towards the bed where Levi lay wrapped in your arms.

“H-he’s... he’s—“ “He’s what?”

He gulps and sighs deeply, speaking out so quietly his friends almost didn’t hear, speaking out in a mere shaky whisper as he utters his words.

“He’s a little spoon.”

Chaos is what Eren would use to describe what happened next. His comrades immediately jumped to stand next to him and take a look at the sight on bed, crowding around them as if they were a soap opera.

“Oh my god, he looks so...” Sasha starts in awe, hands on her cheeks and stars in her eyes but unsure how to finish her words.

Eren nods his head, understanding her speechlessness. “Innocent.”

Silently, his friends nod as well. But he couldn’t just stand here and gawk at Captain Levi’s sleeping form, he came here with a mission. “We need to wake him up. He’s already really late.” He says, more to himself than to his friends. He doesn’t wait for his comrades to exit the room as he gently places a hand on the Captain’s shoulders to shake him awake.

“Captain Levi—“

Eren learns his mistake too late as Levi’s eyes immediately snap open, hand clamping down on Eren’s and twisting it behind his back to disarm him.

“Eren!” Mikasa yells behind him, making a move to free him from Levi’s iron clad grip. From the corner of his eyes, Eren sees the person lying down next to Levi quickly sit up and throw something silver, flying past his comrades and towards Mikasa’s head, embedding itself deep within the wood next to her face.

Eren stares at his friends, all silent, frozen with fear, and rooted to their spots as their mouths hang open.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Levi sneers, pushing down on Eren’s arm.

“C-captain, you’re late for the—“ “Holy shit, we’re late for the meeting.” You cut in, eyes wide in realization.

The Captain briefly glimpses at you and clicks his tongue as he releases Eren from his grip, the young soldier immediately slumping to the ground in relief. His arms and legs felt like jello and he could already feel himself melting into the wooden floor.

“Can someone explain to me why you brats thought it would be a good idea to enter my private quarters?” Levi glares. “Without my permission?”

Oh shit. They didn’t think this through.

A cold shiver runs down the soldier’s spines as they unanimously realize their mistake, something that Eren undoubtedly would’ve felt as well if he wasn’t too busy gawking at the realization that Captain Levi was shirtless (probably naked underneath the sheets), and you were shirtless as well (also probably naked underneath the sheets).

Levi catches Eren’s eyes staring at you, and he silently pulls the blanket over your chest and up to your collarbones without breaking his glare at the cadets.

Fuck. Eren thinks, eyes snapping to the ground as a blush creeps up his neck. Captain Levi’s definitely going to cut off both my ears now.

Conny, apparently already cracking under the pressure, flails his arms and yells as he tries to make a run for the door. Before anyone could even blink, another silver blur whizzes through the air, stabbing the wood directly in front of Conny as he freezes.

It was a knife. A fucking butter knife. Why the hell the Captain and his lover keep a butterknife next to them on the bed is something Eren doesn’t want to know.

“Since none of you lot have tongues,” Levi speaks. He’s not going to get an explanation soon. “We’ll discuss punishment later. For now,” He stands up, grabbing a still flustered Eren by the collar and dragging him towards the door, pushing out the rest of the team as well.

Eren doesn’t have time to be relieved about the fact that Captain Levi was not, for a fact, naked and was wearing black boxers. He was too busy getting pushed out the Captain’s bedroom and dragged through the office before finally getting thrown out into the hallway.

“For now, you leave me alone. I have a meeting to attend to.”

Levi slams the door shut at his awestruck soldiers, breathing in a frustrated sigh as he rests his hand on his forehead. He was getting a headache. He feels arms wrap around him from behind, hands resting on his chest. He sighs once more, this time in content, as he leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you kiss neck. “Thought you said you locked the door.”

“I did.” He turns around, still in your arms, and gently places his hands on your face as he kisses your nose. “Someone must’ve accidentally unlocked it when they were trying to grab onto something. Y’know, when they were getting fucked from behind.”

You chuckle. “Well, I’m sure that someone probably got sweet talked into getting fucked against the door.”

You break away from his arms after giving him a kiss, making your way back inside Levi’s bedroom, no doubt to get dressed for the meeting.

He stares at you as you walk, still naked and looking gorgeous. His face may be stoic but his heart was leaping, the gold ring on your left hand that matched his own glimmering in the light.

Your head peaks out from behind his bedroom door. “Round two before the meeting?” You ask cheekily.

Levi rolls his eyes as he makes his way to the bedroom as well, patting your bum as he passes by. “No. We’re already late.”

Eren clutches the pillow to his head, exhausted from the laps he’d done. He glances around the room, eyeing the tired faces of his comrades.

As punishment for invading your privacy, Captain Levi assigned them laps around the base until sundown plus two weeks of stable duty. As punishment for invading his privacy, Captain Levi deemed them unworthy of having their own private space and made the entire squadron bunk together in the small room beside his own. 

Well, the entire squadron except for the Captain himself, at least.

Eren was pretty sure the room they were made to sleep in indefinitely was supposed to be a supply closet of some kind, but it fitted enough bunk beds for the entire team and was deemed a worthy location to carry out the rest of their punishment.

“How long do we have to sleep here?” Sasha asked dreadfully, hands covering her ears in attempts to block out the noises coming from the other room. The sound of a squeaky mattress and a wooden bed slamming against the adjacent wall continued.

“Until we learn our lesson,” Jean quotes the Captain. He himself looked extremely tired but he wasn’t trying to cover his ears like the rest of them were, undoubtedly because he’d already given up on getting a good night’s rest if the bags underneath his eyes were anything to go by.

“I don’t even care how long we have to sleep here anymore.” Conny interjects tiredly. “I just want to know when they’ll ever stop.”

As if to prove his point, a moan is heard through the walls. The soldiers flinch, still not accustomed to the sound. Mikasa silently runs her hands through Eren’s hair to calm him down.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Jean whispers in horror. “How much stamina do those two have?”

Armin sighs, the bags under his eyes feeling heavier by the second. “They’re elite soldiers who’ve trained for years. They have more stamina than all of us combined.”

The whole room heaves out a collective groan, finally accepting that they weren’t getting any sleep tonight. 

In the other room, Captain Levi bangs his fist against the shared wall. “Oi,” he calls out. “Shut up, you brats. We can hear you.”

Levi thrusts his hips, eyes glancing down at your pleasure-struck face as he grinds into you more. The action causes you to throw your head back and let out a desperate moan, finger nails scratch down his back. He grabs your hands to pin them to the sides of your head, leaning down to whisper “Not too harsh, darling. We don’t want you leaving marks now, do we?” He continues his pace, the bed’s wooden frame slamming against the wall as he once again speaks to his soldiers.

“We have thin walls, y’know.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[nanaminokanojo]

[10:00 PM] Ryomen Sukuna

LOG 14 OF MY JUJUTSU KAISEN TIMESTAMP DRABBLES

CHARACTERS: Sukuna X You WORD COUNT: 1,202 GENRE: fluff | kinda smut? | kinda angst | salaryman Sukuna TRIGGER WARNING: nudity | some touching lol | profanity | possessiveness | unhealthy amounts of jealousy lol SPOILERS: n/a

collection masterlist

photo/fanart credits to @/Natsushio on Weibo

"Baby."

Sukuna knows you heard him. Still, you continued walking as if you didn't, going ahead of him about ten paces ahead, your posture and the overall attitude in your gait speaking volumes of your current mood. He easily kept up with you, placing an arm over your shoulder, but much to his surprise, you shrugged it off you and walked the remaining expanse of sidewalk towards your shared apartment. He just watched in annoyance as you walked into the lobby and got into the elevator before him.

"Trouble with your princess?" this nosy grandma, who lived at one of the units at the first floor, asked.

Sukuna just smiled awkwardly, bowing slightly as he passed her by on his way to the elevator. When he finally got into your unit, he found your coat lying on the hallway, picking it up only to see your jeans a few steps ahead then your shirt. He finally found you in the kitchen already wrapped in a robe which you didn't even bother tying up, agitatedly pouring yourself a glass of wine, the cerise liquid sloshing around the glass violently.

You were behaving rather out of character, making a mess out of your clothes when he knew just how much you hated it when he leaves his things scattered about. On top of that, you left the cutlery drawer open with the corkscrew you used on top of the counter, droplets of red wine littering the granite top. You just passed him by without saying anything, refusing to look at him on your way to your bedroom.

I see how it is, he thought, taking long strides to the direction you went. He eyed you sternly, having had enough of your attitude. "Y/N, what's going on?" he demanded.

You flinched visibly at the way he addressed you. He doesn't call you by your name unless he was dead serious about something. "It's nothing. Don't mind me."

"Woman, don't tell me it's nothing when –"

Before he could finish, you walked into the adjoining bathroom, turning on the tap to the tub to tune him out. You were evidently being passive-aggressive now, and he detested it when you did that.

"Just go back to your party. I'm sure everyone's wondering where you've gone," you told him, picking up your glass from the dresser top. "Especially Miss Hanako." You shot him a sardonic smile before taking a swig out of your wine, the way you said the woman’s name dripping with vitriol.

And then it hit him. You've been dishing out barb since you told him you wanted to leave the company party he was partly hosting for his department. You did so when the secretary to the president arrived and started chatting him up. He was now thinking your behavior thereafter had something to do with it. You were fine before that so it could only mean one thing.

He didn't know whether to laugh or what at the thought of it. When he decided to pursue you, he didn't have qualms about it even if you were a good six years younger than him. He knew how problematic it could get having an immature partner, but that's where you were different. You held yourself with such confidence, grace and equilibrium way beyond your age, you shared the same pragmatic mindset he had and you didn't seem to have a proclivity for drama like others your age. You hardly ever fought because of petty things and he loved that about you.

But then, you're still young and he didn't hold it against you that you're suddenly acting like a brat. If anything, he was happy about it because you were never ever jealous. It sometimes made him doubt how you felt about him when you yourself would be pointing at other chicks for him to look at while saying things like, "Baby, look at her ass. Damn, she's sexy." And now that the green-eyed monster is rearing its head to the surface, he couldn't say he didn't like it.

"What about her?" he asked cautiously, making you jump the hoops.

You sneered, the action very intimidating despite your angelic features. “Oh, I don’t know, Sukuna. You tell me. You seemed to be enjoying her company. Don’t stop at my expense.”

He leveled his expressions to you. “Well, she is something, isn’t she? Smart, too.”

“Yeah, you deserve each other,” you hissed, the anger flaring up in your eyes making him stir alive.

“But she’s married.”

“All the better!” Seeing through what he was doing, you turned towards the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He didn't hear you lock it so he followed suit.

"If you're jealous, just say so already!" he told you. He wanted to hear it out of your mouth.

"Why would I be jealous? She looks like a bad rip-off of 80s Brooke Shields!" you spat, confirming his thoughts. You climbed into the bathtub sulkily, eyes on the bubbly water.

Sukuna knew he shouldn't even be thrilled about the prospect of it. If you were jealous then that means you were kinda doubting him in terms of his loyalty to you, and he should not like that, but at the same time, you were also being possessive which you rarely do. He couldn't help it.

Loosening his tie, he began shedding his clothes off, stripping naked before you, revealing the tattooed expanse of his skin and his impressive musculature as he tossed one garment after the other.

"What are you doing?" you asked as he approached, the way you mumbled the words causing him to just sigh, feeing defeated at how endearing you looked hugging your knees to yourself. "I thought I told you to go back to your party."

He didn't say anything as he went into the tub, sitting opposite you, but it wasn't long before he was pulling you towards him, positioning you between his legs so your back was pressed against his hard chest. He then began planting hungry kisses on your neck, down to your shoulders, his large hands wandering all over your body, one already having found itself on your breasts while the other coaxed your head to turn towards him so he can kiss you, his movements urgent yet languid and gentle.

"I'm all yours," he breathed against your lips, grinning. "You know that, right?"

"I know." You shrugged, facing forward again. “I don’t like the way that witch was touching you though. And you were all smiles about it, too.” You smacked him on the thigh, eliciting that deep laughter you adored no matter how mad you were at him. “Don’t laugh! It’s not funny.”

“It kinda is.”

“If you even think for a second that anyone can have you, Ryomen Sukuna, you’re wrong.” You looked him in the eyes, your dark orbs boring into him while your hand touched the side of his face, your crimson-painted nails looking like claws against his cheek. “You’re mine.”

He wrapped his arm around you, kissing you on the temple before placing his chin on your shoulder. "Jealousy is ugly, baby," he whispered in your ear, "but I gotta say, you wear it so well."

-END-

Okay. Before I get another "untimely (and unsolicited, if I'm allowed to say) lecture" about the etymology of the word "Ryōmen (両面/りょう)" meaning "two-faced/two-sided" and not a surname or given name , let me say it now, I KNOW, but thanks anyway. Sukuna and I are neighbors, just 4 hours by train. Geez. However, I am using his whole name in literature form, so if I do switch it up and use it as a surname for him (cause heaven forbid, the Kamigami rain hell on me) it's all for fun and literary creativity. No need to get too pressed over it.

No more fighting on my comments to point this out @fushigummy @kenkinori XD

And I have nothing against the 1980s or Brooke Shields. *waves at her fans*

It's established. I love bathtub scenes although I detest the idea of stewing in my own filth. But yeah, look forward to more bathtub drabbles.

I say too many things. Bye.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20210603]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he���s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales.��

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[tennessoui]

18 obikin!! Amnesia fics are super fun 🍆

18. One of them wakes up with amnesia (Option A because two people sent in this prompt number and I liked both ideas I saw for it enough to not want to pick) this involves an Obi-Wan that got deaged as well as lost his memories so he's Phantom Menace Obi-Wan. no i will not be explaining. hand wavey drabble fic writing.

--

The man has not stopped staring, but something in his intense gaze makes Obi-Wan feel safe. Almost. Well. On edge, yes, but. Protected. He has the strange feeling that he’d rather be under this man’s stare than anywhere else in the entire galaxy.

But he knows he’s never seen this man before in his life, the same way that he knows he’s twenty-five and that Qui-Gon Jinn is his Master, that he’s a Jedi knight-in-training, that he hates teas with mint leaves in them, that he’ll never say no to a drink with Quinlan, that--well.

He supposes none of that stuff could be true anymore. Vokra Che, who’s a grown and certified healer master now, had told him what had happened. An older version of himself had touched something he wasn’t supposed to. The closest translation they could find to the runes on the object was that it would transform the user back to their most balanced state. Obi-Wan’s had, apparently, been at the age of twenty-five. He hadn’t recognized the name Anakin Skywalker. He had never been to Naboo.

He throws the rest of his drink back and waves to the bartender to pour him another. He’d gone straight here from the Halls of Healing. He’d had a shadow the entire way, but the man has yet to try to talk to him at all. It’s infuriating.

His Padawan braid swings into his field of vision for a second. He tosses it over his shoulder. He’d been told. Qui-Gon had died. Obi-Wan wants to not think about it at all.

There’s a brush of a Force presence that’s both familiar and completely foreign next to him. The man has finally moved to his side. Obi-Wan’s jaw ticks at his continued reticence, the way he’s observing him but not talking to him. It just simply won’t do, but Obi-Wan isn’t feeling his kindest. He doesn’t want whatever this man is offering him with his silent, dour stares and his suffocating Force signature that keeps trying to tangle itself with Obi-Wan’s own. It’s rude is what it is.

He waves down the bartender and orders a drink for the man. “If you got mint, put it in,” he tells the woman who raises an eyebrow but shrugs, one pair of her arms busy with the drink. When she gives it to him he slides it to the man next to him without even looking at him.

“What--” the man asks. “I don’t--”

“You do tonight,” Obi-Wan says bracingly, throwing back half of his own drink. “We’ve both just lost our Masters, haven’t we?”

The man beside him flinches as if Obi-Wan had skewered him with his lightsaber.

“You are him, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan lolls his head to the side to look at the man threw half-closed eyes. “My padawan.”

“Anakin,” the man says so quietly it’s almost lost to the noise of the bar. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, yeah.”

Obi-Wan takes a drink reflexively, humming in disbelief. “You don’t look like it,” he says consideringly. At Anakin’s confused look, he elaborates. “You don’t look like you could have ever been a Padawan.”

The man pulls himself up, face darkening at the perceived slight. It’s almost too easy to rile him up, but now that he has, Obi-Wan finds he has no interest in fighting this man. Quite the opposite, really. That’s...something. He can’t tell if that emotion comes from him now or the older version of him.

Either way, Obi-Wan has no desire to stand in the way of whatever storm this Anakin is building up in his head, so he turns to face him completely and pushes both hands into his blond hair, raking down the scalp gently before collecting the strands into a poor imitation of the Padawan ponytail. “That’s better, I suppose. The hair threw me off.” He lets go slowly, making sure to tug at one of the strands at the last second.

Anakin has a very strange look on his face, but he’s definitely not angry anymore. He’s even shielding much more tightly now. Obi-Wan smirks into his glass as he takes a sip. He definitely remembers that trick.

“Do you know who cut it?” he asks, catching sight of the end of his braid again. The drinks are going to his head much more quickly than he had intended. Must be all the trauma his body has gone through in the past few days. “My braid.”

“I.” Anakin stutters, caught off guard. “You did.”

Obi-Wan feels like laughing but also a bit like crying. There’s a terrifying emotion rearing its head in his chest. It threatens to swallow him whole. “Well, I suppose I never liked to stand on ceremony.”

“You cut your braid in the fresher and then called me in and braided mine,” Anakin says distantly, as if caught up in the memory. “You wouldn’t let me hold it. I thought you were so mean. But I understood at my Knighting Ceremony. It was a part of me in my hand, a...starmap of all the places I’d been and the things I’d learned during my training. And there was only one person I wanted to give it to in the whole galaxy.”

“Did you?” He asks, taking a sip to hide how important the question is, how devastating the answer could be.

“Well. Yeah. But I guess I don’t know if you kept it,” Anakin cuts his eyes away from Obi-Wan’s and runs his fingers up the long stem of his drink.

Obi-Wan chokes on a laugh. “He definitely did.”

The other man’s face settles into a frown. “You don’t know that. You’re not him.”

“I’m enough of him. I’ve got--some feelings. In my head. Impressions.”

“Of me?”

“Of how he felt about you.”

Anakin’s eyes widen and then narrow with a sudden intensity that makes Obi-Wan want to shiver. It’s like being in the eye of a storm. His hold on the delicate glass in his hand becomes dangerously tight as he leans forward into Obi-Wan’s space, as if he can’t get close enough to him.

“What do you feel when you look at me?” he asks almost breathlessly. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to figure out if he’s being seduced or not. It’s sort of working. It’s all that focus, directly on him. Obi-Wan wouldn’t mind if that’s how the night ended. But sleeping with his former padawan who he can’t remember right now doesn’t seem like the best decision he could make.

But Anakin had liked it when Obi-Wan tugged at his hair. He’d arched closer to him. And now, the distance between them has been eaten away until they’re almost pressed chest to shoulder.

“Safe,” he decides to say, even though the word feels too small. “Sad,” which is mostly true but also an oversimplification. It’s a sort of nostalgia mixed with sadness, mixed with acceptance and resignation. “Warm,” because even after being denied entry to Obi-Wan’s mind, Anakin’s force presence has curled around Obi-Wan’s like some sort of krayt dragon, content to wait and guard and treasure. He leans forward, just until his mouth brushes against the skin of Anakin’s ear. “Coveted.”

Anakin definitely shifts at that, and when Obi-Wan pulls back enough to see his face, his pupils are blown wide.

Swallowing a grin, Obi-Wan swallows the rest of his drink in one go. “Drink up,” he tells Anakin in his most demanding tone, reaching into his pockets to pull out his older self’s credits to settle the tab. “I want to go.”

Anakin obeys immediately, making a face at the taste.

They’re out in the street within a few minutes, Anakin smacking his lips as if still trying to rid himself of the flavor. “I just don’t know why you had to order me that,” he complains, falling into step on Obi-Wan’s right.

Obi-Wan pauses and leans against the very unsanitary wall of the building, spreading his legs wide enough so that Anakin can come in between them. The man doesn’t seem to notice anything different, just steps a bit closer as a crowd of loud party-goers makes their way past them.

“I wanted to see if I liked mint,” Obi-Wan shrugs, raising his hand to rest on the skin of Anakin’s neck. He can feel the way his pulse is beating incredibly fast.

“Why would my drink help you with--”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He commends his older self for being able to teach this idiot anything, even though he seems to have skipped over important lessons like Recognizing When You’re Being Flirted With.

Before Anakin can finish the thought, Obi-Wan twists his other hand in Anakin’s robes and pulls him forward until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “May I kiss you?” he asks because it’s only polite to.

Anakin’s eyes widen and then fall shut as he gives a little nod, finally stepping forward until their bodies are pressed completely together.

At least someone, although he doubts it was the older Obi-Wan, taught Anakin how to kiss. Obi-Wan’s toes curl in his boots as Anakin takes control of the action, moving his hands so one’s pressing against the wall behind them and one’s running up his scalp. Obi-Wan takes his time licking into Anakin’s mouth, allowing Anakin to explore him in return. One of them moans, which seems like as good a time as any to break the kiss.

“Well?” Anakin pants, diving in to place a short kiss onto Obi-Wan’s lips. “What do you think?”

The short answer is that Obi-Wan isn’t. He noses back towards Anakin’s mouth hopefully, sliding his hand down from his neck to rest on his hip.

“About mint,” Anakin elaborates when Obi-Wan doesn’t respond immediately.

“Inconclusive. Need more data,” Obi-Wan tries to kiss him but Anakin’s smiling too hard.

“Then next time you can get the awful drink, and you can get me the Alderaan Sunset,” Anakin is complaining, but he’s laughing too and that’s nice. Obi-Wan thinks that making Anakin Skywalker laugh is one of the best feelings in the galaxy, and he thinks his older self would agree, if the warmth sparking up in his very soul means anything at all.

[mssirey]

More SuperReign Knights AU!! (A follow up to this)

The rains had mercifully held off for the summer games, but were not so gracious as their duel—called a draw the day before to keep them from taking the whole fairgrounds down around them—resumed in the training yard. There was no ceremonial garb to be concerned with and after the sun had been on their skin all morning, the rain was almost welcome. 

The singing of their blades was momentarily drowned out by calls to clear out—lessons abandoned around them—and the disgruntled shouts of curses at any god that might listen as hungover knights stumbled for shelter. But all it took was one glance while their swords locked to know that Kara had no interest in postponing the conclusion of their duel. 

The challenge that always managed to define them—both the tie that connected them and the bounds of what they were—reared its head in the fires she saw in Kara’s eyes, just as it had shaped her words the night before. Sam could still feel the imprint of Kara’s weight in her lap; the way her knees caught against the outsides of Sam’s legs; the way she relaxed back; the smell of her hair—it refused to leave her, but she couldn’t find a hint of its meaning, or its mirror, in Kara. 

The other knight wasn’t as graceful as Sam knew her to be capable of—her parries sloppy, her timing off by a hair—but Sam was too sluggish to press that advantage, the night’s ale lingering enough in her system to dull her reflexes. But they fell into step, following the familiar dance between them, the ring of their blades clashing joined by the patter of rain on soft soil. 

As the skies grew darker and the rain came down in sheets, they were left without witnesses—no one to judge a victor—and still they continued. Sam tried to steer Kara towards a slick stretch of mud, swinging in a wide arch—allowed herself to be predictable, easily avoidable if Kara stepped correctly—and then a turn of her grip would allow her to follow with more aggression, push the other knight back, direct her to where her footing would be compromised. 

Kara was sharper than Sam gave her credit, already noting the shift in the terrain—a lesson both J’onn and Alex had been sure to drill into her and the others in her class—and she knew to disengage, to take stock of their surroundings. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” she called as she put a few paces between them, competing with the shower to make her voice carry across the yard. 

Just as Sam felt the water running down her neck and beneath her leathers, Kara’s short hair was getting flattened, falling over her eyes. A quick swipe pushed it back in a messy sweep and still more rain coaxed it forward again. They were both blinking, adjusting to the rivulets that streaked their faces, each testing their grips with a few easy swings, knowing that it was only a matter of time before it was hard to keep a handle on their blades. 

The rain was hard enough to distort the image of Kara, and perhaps that was for the best as her tunic clung to her abs beneath the line of where her leather chest guard cut off. It had never been quite so distracting and Sam couldn’t bring herself to examine the interest her eyes showed. 

“You can forfeit here,” she offered, a laugh forced from her lungs to cover how the words had teetered on her tongue, nearly tumbling from her lips to die in the gathering mud. “I wouldn’t hold it against you.

“Never!”

It was always the same. Kara never chose to back down, and it had been thrilling to have someone who wanted to cross blades, who took every chance to stand opposite her despite the names she had been given—Black Reign the one that had stuck, shortened eventually to Reign. Most young knights feared her, would bow out of duels or take early falls to avoid truly testing her, but not Kara. 

Kara. The golden knight of high noble birth, who could have easily chosen to be a knight in name only, but who instead stood fiercely behind the codes she upheld. The woman who was bright in spirit and wit; who could turn a room with both action and song; who was greeted by everyone, but also took the time to greet in turn—even those whose voices were lost in the crowd or those who struggled to get anyone to meet their eye. 

Kara was the one who sought Sam, relentless and insistent, and through her Sam found it easier to hold her blade proudly. She enjoyed the rivalry they shared, but somewhere along the line it had become something different… or perhaps she wanted it to and instead it remained just that. She couldn’t decipher it, couldn’t understand it. 

And so Sam leaned into what she knew. She strode forward to close the distance between them, boots already feeling the suction of fresh mud, careful to watch the turn of Kara’s grip and the shift of her weight, to check which foot was planted. 

“Come on, Sam, don’t hold back!” 

Only Kara could demand something so boldly and genuinely want it. It was foolish, brash, but also welcome. 

Sam let the fire caged in her chest bleed into her arm, dropped her grip to the one hand and swung, hard enough to crack bone through armor. She trusted Kara to know how to handle it, her heart rising with the shriek of her blade dragging down the length of Kara’s as the angle directed her momentum away from the other knight.

Kara shouldered her to the side, tried to unbalance her, to find an opening after her aggression, but her own footing made quick maneuvers tricky. They danced apart, righted their stances and then circled, each watchful for any slip. 

Sam’s blade was longer and heavier, and she knew the bones in Kara’s hands and forearms would feel the sting of each clash, until numbness reached her shoulder. If she could keep Kara at a distance, keep her on the defensive, it would only be a matter of time before she couldn’t hold her arm up. 

But Kara knew that as well as she did, knew to not let her control the pace. So to provoke Sam meant she was studying, gauging how steady her blade was in the rain and how fast her swing. She needed to know the windows of opportunity, and Sam couldn’t let her learn them. 

Sam charged, put her body behind her blade and caught the twist of Kara’s grin--a brief glimpse as she was sidestepped--the revelry at her full effort setting her heart out of rhythm. She couldn’t understand what joy Kara got out of it, but that smile made her knees unsteady. 

They continued, going even with what Kara redirected and what she avoided, each stumbling and slipping more and more as the earth soaked up the rain, until Kara found the opening she was looking for. 

Sam got too close and the pommel of Kara’s sword came down on her hand, wrenched her blade from her, and if she had been steady enough to get away, Sam would have lost. But favor turned, and Sam swept her feet out from under her, gratified by the wet impact as Kara’s back hit the ground. 

Sam kicked her sword from her grip and took advantage of the knight’s struggle for breath, getting over her and pinning her arms. 

“You look good on your back.” 

Sam said it in the spirit of competition, but the hitch of Kara’s breath and the flutter of her lashes brought the possible meaning into glaring focus, the realization painted in broad strokes across her skin. A splatter of mud touched Kara’s cheek and Sam released her wrist to gently brush it away, her gloved thumb lingering after, hovering, drawn by a yet unnamed force towards parted lips. 

Sam’s hand sank into the mud by Kara’s head, braced as she felt the pull of her own heart, the gravity that called her towards the other knight. The rain added the barest gleam to Kara’s lips, enough to keep her gaze trained and narrowed in. 

She watched as Kara’s lips moved, formed around words she didn’t speak, tried to guess what she might say—if it would be a remark about how she should move from where she straddled the other knight. She hoped that wasn't what Kara wanted, but the peek of tongue she witnessed kept her from truly considering the consequences. 

Sam leaned down, only to pause, her breath heavy as it shuddered from her lungs. Her cheeks burned hot, the rain on her neck not enough to cool her. She didn’t catch Kara’s fingers as they slipped into her leathers, at the opening for her arms, but the tug overcame the last of her hesitation, and she let herself fall into the cushion of those lips, to taste the heat that scorched its way through her skull and licked down her spine.

There was no reason to be found. No question to be answered. Sam knew how to follow instinct, how to let her body move for her, and so when her mind sought haven in the comfort of the other woman’s presence, her tongue pressed for what it wanted, drank deeply as Kara met her with just as much desire, a groan spilling into her mouth. 

A boom of thunder drew them apart, laughing and breathy. 

“This isn’t defeat,” Kara panted, and then her face pinched into that endearingly regretful expression she got when she tripped over her own tongue, her ears bright red. 

Sam exhaled a laugh. “It never is with you,” she noted with a shake of her head.

[the-widow-sisters]

My Reason

Summary: When Natasha and Yelena are practicing knife-throwing, something goes wrong with Yelena. Natasha soon finds out that her sister is exceedingly touch-starved. What happens when Yelena finds out that Natasha craves affection just as much as Yelena?

Word Count: 2520

  “Alright, poser, move out of the way and let the master show you how it’s done,” Yelena told her older sister, raising an eyebrow as she took some knives from Natasha. Natasha stepped back, giving her younger sister some room as she proudly watched Yelena.

  The two of them had some time to themselves that day, and the two had decided to do a little bit of practice together to see if they could learn from one another. They were currently throwing knives, and Natasha had managed to land every one of them in the middle of the targets.

  Now that it was Yelena’s turn, Natasha was excited to see how her younger sister would do.

  “Aren’t you going to take the knives out of the targets?”

  “That would be too easy. Don’t you want a real challenge?” Yelena questioned, her eyes full of mirth and playfulness as she eyed Natasha. Natasha smiled a little in reply, wondering how Yelena was going to land any shots in the middle of the targets when Natasha’s knives were already lodged in the centers of them.

  Yelena stopped where Natasha had been standing. She eyed the target carefully before stepping to the side a bit and chucking her knife. She landed it perfectly in the middle, the blade squeezed in a tight fit directly next to Natasha’s knife.

  She repeated this multiple times before finally emptying her supply of knives. She smirked proudly before heading forward and collecting the knives from the targets. Natasha had an enormous grin on her face just from watching her sister’s skills in action, and as Yelena returned, the blonde faked a few bows.

  “That is how it’s done,” Yelena informed her before dumping all of the knives on the table except for one that she kept in her hand and was flipping around in a slight show. Natasha could see the way Yelena was looking at her. She had hope in her eyes, and she was looking at her with such pride, but there was also some anxiousness as she gazed at Natasha expectantly, presumably waiting on some sort of praise from the older woman.

  “Wow… Awesome job,” Natasha complimented finally, a loving smile on her face as she reached out and squeezed the joint between Yelena’s shoulder and neck with her hand fondly before running it up her neck slightly to cup just under Yelena’s jaw.

  Yelena automatically melted into the touch the moment that Natasha made contact. Natasha furrowed her brow, tilting her head slightly as she looked at the girl. Yelena immediately snapped to attention, realizing what she had done as she guiltily glanced in Natasha’s direction. She pulled away from the older woman, her walls surrounding her heart pulled back to their usual slightly more guarded position as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yeah,” Yelena cleared her throat, seemingly recollecting herself. Natasha just watched her carefully, her thoughts flitting about in an attempt to try to understand what exactly was wrong with the younger girl.

  “Going to have to step up your game if you’re going to top that,” Yelena confidently spoke and pointed at the target in front of her, her eyebrow raised as some semblance of that signature irritatingly confident smirk came back to tug at her lips. However, Natasha could easily see the nervousness in her gaze since she could not quite meet the redhead’s eyes.

  Natasha squinted just a tiny bit, trying to decipher the nervousness, and Yelena quickly caught onto the body language before stretching in a somewhat over-exaggerated manner.

  “Well… It was fun kicking your rear and all, but I’m going to go get a shower so I don’t stink as bad as you,” Yelena insulted lightly, and Natasha smiled slightly since it was such a Yelena thing to say. Yelena reached over, offering the knife left over in her hand to Natasha. The older woman took it from her, her hand brushing Yelena’s, and the blonde quickly pulled her hand away before making her way out of the practice area. Natasha watched her leave and hesitantly let her gaze drop to the knife in her hand.

  She sighed deeply, throwing the knife in the direction of the target without looking and landing it close to the middle of the target.

  Later in the evening, Natasha and Yelena were reclined in the living room on the couch, the television running. However, Natasha was not really watching it, and her mind kept wandering to the girl that was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, curled away from Natasha a bit.

  Natasha truly was not sure what was going on with the other girl. Ever since Natasha touched her earlier that day, Yelena had been keeping her distance and trying not to get too close. Natasha was really worried that she had overstepped some boundary or upset the girl by the affection.

  However, she could not understand it. Yelena always seemed to be okay with shoulder bumps and casual things like that. And when they hugged toward the end of their adventure a while back, Yelena seemed perfectly fine with that and actually seemed as if she enjoyed it. Natasha herself had been terribly uncomfortable with touch at first, but once she realized how wonderful it was and how nice it felt, she began to treasure it. But since Yelena handled it so well so fast, Natasha had decided to try to make more contact with her, knowing that everyone reacted differently.

  So why was the shoulder squeeze such an issue?

  Natasha kept thinking it over, flashing glances in Yelena’s direction, and she finally found herself extremely worried about upsetting the girl and bringing back flashbacks or some sort of trauma that Natasha did not know about.

  After a long moment, she finally reached over and grabbed the television remote, muting it quickly.

  “Natalia! What are you doing?! How am I supposed to know who gets chopped now?!” Yelena whined, looking at Natasha desperately as she waved a hand in the direction of the television, and Natasha just returned her gaze with calm concern. Yelena suddenly seemed to catch onto what was going on, and she stiffened a bit, looking much more uncomfortable.

  “I, um…. About earlier,” Natasha started, not sure how to begin the conversation. She was not too good at discussing feelings and things, and she was almost as uncomfortable as Yelena was at the moment. Yelena shook her head, shrugging her shoulders, and Natasha let her words die off as Yelena seemed to be taking initiative on speaking about it.

  “It is nothing. You don’t need to worry about it,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha could see that there was more to it than that.

  “You’ve been avoiding me, little one… Did I upset you? I didn’t mean to bring back memories or anything—”

  “No, no, no, it is not that at all,” Yelena negated, and Natasha could see the sincerity in her dark green eyes. The redhead tilted her head, confused. She now had absolutely no idea what had caused the girl to be so uncomfortable.

  “I just… In the Red Room, we had no contact. When we received it, it was a reward. The trainers and people there knew that a small touch went a long way. Many of us… We,” Yelena paused, looking away stubbornly as she settled her gaze on the television. Natasha could tell she was not really watching it and she was more just resting her eyes on a place as she thought through her words.

  “A lot of us needed that, and it was punishable to hug or touch each other… But they used it as a sort of reward as long as it was coming from them,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha quietly listened and nodded softly. She knew that was the case. She personally had to face such hardships, but it saddened her to see that they kept such a system of training alive even during Yelena’s time in the Red Room.

  “When you touched me today… It,” Yelena trailed off, obviously terribly awkward with this and quite uncomfortable as a whole. Natasha was honestly not completely at ease either, but she was trying to at least portray some semblance of it in order to coax the words from Yelena.

  “Well, it was just really nice and I accidentally…

  “I’m sorry, it’s just… This is hard to talk about,” Yelena swallowed, and Natasha just calmly eyed her.

  “When you touch me, it’s so different. It’s long and it lasts and it’s not a reward for killing someone,” Yelena admitted, and Natasha felt pain stab at her heart at her sister’s struggle.

  “And you don’t have any problem giving it so freely. It’s so different and so nice, and it was embarrassing,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha looked at her strangely, finding herself confused even after this lengthy explanation that Yelena was trying to get through and offer her.

  Yelena sighed deeply, and Natasha heard a light curse roll off of her tongue quietly before she spoke.

  “I enjoyed it too much and I was afraid that if you saw that, you wouldn’t want to,” Yelena let herself trail off, clamming up as she tried desperately to avoid looking at Natasha. The redhead just thought about this statement for a long moment, not sure what to say in response. Conversations with this many feelings involved were always hard for her.

  However, after a long moment, she moved on the couch so that she was facing her sister a bit more and she opened her arms. In response to the movement, Yelena finally brought her gaze back to look at Natasha, and she eyed her as if she had lost her mind.

  “Come here,” Natasha spoke, and Yelena looked between her open arms and her light green eyes staring the blonde down. Yelena furrowed her brow, at a loss as to precisely what the redhead meant.

  “What?”

  “Come here,” Natasha told her, moving one of her hands to wave Yelena in her direction. The blonde finally seemed to realize what she meant, and she slowly scooted forward, crawling nearer to her big sister. Natasha just nodded slightly in encouragement.

  Yelena moved a bit closer so that she was in Natasha’s space a bit more, and Natasha snagged the opportunity, taking the younger woman in her arms. She pulled her close and hugged her to her chest.

  To Natasha’s happiness, Yelena immediately let her weight settle heavily against the older woman and she wrapped her arms around her sister tightly, her cheek squished against Natasha’s shoulder and her legs stretched across the couch on top of Natasha’s. Natasha rubbed her back carefully, and she quickly noticed the happy sigh and groan combo that Yelena released as she just fully relaxed in it and even pushed herself a bit closer to the redhead.

  “I enjoy it, too. Contact is not so new for me, but having it with you is, and it just… I really would just hug you all the time if I could.”

  “Why can’t you?” Yelena questioned, her words muffled and her voice akin to a mumble from its place stuffed against Natasha. Natasha ran her hands up and down the girl’s back comfortingly, a chuckle resounding in her throat a little as she looked down at the blonde.

  “Well… I was afraid that you wouldn’t be comfortable with it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Yelena immediately responded without any hesitation whatsoever, her voice suddenly quite clear despite her position. Natasha could hear the intense disapproval in the words.

  “Would you be embarrassed?” Natasha asked somewhat worriedly.

  “Would you?” Yelena challenged, her voice now filled with way too much affection and fondness to be too serious. Natasha quickly noted that Yelena had somehow managed to worm her way further up Natasha and was now laying there with her head shoved underneath Natasha’s chin.

  “No… I haven’t really thought about it before,” Natasha admitted, and Yelena huffed a little in response. A tiny smile tugged at Natasha’s lips, the sudden puff of air feeling strange but not unpleasant against her neck.

  “I’d like to try… Y’know… To touch more,” Natasha admitted somewhat awkwardly, and Yelena froze a little, but Natasha could feel the grin breaking out across the blonde’s face as she just snuggled closer to the older woman. Natasha’s smile grew on her face, and she reveled in the contact of the person that she loved the most in the world.

  “We should be careful. We’re starting to sound like those girls on that movie Chilly.”

  “What?” Natasha asked in complete confusion, trying to understand what her sister was trying to communicate. She could tell that Yelena was trying to tease, but she could not exactly get what was so funny because she did not completely understand what Yelena was talking about.

  “You know… Chilly. That movie.”

  “Umm… No, I don’t actually.”

  “Chilly! The animated movie. The one where the sister had powers and was blonde and awesome and shot stuff out of her hands,” Yelena tried to explain, and it suddenly occurred to Natasha precisely what the younger girl was talking about.

  “Frozen?” Natasha questioned, barely holding back laughter.

  “Yes!” Yelena exclaimed, and Natasha chuckled heartily.

  “Hey! Don’t laugh! I was serious!” Yelena whined, and Natasha moved her head over to the side to press a gentle kiss to the Yelena’s forehead. Yelena stilled for a moment but sighed out of her nose in something that sounded like contentment.

  “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you.”

  “I was not laughing,” Yelena told her, completely and deadly serious, and Natasha started to laugh once again, the sound heartier and fuller this time. Yelena actually started chuckling with her at this point.

  “I made you laugh,” Yelena proudly pointed out, her voice relaxed and calm as could be. Once Natasha finally got ahold of her mirth in response to her sister, Natasha smiled wider than she had in weeks as she ran her hand up to touch the back of Yelena’s hair. Yelena sighed happily, a slight shiver running through her as Natasha ran her fingers through the blonde tresses.

  “You make it sound like I never laugh,” Natasha chuckled just a bit, and Yelena shrugged sluggishly.

  “You don’t laugh much.”

  “Maybe I never had a reason to,” Natasha countered, and Yelena huffed.

  “So you’re saying I’m your reason? That’s pretty sappy,” Yelena somewhat sleepily told her, her voice slurring just a bit as she shut her eyes tightly in pure enjoyment of her sister’s attentions.

  “I learned it all from you,” Natasha teased, and Yelena just hummed, unimpressed but too comfortable to grace the statement with an articulated response.

  Yelena was slowly nestling herself even closer to Natasha, her breathing growing deeper and more spaced out as she got comfortable, and Natasha smiled lovingly, a warmth radiating through her.

  “Ya tebya lyublyu,” Natasha muttered under her breath, kissing Yelena’s head as she closed her eyes, enjoying her sister’s proximity. Yelena stirred just a little, barely coherent words on her lips as she replied.

  “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu…”

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Part 24: Appearance

Erik shuffled down the aisle of the train car, crutch nudged snuggly into his armpit and a suitcase half his size rolling behind with a heavy looking duffel. No one offered assistance and he didn't ask. As a black man, he could always count on that as a consistency. Crutches and all, he'd be viewed as overly capable. From a young age it was ingrained through experience.. all you have is yourself because no one out here will help you, a young black man. Time had proven it again and again. Injured, he could still handle more weight than the average man and it was because he pushed himself. He relied only on himself. Even hospitalized, he found ways to maintain his strength. Weakness and laziness was never an option, not even for recovery. With all his money, that was still something he couldn't afford. But they could.. the white couple on the left. He couldn't help but notice them sitting there.

A closer look told him they weren't actually a couple. The blonde girl's face screamed underage. Fifteen/sixteen. The heavy makeup she wore aged her. She looked high. Heroin, Erik guessed glancing subtly for track marks. She looked up and he glanced away to a Spanish speaking family with five kids including a crying baby. He bit his lip on his way to take his seat at the rear where he could see everyone. The man in front of him was on his way to sleep. Erik put in his earbuds and continued his watch.

As the hours passed, he noticed more and more. The kids had no home training. The parents had no sense of awareness considering they sat opposite a fifteen year old girl being held against her will. It could easily be one of their kids, with them not paying attention it wouldn't take much. The baby had the healthiest lungs of any baby he'd ever heard. That blonde girl was high as hell. She got up to use the bathroom on his side of the train and he kept his eyes down as she passed with her trafficker on her ass to make sure she ain't try nothing risky. Ain't none of my black ass business, Erik told himself. He hadn't signed up to save any little blonde girls. He kept his eyes down as they passed him again to return to their seats and she dropped a tiny earring on the floor next to his foot on purpose. Damn, he groaned dropping his head on the back of the seat. Why me? I just said I ain't wanna get involved in this shit.

Taking a deep sigh, he picked up the earring and did what made sense. He googled the train police department and texted in a report using his sub contact phone, the main phone. He gave a description of the couple and information regarding the train. You're welcome, he thought watching the back of the girl's head before settling back in his seat comfortably. Any other time he'd have ignored her, not that victims often reached out to him so clearly. Still, it was an unnecessary risk calling on police. What if they decided to search the train? The whole point of taking the train was to not be searched.

Y/N would be proud right now, his lip twisted in irritation. She'd become the true north of his moral compass. What would Y/N do in the situation? The thought made him nauseous. She wouldn't survive his lifestyle. He wouldn't survive it with her morals. This is dangerous. We are completely incompatible, but I still want you, he admitted to himself. It was more like need. Obsession even. There was a burning feeling in his gut. "This shit ain't healthy," he muttered.

-----

"Wow, may I..," Tanner's fingers hover in the air, his eyes on your fresh braids. Your eyebrows answer before you can and he lowers his hand with a smile. "Those braids are really something. Would it be offensive if I asked how they're attached?" He looks so fascinated. He's been staring and talking to the top of your head since he saw you this morning in the lobby and now he's staring just as hard from across the small booth table at Pho Station.

"You just buy braiding hair and braid it into your hair. That's literally it."

"Braiding hair.. what's that?" His head rests on his hand as his elbow sits on the table. He's so curious, staring dreamily.

"It's packs of hair you get at the store specifically for braided styles." You slurp in a spoonful of long noodles.

"Is it human hair?"

"Synthetic." It comes out muffled as you break off the noodles hanging from your mouth with a chopstick so you can swallow.

"Synthetic? What's the difference..," his blue eyes drift lazily down to your nearly black ones. "Well, I mean in how they look."

"Human hair is typically Malaysian or Brazillian, something like that. You can straighten or curl it because it's actual hair. Synthetic fibers can melt but it's inexpensive and can mimic hair textures well."

"Well it's beautiful," he nods. "I've always wondered about it. Does it hurt?"

"Mm-mm," you grumble slurping the broth of your chicken pho. "No these are knotless and they don't hurt." That confuses him so you get into the difference between regular box braids and knotless. "You can't even sleep when you first get regular box braids because it's so tight that's why I don't wear them."

"Yes.. don't wear them if they hurt. Don't wanna pull out all that beautiful hair.." His eyes hold a familiar twinkle. The way he stares.. it reminds you of Erik. You don't wanna think about the meaning of it.

"Damn right.. Hey your pho's gonna get cold."

"Oh," his brows raise in faux offense. He picks up his soup spoon looking away for the first time. It's about time. "Well these.. knotless braids," he gestures with the spoon, "They look amazing on you," he smirks. "But you're already gorgeous, you know that."

"This from a Gene Kelly/James Dean lookalike. You look like you belong in a Marvel movie. That dark hair.. chiseled jaw? And who do you get those eyes from?"

"My grandma. My mom's eyes are carmel brown and so are my sister's. My father's are a darker brown."

"Punnet square kicked in hard."

"So tell me where your features come from," his eyes twinkle, hands folded under his strong chin. Your heart nearly skips a beat. It took a while for you to admit it to yourself because you'd have to admit you were lowkey using him.. but you knew what he was doing and how he felt from the start. That look was infatuation.

Opening doors, calling on me, paying for lunch every time, bringing me coffee? It's a lot.. Well that's because he likes me.. No It could be friendly, doesn't mean he likes me.

Almost everyday you told yourself the same thing.

I don't want him as anything more than a friend, maybe a work husband now that I know he's a cool lil white boy. I think he knows that..

Not when you flirt back he doesn't know that..

But is it really flirting or being nice? Besides I think he might feel the same.

A look into his eyes slams that possibility.

Who am I kidding. Maybe it's wrong to let him pay. Is that selfish?..

Girl, you're not dumb you know exactly what you're doing..

No, but really, I enjoy his company. I look forward to our little lunch outings as much as he does..

Then pay for yourself!..

I KNOW, but I don't.. want to...

Blinking, you sigh clearing your guilty conscience. "I look exactly like my dad but my personality is my mom."

"Oh really. That's where you get those adorably chubby cheeks from? Your dad? Interesting family photos I bet."

"Believe it or not that's also where I get this tummy and all this ass from," I say straight faced watching his cheeks sink in. On that note, he buries himself in his pho and I watch him hold himself together, the both of us laughing on the inside.

"You're ridiculous," he smiles down at his bowl. "What will I ever do with you.."

"Hopefully keep feeding me."

"Of course, Barb told me about a BBQ place about fifteen minutes from here. How about tomorrow?"

"Then I can show you pictures of my bootylicious father," you stare watching him collect himself again.

"Wow," he chokes on his broth. "Or we can look at yours, completely up to you."

-----

Never had it felt so good to be coming or going. Erik wheeled his bags through the station coolly, but internally he was leaping for joy like a little kid. After touching down in every continent through the military as a soldier and then a mercenary soldier, he was used to traveling. New locations, customs, and languages were the norm. War, battle, and toppling small countries for their resources and political control was the norm. It wasn't right, but it made big money and when his service ended, he retired. However, that didn't change the fact that he was still a multilingual and adaptable war weapon with no other real skill or interest other than killing. He was good at it so he made it a business. A consultant was what he called himself. Gameplay and development was the front.

Life as an assassin made him his own boss. He could kill and go off the map at will. He'd travel as far as it took to complete the task and take cash or cryptocurrency which he'd translate into several offshore accounts before his domestic ones. He'd usually buy a throwaway car, restock his ammo, spend time sunbathing on a yacht in the Maldives, hunker down in a city where he blended in and then isolate for a month wallowing in a small room before his next kill. Sightseeing wasn't on his agenda. He'd been all over the world and seen the worst of human nature. Texas had been a first as far as experiencing the high points anywhere. He'd enjoyed his stay with a woman and they'd gone on dates, real dates. He'd gone to an amusement park of all places and taken her around the city. It was magical though he'd almost been killed for it. Texas.. Not Cartagena or Havana or Jaipur but country ass Texas. Now here he was finally back in Cali. Nothing came close to the joy of having someone waiting for him. Someone who'd be overjoyed to see him. His job was done, his leg was healing up nicely, no one was after him because he'd left no one alive that could easily identify him. He was on his way home.

Home, he smiled somewhat bitterly. More like playing house.. Ain't none of this shit real and eventually it will end, probably in disaster.

Still.. He couldn't drop the facade for it was filling a hole within him that he hadn't realized until recently could be filled. He had latent desires. Playing house with her was the closest to a home he'd ever get.

-----

Erik's car takes premium gas and you wonder about his bills. Is he paying them? 'Cause you're not. He'd better have it worked out because once the lights go out in this isolated grand establishment, you're gone. You've gotten too used to walking around with every bright light in the house on at night. Walking through the bathroom butt naked you light the very last of his pricey looking black label white candles having burned through the rest of his supply. This one's Leather scented, not the best but not bad. That's why it was last. Locking the bathroom door out of habit, you run the shower and enjoy the luxurious spa room you've become accustomed to. The water pressure still hits. The warm thick white towels are fresh from the dryer. Your body is hairless from shaving and you've just purchased a new body oil to try that Ava swears by. Though you're only going to bed, you can't resist it. It smells like like fresh baked cookies from the oven and makes your skin radiate golden. It's perfect for a pool party or the beach.. whenever you end up going again which may be a while. Taking a few suggestive shiny body selfies in the towel, you decide to go ahead and send them to Erik though he doesn't deserve them. Someone has to see your glass skin. You hadn't spoken to him in the last two days as he'd been "busy". Doing what, you had no clue. It felt like bullshit. All of it. It was maddening to the point that you didn't want to care anymore, whether he returned or stayed. He'd been gone too long. Waaay too long. His reasons for wanting you out of Texas were beginning to feel like lies.

There's probably a huge harem of harlot whores he's entertaining and he doesn't want me to know he lied about only having three submissives, the asshole. He's probably in some twisted unsanitary orgy in a dark and questionable dungeon drinking glowing lime jello shooters and getting blackout drunk right now.. Probably whipping some poor girl with one of those long cowboy whips. God knows what he does with his other subs. If he was that dirty with Lil Bitch's morally debased ass and that was in front of me...

Every now and again the thought would cross your mind. Fuck him, you thought. Stay gone. I'll keep living here alone in the lap of luxury.

Never before had you been in a hot tub so often. It did wonders for a post work unwind with a smoothie or herbal tea in hand. You didn't need him when you had wifi, cable, powerful A/C, and a full fridge. He could stay with whoever he was with.

But what if he doesn't come back, your mind wonders darkly. What if he stays in Texas and never comes back?

Suddenly the house seems a lot chillier and unwelcoming.. Empty even. Too quiet. Hugging yourself for comfort you wander through the house and turn each of the lights off one by one to get an idea once more just how dark it gets. Too dark. Pitch black. You can't even see a hand in front of your face and panic sets in along with a strong inner body chill. This isn't something you can do and if Erik never comes back...

Honestly you've never seriously considered that possibility. The thought brings a loneliness that echoes the depth of darkness, both equally terrifying. The fact is that you do care.. profoundly to the point that his continued absence really bothers you. He has already become an indestructible pillar in your everyday life. Going days without so much as a hello feels like a week and that doesn't do much good for your anxiety.

Flipping each of the lights back on, you settle into Erik's bed this time around and stare at the time until you doze off. When you open your eyes there's natural light coming in through the window and you take a grateful breath before sitting up in the bed.

"Good morning," a chilling voice interjects and you nearly have a heart attack, unable to scream in the face of Flu sitting on the edge of the bed watching you. You want to run, scream, fight, anything but your body which is frozen in absolute fear and shock will not move. He smiles and you dart upright in bed sweating cold bullets and panting. Outside is still dark. According to the clock you've been sleep three and a half hours. It's 3:30 AM. Taking a deep breath to calm your breathing you look around the room comforting yourself with the mantra "It's just a dream. You're okay. You're okay. There's nothing to worry about. You've been safe and you're still safe. You're completely safe." A few minutes of repeating it and looking around, listening closely to the air has you relaxed enough to fall back asleep especially since your eyes are crossing up. When your eyes open again you check the clock. It's been almost another hour but you keep waking up.

Hold up. Didn't I have the light on?

Thinking back, your half sleep mind isn't completely sure but you know you sleep with the lights on. Nervous to move, your wide eyes search the pitch blackness before you and when you get the courage to move, you turn over bracing yourself to see Flu sitting there beside you on the bed. Nothing's there or out of the ordinary.

Did the lights go out? Did it blow? I think I had it on...

It's not getting up to explore. That's how people fir in movies. Instead, you bury your head in the covers like a small child and slip back into sleep. Or at least almost. Before you can cover your eyes with the blanket, you hear something that sounds like a slight vibration. That would be normal.. if your phone wasn't all the way downstairs.

A hand clamps over your mouth and as you feel a body quickly cover yours you grab at the darkness in attempt to gouge, scratch, and scrape whatever you can reach. When you pull locs, your brain registers and you yank them hard to get a noise.

"AHH," he whisper screams.

"ERIK WHAT THE FUCK?!" This time your lungs are free and healthy because you yell directly in his ear, slapping at him. "YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK." Breathless, you try to catch it, still swinging. "Why would you do that! What the fuck is wrong with you!"

"I wanted to surprise you," he grips your hands. "I didn't think you'd try to rip my damn hair out! And why your nails so sharp!"

"Are you mentally deficient? In what world did that seem like a good idea to you?!"

"Catch your breath," he says quietly.

Getting up he flips the lights and sits on the bed beside you. You haven't seen him in what feels like ages. "You still having nightmares." It's not a question as he looks in your tired eyes.

"Not often, just a couple of times since I've been on my own here." You didn't really have them when you two were together. He nods understanding your meaning. You hadn't mentioned it on the phone or through text. What could he have done about it anyway? There's a moment of silence as he rests his hand over your blanketed leg.

"I'm sorry for being away so long..," he says quietly. "I mean it. I'm sorry for scaring you.. I honestly didn't consider the nightmares because when we were together you didn't have them. I promise you, you are safe. He can't hurt you. There are many things in this world that can, but I promise he's not one.. and as long as I'm here I won't let anyone touch you. I will protect you with my life."

"That's good and all," you sigh, half listening and half asleep already. "But can you just.. stay here with me until I fall asleep."

"You in my bed," he smiles climbing fully dressed under the blanket to scoop you into his arms. Instantly your body clings to his and his shirt becomes your new pillow. You feel the quick sensation of his lips on your temple. "Did you miss me," he whispers. You mean to respond, but instead you fade out asleep.

-----

As soon as he'd slipped into the bed, she was knocked, sleeping soundly and breathing loud. He stroked her braids, her arm, and her back gently but firmly the way he always had when she needed help to relax.

"I missed you," he whispered into her forehead. She responded with a small fart and his nose crinkled. He didn't smell it which meant it was trapped under the blanket. She did it once more just then but it was louder. She'd be horrified if she were awake. "Y/N," he groaned hoping he wouldn't smell it. He didn't dare move though. He only sighed and continued rubbing her back. "Stink," he nicknamed her on the spot. "My lil stink stink," his stomach jumped in humor thinking of her reaction in the morning. He wanted to see the expression on her face when he called her that and when she heard the explanation of why. It made his chest shake. He tried to control it so not to wake her. She was sleeping too good for him to even get up and take his outside clothes off and they were hot to sleep in. He wanted to get comfortable.

That's okay, he decided as he settled in to fall asleep exactly where he was, under her. It took some effort to get comfortable in that position but in that moment there was no other place he'd have rather been.

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