#so like their rib cages and spines are all very weird

[thedawningofthehour]

Please tell me Donatello doesn't end up paralyzed. And also, I can't believe Leo wet himself XD

If it makes you feel any better I actually didn't plan the spinal injury. It just kind of happened.

Bro I have another ask that talks about the dinosaur sounds I was referencing; when I have the spoons I'm going to hunt down links to all the videos I took inspiration from. Because look, whatever the fuck our ancestors were at the time, they heard that shit and made sure to write down their fear into our very genetic code. It is a primal fear and you'd probably lose control of your facilities as well.

(also it's caused by an influx of adrenaline blocking the hormone that causes our bladders to clench, so it's really not something you can control. Be glad it didn't happen to his bowels)

[ablogofchanges]

Hey it’s my Birthday today. It feels good to be another year older. It feels weird only being in my early to mid 20s *blows out candle* (Wish I was a massive Bubba bear with a flatulent ass and a slob brain) 😮‍💨 🕯

In the start of mid 20s and already wanting for more age and look? Classic case to me!…. But, birthday wishes are always meant to be satisfying and fulfilled, am i right? So now instead of tricking you like others, im gonna do the opposite this time: Fulfilling every word of your birthday wish, just for ya bud'!

Blowing all the candles and stretching upward and outward, your spine goes with the significant pain as back muscles ripple in a round shape and quickly degrading. Your shoulders begin to protrude while you feel like your spine and rib cage about to expand, push outward in every direction from your bod, cracking, bending contortedly As it felt like your chest is being pulled backwards and up, your gut fills and bulking up with the sense of the weight of your own mass chest as it is your stomach gaining more and more with the fat keeps growing along with the stretching skin. Your torso is slowly getting black and bushy with the sense of how the shirt turning uncomfortable as if the calories in your belly makes them shrink A warm wave hit you along with a sudden wet sensation, ensuring your butt to let out a very long and loud fart. A tingling feeling around your butt gets stronger while your thighs has been replaced with an extreme itch on your entire lower body. You look down to see what changed as your thighs are completely glued together. Your once smooth legs have gone hairy from the backs of your thighs, now entirely covered. The worst of the itching is gone, however, a little tingly itching is left along the entirety of your lower Your legs straighten out with the hair spontaneously spreading out, soft and fuzzy like a solid blanket, up and down. Your fat has grown so much that your shirt now can't hold them, bursting down to the floor while your feet and toes broaden and widen. Your outstretching arms and hands feel the increasing weight and size of your body changing as if all the fat in your body shifted to your arms, making them massive as hair growing, going down to the hands with the existing hair was moving outward. Your wrists turn to be more flexible as your palms swelling and getting wider, and you start to feel your fingers extending in mass. You can perceive the fat on your fingertips increase and thicken. You sense dizzy and light-headed with the rapidly aged face and the eyes turn dull and blurry, wrinkles are messily formed on your face and under eyes while your head expand with the cheeks into a rounder shape. As your nose itching and painfully changing bigger rounder, you feel like lying in a pool of sweat and cant even think clearly. you keep getting older as your facial hair moving from your now blad head to form a sexy beard covering your now pale gray skin. Looking at the mirror, you can tell your birthday wish is fulfill like you have always desired...

Almost forgot! Soon your mind seems to be altering as well as your way of thinking is different, more simplier, incorrect and unable to make sense your own feelings. And with the brain is now slob, dumb and nothing but needing more food in the gut, you seem delighted with the wish! A dreamer or a fool? Can't judge your decision but a happy birthday to you!

Hey! This one is a little bit long and messy, again...

I have an annoucement that i still try to make submissions, but, im now busy irl until August! Yeah, a whole half of the year, i know, that means beside submissions, i wont upload anymore of my own stories. And i was thinking about doing Ko-Fi or Patreon, let me know if you guys have better ideas than that. Anyway, toodles!

[dragonsfire010]

How many rib cages does Aaravanos have?

"Well, i don't actually know sense i haven't got an X-Ray in YEARS. So, if I'm remembering properly, i know its over 90 and that's all I'm sure of, i think. For some reason I hear crunching sounds when i move sometimes, like bones breaking but i don't feel pain, i just hear crunching sounds sometimes. OH, my spine is also very long and that's what i remember for sure. I hope that answers your questian, weird disembodied voice!"

I'm stuck between making something canon or not, so this may change if i can make up my mind.

[lewisyellowhelmet]

ok what about.. hate sex with lewis 🙃

bruh this turned into something??? else?? weird dynamic??? anyway !! much love !! thank u !!

send ur own freaky friday prompt here!!

“Fuck you.” 

Lewis stands very still in the entrance to the walk in closet, watching you fumble with the strap of your heels. He makes no motion like he's heard you. Your anger is making you shake. Vision narrow. Trying to get out of your stupid shoes and dress and get in the shower as quickly as possible. 

“Careful,” Lewis says, his voice calm, measured. It only inflames you more. His lack of emotion. He’d been silent in the car home. Ignored you glaring at him, sighing, trying to irritate him enough to snap. You’d had to leave the event early, no use being in public if the two you were going to go at it like this. Someone would tweet it, film it, post it. It would be in the Daily Mail the next day. The two of you in a screaming match in the corner of the party. 

“Don’t tell me to be careful. I’ll say what I want,” you tell him, and you hate how your voice shakes. Angry tears in your throat. Not restrained like him. No control over how you feel. You get out of your shoes finally, kicking out of them, straps tangled in a corner. The floorboards are cool on the soles of your feet. 

“Can you?” Lewis asks, his head tilted. You catch a glimpse of him in the big mirror as you struggle out of your dress, twisting to get to the zipper. He’s not even begun to get undressed. Still in his suit, all black. His hair braided, held off his face in a bun. Silver earrings, a chain under his shirt. He’s still got his shoes on. 

“Yes,” you snap, shrugging out of your dress, letting the expensive fabric pool on the floor. Too furious to hang it up, to do anything but swallow on tears and not make eye contact with him. Scared of what you’ll say. 

“Say it then,” he encourages. You can hear it now. Quiet anger, underlying his words. Good. It’s always better when he meets you there, when you can press him enough to get a reaction, to make him lose control, just for a moment. 

Bare feet. In your lingerie. Hair messy around your shoulders. Stood in your big closet opposite him. Everything muffled by the racks of clothes, no windows in here. 

“You don’t like being with me in public. Because it means girls won’t hit on you. You need the confidence boost. You’re so fucking arrogant, Lewis.”

It leaves you all in a rush, a jumbled stream of words, disconnected sentences. Your arms crossed over your chest, cold in your underwear. Lewis takes it, lets you rattle at him until you run out of air. You can feel how flushed you are, red in the cheeks. Tears are threatening in your waterline. You want to shake him, scream at him, insult him in a way he’ll remember forever. Lewis just watches you. 

“Take your underwear off.” 

It’s like a bucket of cold water over your head, in your eyes, down your spine. 

“What?”

“Take your underwear off. If that’s what you really think. I’ll show you much I don’t like being with you.” 

“Fuck you,” you say, shaking your head. Your rage is so choking in your chest, it’s making it hard to breathe. 

“Do it,” Lewis says, pulling his hands out of his pockets, moving life back into his body. 

“Don’t fuck with me.” 

“I’m not. Take it off.” 

Your bottom lip is hurting where your teeth are digging in. Not sure whether to call his bluff or not. And then. The fabric on your hands, reaching back to unclasp your bra, shrug out of it. Your underwear down your legs, stepping out of it. Puddle of black lace. And your body. Naked. Exposed. Daring him. 

Lewis walks over to you like he’s been tracking you for a long time, through the forest, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise you, a practiced attack. You feel hunted. Finally caught. Like you’ve been running for hours. It would be nice to stop. 

His hands on you, warm and rough, on your breasts, slipping over your rib cage, down to your hips, tugging you into him. The fabric of his suit is slick on your skin. You feel unsteady, off balance, pulled into his gravitational orbit. His fingers in your mouth, two, the metal of his rings on your lips. You suck, instinctively. Let your teeth drag when he pulls them out, shining wet. He hisses at the bite. 

  “Don’t even try,” he tells you, and then his fingers are in you, no warning. The stretch is perfect, as he holds them there, rocking them inside you so your body opens, reacting out of your control. 

  “I hate you,” you say, without meaning too, your voice raspy. Lewis has his other hand in your hair, and he tugs enough to make you look up at him, meet his eyes. 

  “No, you don’t,” he tells you, his breath on your skin, his voice almost a croon. His thumb has shifted, on your clit, steady pressure. 

  “I do.” 

  “Fine,” his fingers out of you, a sudden loss. He steps away, not touching you. You stumble.

  “Bend over the counter,” Lewis tells you. You could say no. Walk off to the bathroom. Ignore him for the rest of the night. 

  You bend over the counter. It’s built into the middle of the closet, a vase full of roses in the centre. The top is clear, so you can see into the rows of jewellery, carefully laid out. Lewis' hands on your hips, angling you properly for him, the click of his belt. You drop your head into your folded arms, so he can’t hear the way you groan when he pushes into you, not waiting. Doesn’t let you adjust. Just pushes his palms down in the middle of your back, fucks into you, controlling the pace. You're glad he can’t hear the mindless sounds you’re making into your skin, open mouthed. He’s impatient, chasing his own orgasm without a thought for yours, rough. It makes you hot all over, overwhelmingly conscious of everywhere he’s touching you, wrapping your hair into his fist to pull your head back, arching your back. Can’t help but cry out, no way to quiet yourself. 

  “You hate me, hey?” He asks, pulling you further back. He's hitting a spot inside you that makes you forget how to breathe. 

  “Like that,” you tell him, voice thin, eyes closed. 

  “Like that, you reckon,” he says, almost to himself, “How can someone you hate so much make you feel so good?”

  “Lewis,” you rasp, reaching back to touch his hip. The pace is unforgiving. Your stomach is pressed into the lip of the counter. This can’t ever end. You'll die if he stops.

  “Only I can fuck you like this,” he says, and then he’s leaning over you, his mouth by your ear, “Only me.” 

  “Yes,” you say, helpless, can’t think anymore. 

  “Considering you hate me,” Lewis says, and spanks you, just once, the sound of it sharp in the room, “You’re moaning like you fucking love me.”

  He pulls away, done torturing you with the rumble of his voice, his big hands curving around your waist to fuck you back onto him. 

  “I’m gonna come in you,” Lewis says, and you can’t do much but say yes, yes and he’s doing it, grasping at you, fucking deep into you over and over, panting. 

You stay bent over the counter, your hot face on the cool of the glass, trying to centre yourself, feeling the pulse of him inside you, the heat. You moan when he pulls out, reluctant, but it’s only a second before he’s pulling you around, throwing you over his shoulder like you’re nothing, an annoyance. 

  Your fists in the back of his jacket, holding onto him, knowing he won’t drop you, would never. Fall limply where he dumps you onto the bed. He’s still dressed, in his suit. Sweat shiny on his forehead. A braid has fallen from his bun to lie on his cheekbone. 

  “I love you,” he says, standing above you. You watch him get undressed, steady hands on buttons. Slow reveal of his body. The way he crawls over you, the warmth of him. The easy way he can get inside you, the second time, wet and waiting. 

  “Tell me,” Lewis murmurs, his mouth close to yours. Your hands are twisted in his hair, soft sounds every time he pushes back into you. 

  “I love you,” you whisper, close your eyes, let him kiss you. 

[bump1nthen1ght]

Morning In Bed (Naga x Reader)

Pairing: Trans Male!Reader/Male!Naga

Genre: Fantasy, Domestic, Fluff,

Warnings: 18+ Content up ahead! Impregnation, Oviposition, slight Breeding Kink,

Word Count: 1549 words

Summary: You spend another relaxing morning bed with your husband, with a couple of (welcome) surprises along the way

Request: Hey! I'd love to see something nsfw between a naga and a trans male reader. Could you write about the reader getting impregnated, and/or the actual egg laying process if that's not too much.

When you first built your house with your husband, Venthr, he had two requests:

One, for your bedroom to have a wall facing the West, right next to the side of your California King Mattress. Two, that there be a large window on that same wall, to allow the morning rays to heat up your bed and act like a giant sun lamp when you both wake up. You had agreed readily, because even though you loved cuddling with your husband, his cold-blood always had you layering on pajama pants and cozy socks, prepared for a cold compress pressed to your side the whole night.

The sun feels especially nice this morning, with Venthr’s tail wrapped around your legs, shoving away the warmth of your duvet and focusing solely on feeling up your lower half. You crack one eye open as Venthr lays hot kisses on your neck, his claws slightly grazing your hip as he massages it from behind.

“Well, look who's become a morning person.” Your murmur, face still half shoved into a pillow. From the corner of your eye you can see Venthr smile, his long fangs peeking out from between his lips, which he then wets with a long swipe of his tongue.

“It’s pretty easy with you pressed up next to me.” Venthr whispers, pressing another steaming kiss to your neck, his tail slightly constricting as his chilled piercings send goosebumps across your neck. You giggle as Venthr nips at a particularly sensitive spot, reaching your hand back to tangle in his messy red hair. It hangs loose from his scrunchie, long strands framing his face and falling over his shoulders.

Venthr cuddles even closer to your body, soaking up your body heat and nudging your backside with his-

“Speaking of morning.” You wiggle your eyebrows, Venthr chuckling and rolling his eyes. He’s acting pretty smarmy for a man whose dick is pressed right up against your ass. “What, is my drool that irresistible?”

“Would it be weird or romantic if I said yes?”

“Depends on your tone of voice, I suppose.”

You contort your shoulders so you can kiss Venthr on the lips, a breathy sigh escaping you as he begins to slowly rut against your backside. His cock, unsheathed, lays hot on your low back, the tip of his tail rubbing your ankles as he leans deeper into the kiss.

In between fervent kisses, Venthr whispers, “Do you want to try this morning?”

You nod, Venthr’s affection stirring a tingling current up your body and down into your toes as he grinds even harder.

“Y-yeah, yeah I would.”

Venthr doesn’t bother responding with a snarky remark, not about how easily you become putty his hand or how maybe the both of you are now morning people; He just trails his long claws up your hips and your stomach, crawling under your pajama t-shirt and pulling it up as he goes.

The two of you had been considering having a child and had only recently started trying for one; Or, with his biology, a couple. While you two had no problems being ‘motivated’, so to speak, it had been more difficult for his eggs to take to your human biology. His cum would usually leak out of you without any of his eggs properly latching inside. The process was a little messy, but nothing some high grade bleach and plenty of sheets couldn’t handle.

You sigh as Venthr returns to his passionate sucking on your neck, his claws flicking over your nipples as he slowly spreads your legs with his tail. The smooth muscles massage your lower body as the contort and force you open, his cock finding it’s place in between your thighs.

“Gods, I love those noises you make baby.” Venthr all but groans into your ear, fingers finding purchase on your chest and twisting your nipples. You shove your face into your pillow, somehow still embarrassed by your own grunts and moans as your husband fondles you. Venthr’s chuckle vibrates against your neck as his left hand leaves your chest and moves towards your bedside cabinet. He hastily pulls open a drawer and takes out the lube, spreading it over his fingers for you to see. “I’ll get you prepped, but from what I can feel down here,” he punctuates with a hump against you, rubbing his slick cock against your juices, “I don’t think you’ll need much.”

You playfully hit his shoulder, but your muscles tingle from the pleasure and make the impact a love-tap at best. Venthr laughs again, relishing in your sounds of pleasure as he slowly walks his hand down your body. The cold lube smearing against your navel sending goosebumps all over your body.

“Y-you’re wasting t-the expensive kind, babe.”

“All for you, sweet cheeks.”

Venthr’s long fingers finally reach your crotch, spreading you open and playing with your sensitive spot before inserting two of his fingers. Your breath catches in your throat and Venthr takes the opportunity to smother you in a french kiss, fingers increasing their pace. You can taste the metal of his tongue piercing, gasping around his own moans as he finds that particular spot within you. The callouses of his palms put perfect pressure on your insides, the bottom of his palm spaying special attention to your crotch.

You feel the familiar climbing sensation of an orgasm ripple through your abdomen after a couple minutes, causing you to pat Venthr’s arm and breathily whine his name. Venthr pulls his fingers out of you with an audible slick.

“You think you’re ready? Ready to take me, all of me?”

You nod against Venthr’s neck, mind in a pleasured haze, tugging on his tail to bring his cock even closer. Venthr kisses your pulse point. “Alright, just let me know if you need to stop, okay?”

Venthr’s tail slowly shifts apart your legs even farther, the tick of his cock brushing against your entrance as he adjusts his upper half. His hand, now covered in your cum and some lube, lovingly brushes against your abdomen. With a final kiss, Venthr begins to slowly insert himself into you.

You hold your breath as Venthr’s swollen cock fills you out, the cold base of scales bumping against your backside as he bottoms out. A rumbling moan comes from his chest when he feels the way you clench around him. Venthr continues to massage your hips and begins to increase his pace once he feels your muscles relaxing. The two of you let out a series of low grunts and sighs as the tip of his dick pressures against that sensitive spot inside you. Venthr shoves his face in the crook of your shoulder, whispering a ‘fuck’ as a trail of drool begins to pool out of his mouth.

“You’re going to be-” Grunt ‘-such a good fucking dad.” Ungh “I can’t wait to see you, filled to the brim, petting your stomach.” Aah “Chaperoning those dorky school trips, going to overpriced amusement parks.” Fuck.

With your husband’s cock pounding you into oblivion, you barely have the mental capacity to comment on his dirty talk, your responses limited to slurred  ‘uh-huh’s and yelps. Venthr’s tail struggles to keep their grip on your sweaty legs, desperately wrapping tighter and tighter as your bed begins to shake with the power of his thrusts. The bedsprings squeal as he grabs the top of the headboard, holding up his upper body so he can fuck you even harder. Your fingers clench around the bed sheets, knuckles white while Venthr’s movements become sloppier and sloppier, the returning feeling of climax bubbling up in your core.

“You’re gonna look so handsome with my eggs inside you, baby. I know it, fuck!” You throw your right calf around Venthr’s tail, pushing him even deeper inside of you as your pleasure climbs to higher and higher heights, moving your own hips in tandem with your husbands. Both your moan’s raise in pitch, your bed frame slamming against the wall with cacophonous bangs. Venthr’s sharp nails comb through your hair as presses a sloppy kiss to your forehead, more of his saliva dripping from his mouth and onto your face.“Fuck, fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming baby, I’m gonna-”

Your orgasm rocks your body, aftershocks shaking your very bones as Venthr’s thick, gelatinous sperm fills you up. The globes of unfertilized eggs push past your cervix and send another wave of trembling shivers down your spine, forcing your eyes to roll into the back of your head.

The two of you stay in that final position for a couple of seconds, Venthr’s dick pushing and holding his eggs inside you as your eyes slowly come back into focus. Venthr’s heart beats quickly, the vibrations pulsing against your back as his tail muscles stay constricted around your legs, holding them in your breeding position. But once the endorphins run out and your muscles begin to ache, the two of you collapse into a sweaty, cuddly pile.

The silence lingers even as your reason returns from post-sex euphoria, Venthr absentmindedly petting your rib cage and caressing your thighs.

“You know, I think my dirty talk made all the difference.”

You smack Venthr’s hand, playful and weak. Venthr laughs.

Just another morning in bed with your husband.

[cheekygreenty]

His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

[valdemart]

Valdebreed Part 2

Us: *votes for courtier content*

Nyx Hydra: Yeah we’re not gonna actually do that lol

I tried to keep Valdemar as in character as possible but honestly? Fuck cannon. If Nyx Hydra isn’t going to feed us, I am! Come get y’all lunch!

NSFW ValdemarxReader Consentacles, way too much cum, dirty talking Valdemar, breeding kink, ruined furniture, pet names, after care probably a rushed intro but fuck it.

After pulling yourself together and freshening up in a very well-earned bath, you made your way back to your room where Valdemar waited.

The fire place had been lit. It was also the only light in the room. If it hadn’t been your own room, you might have bumped into something as you made your way over to where you could see Valdemar.

When you first moved in, there had been a chair in the library that you had fallen in love with. It was an oversized arm chair, big enough to curl up in, made of burgundy velvet. You sank into it like a spoiled house cat and read for hours at a time. Valdemar had found you napping in it at some point and shortly after you had found it had been moved to your room. That’s where they sat now. Naked.

 Valdemar never disrobed. Ever. Honestly, you had wondered a few times if their clothing wasn’t part of their actual body. This wasn’t their ‘real’ form, after all. You wouldn’t have been totally shocked to learn that their coat was just their true form’s arm or something, molded to look like clothing. Apparently, you were wrong. All of their skin was the same olive hue as their face and hands, the only other skin of theirs you had really seen before. They were a rectangular shape, their waist only dipping in slightly beneath their ribcage before fulling out to their hips. Their ribs were almost all entirely visible, the shadows cast by the firelight highlighting each groove and protuberance. And sitting on those ribs were the tiniest handfuls of breast tissue, with such perfectly symmetrical shape and nipples that they very obviously weren’t ‘human’. You’d only ever known breasts to be perfect mirror images of each other on statues. You could follow their legs up to their lap, but then all you could make out was shadow.

They were breathtakingly and horrifyingly beautiful.

“I think I’m…overdressed,” you said, your voice so thick with anticipation that you had to pause to swallow before you could finish your sentence.

“For now. I thought this particular situation called for some vulnerability on my part. Disrobe, Little Mouse.”

You slid off your robe and let it pool at your feet, leaving you as bare as they were.

“Come to me.”

You were before them in an instant, desperate to be near them. On them. Filled with them.

“Sit.”

You straddled their lap slowly, knowing the extent of their strength, but still slightly put off by the sight of their ribs. Parts of your brain seemed to have mistaken them for human.

You shivered as your chest pressed against theirs and your nipples hardened against their cool skin. You noticed quietly that theirs were still unerect and soft against you. Their hands wrapped around you gently, their fingers somehow sliding perfectly into the spaces between your ribs where they connected to your spine. If they squeezed, they could probably collapse your whole chest cavity. You had seen them crush a femur in their fist like it had been made out of sugar.

“We’re you ready to begin the experiment, Mouseling?”

“Kiss me first?”

Their lips were cold and thin and they felt so good against your heated skin.

There was loud crackling noise, too loud to have been from the fireplace, followed by a grotesque, wet sound. It sounded like someone was butchering a chicken right in front of you and you would have fallen back to the floor in surprise if Valdemar hadn’t been holding you.

You only saw it for a second but, in the firelight, you saw a cleft on Valdemar’s sternum that started to split open further like the skin was being retracted. You yelped and Valdemar reached out to grab your chin and hold your head upright.

“Look at me, Mouseling. Look only at me.”

They released your chin but your eyes never left theirs. You watched the flames behind you flicker in their red eyes as something unimaginably horrible was happening right below you. The sound traveled downward until it stopped where their genitals would be. Then it was quiet again. You could feel the dark energy emanating from just a few inches below you, but your eyes never left Valdemar’s and you weren’t sure if it was from fear or servility.

“Such an obedient little thing,” Valdemar praised as they brushed your hair off your face. You were sweating despite the chill of their skin and your head was swimming. Their magic tended to do that to you. Asra’s magic and your own magic never made you sick, but Valdemar’s always did. You weren’t sure if it was because it came from a different source or because it was too strong for you. Asra said it was a much older, much darker magic, and that even he wasn’t completely sure he understood it. That had upset you at first, and you tried to argue with him that Valdemar wasn’t evil and you were sick of everyone’s constant comments about it, but he merely placed a finger to your lips to silence you and said ‘I said dark energy, not evil energy’. To Asra’s credit, he handled your relationship with the doctor better than most people had.

But what would he think about a baby?

“Allow me to show you just how satisfying that which you fear is.”

Several appendages the width of a finger started to caress your body, making you jerk away against them, but Valdemar held you steady and your eyes never left theirs. They stared at you, unblinking and smiling softly, as their little tendrils fondled your stomach and legs. They were wet and soft like small tongues, and they left trails of moisture wherever they lapped. While they were a little unnerving, the sensation was like nothing you had felt before. Especially when they found your breasts. They flicked against your nipples flatly before wrapping around them to tug lightly. Your clit pulsed desperately with each little caress and your wet hole clenched around nothing, leaving you feeling desperately empty.

You groaned softly and bucked forward, trying to guide even one of those tendrils to where you now needed it most.

“Impatient?” Valdemar asked, knowing damned well the answer to their own question. “We have the rest of eternity.”  

Still, the tendrils descended then. Some softly pulled your lips apart, exposing you, while others tasted you. Two alternated flicks against your clitoris while three or maybe four slid into you at varying depths.

You keened and bucked into Valdemar’s lap, but you knew nothing you could do would change anything they had planned for you.

“Let’s get you nice and prepared to take my seed.”

It didn’t take long for the appendages to lubricate you, perhaps excessively so. Your body was wet now, and it caused you to shiver against the air.

The tendrils working your body withdrew, and you whined pitifully.

“Hush, Pet,” Valdemar said softly, though clearly unannoyed.

There was a singular tendril then, thicker than any of the last ones. A blunt head prodded you gently for a moment before sliding fully inside. Its girth stretched you, but whatever Valdemar had covered you in took away all resistance.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and, for a moment, you were worried they wouldn’t come back. This was so much more than anything Valdemar had ever given you. You doubted Valdemar had an established phallus, especially since they shapeshifted every other part of their physical form. This huge thing inside of you was made specifically because they wanted you helplessly full, pinned from the inside.

“I c-cant…Val…”

You weren’t asking for them to stop. No, this was delicious. You need this. But it was so, so much.

“You can. And you will.”

The phallus withdrew slowly to the tip before sliding back in just as slowly, all while Valdemar didn’t move a muscle. It was so typical of the demon, to wreck you without any indication of physical response on their end. They were going to fuck you and anyone watching would think they had nothing to do with it.

Valdmar’s…cock? For lack of a better comparison in your mind fucked you in the uniform way Valdemar did anything. While it lacked human variation, it was unrelenting in its endeavor to impregnant you.

“I can feel your little cunt milking me. Your body’s as desperate to get pregnant as you are.”

Your head dropped with a heavy moan and Valdemar shifted back, taking your full weight against them. If this dicking didn’t kill you, them talking like that certainly would. The heat inside of you was becoming unbearable. All you needed was a little bit more.

“Can you go faster?” You asked softly as you jerked your hips forward into their thrusting.

“Weren’t you just saying you couldn’t handle things as they were?”

You whined pitifully at their teasing.

“Please? Please? Please?”

With each beg you humped yourself harder. You could feel your climax mounting and all you wanted was to finish with Valdemar this deep inside of you. You weren’t above begging.

“Of course, Duckling. We need your orgasm to move my ejaculate to your womb.”

Their weird medical speak should have been embarrassing, but your walls fluttered around them.

One of their hands found the back of your head while the other wrapped around your waist. When Valdemar pushed back into you, it was a sharp, hard thrust and you cried out before you fell forward. You moaned loudly into the fabric of the chair and Valdemar held you against it.

“I have you.”

The tentacle started to piston in and out of you, the speed of the penetration through both of your fluids making the most unholy of sounds, like someone drowning in mud. Your body jiggled and shuddered against Valdemar as they remained perfectly still while they kept you caged to them.

“Val! Val-d-de-mah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

It was right there. You could feel yourself about to snap. Just a little more. Oh, please just a little more. Oh please oh please oh please oh please

A few of the small tendrils from earlier reappeared to lap at your clit and you screamed into the chair. As you contracted around the still thrusting phallus, you could feel it erupt. The fluid coming out of it wasn’t hot or cold, but there was a ridiculous amount of it. It squirted inside of you before you felt it leak out around the two of you, quickly causing a puddle to form in Valdemar’s lap. Despite this, they were still moving in and out of you, fucking their cum back inside of you as it came out.

Too spent to try and wiggle away from the overstimulation, you whimpered for mercy.

“ ‘S too much. Val…”.

“I’m only trying to make sure you’re completely inseminated. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Despite their teasing, their tendril retracted out of you. You shuddered, both thankful for the break and grieving the loss of fullness.  

“Val…That was crazy…”

“Science often is.”

It wasn’t hard for Valdemar to maneuver you onto your back in their lap, despite you being completely dead weight. Hooking one arm under your knees, they elevated your lower body and cradled you.

“You’re being too wasteful with my sperm, Little One. You need to be more grateful.”

Finally able to look at yourself, you saw that you were bathed almost completely in black. It started around your breasts where the tendrils had played with you and you grew darker the further down yourself you looked. Of course, Valdemar came black. You doubted anything viable in terms of offspring would actually come of this, but the closeness, the intimacy, that was what you had really needed. The brain melting orgasm hadn’t hurt either.

“I love you.”

Valdemar hummed in acknowledgement before softly running a finger down your stomach, through the gummy pitch they had covered you in, before tracing small circles around your womb.

Every time the fire flickered, the lighting on their face changed, making them look like they were morphing briefly. You couldn’t help but smile.

“We’re going to have such cute kids.”

[xxsmokeyy]

Levi x Reader (F) It’s The Tea

genre: fluff, canon divergence — coffee shop setting

summary: a misplaced table and a pair of hands that had a knack for good tea; you wonder what brought Humanity’s Strongest to your shop.

wc: 6,262

part II

“I’ll have one flat white,” a customer says as she picks money from her coin purse. You give her a smile after receiving her payment, the exact amount saving you the task of calculating change.

“Coming right up.” And you make your way to the coffee beans to make the blend she ordered. She watches in patience as you skillfully maneuver around the counter, getting everything done along the process. You incline the porcelain a little to make for the finishing art, steamed milk piercing through the coffee and creating a signature shape. In no time, you hand her the drink on top of a saucer.

She silently nods as brief thanks, and as soon as she turns her back to you, you dart your eyes on a table of one by the far right windowpane. You carefully spectate her and what direction she’s going. She’s going to the table!

The make-do suspense keeps you on your toes as you look at her intently, breath slightly hitching, waiting for her to sit on the lone chair. The woman navigates across the room, heading straight for your wishful desires. Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, witnessing the life-changing moment unravel before your eyes. No way. She really is.

The cup of coffee on her left hand, she uses her right to move the chair to take a seat. But just when she’s about to pull it back, someone calls her from another table, waving at her excitedly.

You stand upright and alert while your scrutinizing gaze follow her movements. She looks at where the voice is coming from, and almost immediately, her face brightens upon seeing who. Her right hand lets go of the wooden furniture and proceeds to where the caller sits. You look at her destination and find three people on a table of four. It doesn’t take long before she takes the free seat and starts chatting with them.

Your body slumps back with a disappointed sigh. Looks like no one’s sitting there yet again.

It’s the closest call you’ve ever had after years of this shop’s existence. Why no one chooses to sit there is beyond you. Either your customers are not alone, or they are, but only to take out their orders. Actually, even if they’re alone, they’d take the table for two instead. Do they not want to look lonely that bad? You groan in annoyance.

The table consists of a small, circular table and a single chair by the window. In your mightiest opinion, it’s the perfect place to just sit down, enjoy a cup of hot coffee, and read a book. But nobody’s ever done that through the passing years, and you can only witness the table being neglected by people.

It irks you a little. Could there have been another way to maximize the space that stemmed from unproportional construction? Maybe it really is time to remove those. Maybe it’s not really a big deal.

You’ve been contemplating too many times replacing it with a plant vase or a decorative ornament to take up the space since it’s of no use anyway. But something just tells you you shouldn’t. Besides, just thinking thinking about feels costly.

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and before you know it, you’ve opened the store again, serving customers after customers. This time, you never gave the table another glance. Surprisingly enough, you spent the whole night debating with yourself on what decoration you should fill the space with. A nice bookshelf would’ve been good, but you decided to go with a monstera plant to make use of the window right by it. Not until your day off, though, which is still on Sunday.

Having consecutively served around six customers and cleaned used tables, you sit and take a breather, resting your eyes by reading a book to let a couple minutes go by.

You slowly get sucked into the story, the marvelous art of prose bringing you into the plot’s little universe. The way the writer used the most fitting descriptive words possible astounds you, making a smile of enjoyment involuntarily creep up your lips. Somehow, you think writing is similar to making coffee, mixing different elements to create the perfect blend, the sole goal of making an exquisite taste that will leave people aching for more? Oh, and they both smell good, books and coffee. A chuckle leaves your lips.

Just when you’re deep in thought, things starting to stir up in the narration, someone speaks in front of you.

“One black tea,” a stern voice curtly orders, interrupting your peace. Harshly brought back to reality, you rise to your feet to resume to work. First tea of the day, huh?

Sure, your shop is known for its good coffee, but your tea can put up for a competition, too. It’s just that these days, coffee is more on the popular side, since tea can be made in almost any household now.

You close your book to attend to the customer, but not without leaving a bookmark on the current page. When you look at him, you almost freeze in your tracks. Well if it isn’t Humanity’s Strongest himself!

A pair of dazing stale eyes bore into your own with an unreadable expression and you compose yourself. Crap, you must have been caught giggling to yourself. You feel heat speedily cover your cheeks, turning you to a blushing mess. How shameful.

“Pardon me,” you excuse, clearing your throat before telling him the price. He wordlessly fishes for his wallet and pays. He does find you a bit weird, laughing at nothing, but pays it no more mind. He’s supposed to be on leisure, not meddling with some brat’s uncanny actions.

As you turn your back to make his beverage, you squint your eyes in loss of face. It really is the Captain Levi, and you probably looked like a creep in his eyes. Now what will become of your shop’s repute?

You shove the thought to the back of your head and start working. The ravenhead watches back as you work your hands into making a, hopefully, good blend. Your heart is beating wildly inside your chest like it’s about to jump off your rib cage, but you try to ignore it. The thought of a widely known persona such as him inside your very shop is crazy. To what do you even owe this pleasure?

Oh well, you’ll just pour your heart into making his tea, that way you might erase his ridiculous impression of you in his head. Hey! What’s so bad about giggling while reading? your subconscious tries to defend while you strain the boiled tea leaves into a clean china. The earthly smell hits your nose, making you want one, too.

You smile as you hand over the teacup. “Thank you for your service,” you add, even going as far as bowing. The moment the phrase escapes your lips, you regret it right away. Chills shoot up your spine. It sounds so awkward and unnecessary, but should you just treat the Captain like any other people knowing he’s done so much for your country?

Your cheeks flush into a faint, pink color. Thankfully, you’re slightly angled downwards, he might not see. Levi only eyes you for a second before nodding and taking the cup of tea in his hands, his calloused fingers grazing your hands fleetingly.

When you hear his footsteps fade, you rise and rub a palm against your face. You hesitantly take a glance toward the Captain, and shock takes over your whole system. To be totally honest, you never thought you’d see the day someone would sit on that table.

He looks perfectly placed on the table, like it’s reserved a long time just for him. He’s in civillian clothes, probably to not attract a lot of people. The sunlight gives his face a pretty sheen, the air from the window blowing lightly on his dark fringes. Your heart continues to skip several beats for no clear reason. Maybe that is the reason why your instincts keep telling you to not replace it.

Meanwhile, Levi sips on the freshly brewed tea, the strong flavor staining on his tongue just right. As he occupies his mind somehwere else, the taste hits better. Everything feels evenly distributed, the base smooth and pleasant, the amount of water not brimming. The temperature isn’t so bad as well.

Then and there, he guesses you source fine leaves from the innermost walls, which is a luxury at this point, not to mention your non-overpriced charge.

Not bad, he thinks.

You’re dumbstruck as you sit back in awe. You weren’t able to decipher what he’s thinking, but you know for sure he doesn’t hate it from seeing that he emptied the whole thing and left a generous tip.

You grab your tray and proceed to cleaning up the table he previously seated on, the whole decision of shopping for a plant on Sunday going down the drain.

—

It’s been a whole month since the Captain’s visit, and you think of the once in a lifetime moment often, and at times randomly. You sure as heck won’t be removing the table now that something has happened.

“Thank you,” you say as you hand the cup of coffee, serving the last one for the queue. It’s a late, cloudy afternoon, looking like it’s about to shower, and the shop is pretty dull. Well, that only means you can read more.

“Is this the shop they say sells well?” you hear someone from the ordering area. “Yeah, you go ahead,” they converse. You’re making coffee for yourself at the moment and you can’t peer to look at whose voice it is.

“What? You do it!”

“Just go! We don’t have time!”

“What the fuck? You’re the one holding the knife, aren’t you?!” a man shouts in a whisper. You can’t hear crystal clear due to being far into the counter, although you know they must be disturbing the atmosphere.

Vexed by their rowdiness, you turn around and stop making the blend. You walk to the front of the counter, “Excuse me, please lower your—”

“Give me all your money, lady. Let’s transact in peace so nobody gets hurt,” the man grabs your collar, knife pointed straight into your neck. Another man of his companion moves to the side to cover their actions. You don’t feel the sharp edge prick your skin due to intense panic.

You look around frantically, worried if there are other people harmed. To your relief, they seem to not notice anything, if you can even call that relieving. Now there must be no saving you.

“It’s alright, we won’t bring someone else into this, just do what we ask,” the other guy says, wide, haunting eyes looking straight into you. You feel cold sweat drip from your forehead.

“Now hand us what you got.”

On the other hand, Levi finishes with his errands around the capital and stumbles within your shop’s vicinity. Walking mindlessly, he checks the skies to tell the time, but sees the dark clouds instead. It seems it’s about to pour.

He’s already in front of your shop, but the threatening rain will be bigger trouble, he might get stranded if he stops by. Plus, he probably didn’t bring enough money, so he’s got no choice but head back now.

Just when he’s about to leave, his peripheral vision miraculously catches sight of your horrified expression through the window, putting him to an abrupt halt. He turns to see better, and finds two men roughing you up while trying to hide the commotion.

He clicks his tongue and spins to turn away. It’s not his business anymore, it’s for the Military Police to deal with. They might be loan sharks for all he knows, and you’d be held entirely accountable for that.

Unable to take the view of the knife pointed to your neck out of his head, he sighs defeatedly and eventually discovers himself inside the store, else it’d slowly eat at his conscience.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” he questions with a firm voice, turning heads his way.

“It’s Captain Levi from the Survey Corps!”

“What a lucky day!”

People stir up upon seeing the Captain to which he only ignores, full attention on you and the two criminals.

The robber without a weapon quickly turns around to check, shaking in fear. As he makes terrifying eye contact with the Captain, he makes haste for the door in desperate hopes of escaping, but to no avail. Levi grabs the back of the poor guy’s head and slams it against an empty table, putting him to deep sleep. Then turning to your armed assaulter, Levi closes in with big steps and takes the knife down before swinging the side of his hand, striking a nerve on the man’s neck to knock him out.

Levi perceives they’re complete amateurs and wonders why they even steal. Atleast one of them tried to run, he thinks as he looks down on the passed out crooks.

You’re not exactly sure if your heart calmed down or speeded up even more—maybe both, but you feel safe and more at ease.

Tying the last knot, he stands from his kneeled form and dusts his hands off to rid himself of the filth.

You only watch silently, mind clouded in confusion of what to do. Captain Levi came just in time and saved you and your shop of possible bankruptcy. Say, it could have been the worst timing considering you haven’t cleared your cash box for weeks now. You’re reminded of how much you owe the Captain.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be out cold for a while, just call the MP’s on them,” Levi assures before taking a glance at you and fails to understand your expression, your face looks like it’s leaking shit in his opinion.

You look at the two robbers dozing off tied together by the help of Levi and your spare rope before giving your savior another bow. “Thank you so much!” you exclaim and raise your head to meet his fierce gaze.

“And sorry for the trouble, people around here can get belligerent, especially to us business owners,” you add.

He observes you from head to toe, eyes particularly lingering on your neck, and you blush in embarrassment, feeling his hot stare.

“Is there—?”

He takes something from his pocket and offers you a handkerchief which you cluelessly accept. You later on realize what it’s for, finally feeling a sting on your neck. You wipe the bleeding area and see trails of crimson on your apron as well.

With no reason to stay any longer, Levi steers to leave, but is just in time to witness the rain pour down heavily, big droplets washing against the windows. He sighs, it’s just as he guessed.

You, on contrast, get an idea to show your gratitude, feeling a physical candle light up in your brain. “Captain Levi, please stay and let the rain pass while I brew you some coffee,” you negotiate with strong willed eyes, fixed on returning him a favor. It’s the least you could do from within your limited skills, and you’d like it if he’d accept. Actually, you won’t accept if he rejects, fully wanting to pay him back atleast a tad.

He looks back at you, slightly surprised. You seem like a more persistent person now rather than an easily flustered mess. Could he be so insensitive as to decline your generous offer after seeing your firm resolve? But more importantly, coffee? Could he be so thick-skinned as to ask for something else other than that?

When he stays quiet, you decide to go ahead and make him a drink from one of your premium coffee beans, but you’re put to a stop as he speaks.

“I’d prefer tea.”

Oh, right. He did ask for black tea a month back, didn’t he? You give him a smile and a thumbs up of approval before turning your back to make his tea.

Levi massages his temples and takes a seat, eyeing the immobilized crooks and the outside, thinking what he got himself into. It won’t be so bad to stay for a while and let the rain ease down, right?

You wait for the water to boil before dropping a bunch of mint leaves, then waiting for it to simmer. You prepare a porcelain cup and saucer and pour in the hot liquid, adding honey for a natural sweetener. You mix in a couple droplets of lemon to balance the flavor and you’re good to go.

You set the tea on his chosen table of two, giving the free seat a momentary glimpse. You wonder how it would feel like to have a proper conversation with Captain Levi, only to quickly dismiss the thought of joining him as you hear someone call you from the counter. Thankfully, people are back to minding their business and don’t bother the Captain anymore. You excuse yourself and return to work, still a couple hours away from closing time.

Levi sits back and enjoys the tea you made, soon learning it’s a fresh peppermint tea. Though it’s only the second time he’s having your brew, he doesn’t know why he already has high expectations. The choice of blend is perfect for a rainy day, and it’s exactly what he would have made when he returned back to the headquarters. You don’t really look like someone who prefers tea, but he’s impressed nevertheless.

He sips on the cup, letting the weather pass and the taste line his tongue. A variety of things occupy his mind involuntarily and before he knows it, the rain has calmed down into a shower.

He stands to leave but suddenly notices an umbrella left on his table. When did that get there? He takes a glimpse at you and finds you looking back at him with curious, alert eyes like that of a cat, immediately averting your gaze and resuming to pick up the dirtied tableware onto your tray.

Levi confirms it’s from you, and it’s another one of your acts of gratitude. He’s left with no choice and grabs it, wraps his slender fingers around the handle, and takes his leave.

Satisfied, you sigh in relief as you watch his back drift into the darkness. You look at the handkerchief in the pocket of your apron, smiling. Despite rumors of him being an unrelenting leader and a ruthless thug that stretched way back, the Captain is a kind man, isn’t he? If there really is such thing as coincidence, you’d like to consider yourself lucky for having experienced it.

—

About two more weeks pass when Levi finds himself hooked into the sweet aroma of the tea you make, the ambience of your shop’s environment, and something else he can’t put a name on. In actuality, he may or may not be using your umbrella as an excuse to go to your store right now.

He takes a glance at his hand holding the same umbrella. He briefly questions himself what he’s doing but pushes the thought aside with the use of his well thought of excuse. True enough, he can’t just go around using other people’s possession, can he?

He begins to sense the growing familiarity of your shop as he closes in. The choice of location being just at the mouth of the city, the distinct line between rural and urban is visibly emphasized.

As Levi enters through the saloon door, his eyes almost immediately find your form, leisurely reading while leaning on the counter, back turned against the entrance, your hair up in a braided bun which he finds neat. He clicks his tongue as he approaches to order.

“It’s easier to mug you that way,” he says and you jolt in surprise. Recognizing the stone cold voice, you spin to see the Captain in front of you, inside your very shop once again. This is no coincidence anymore!

“Captain Levi!” you greet with a beam, utterly delighted to see him. “Pleasant afternoon, what can I get you?” you ask and look him straight in the face. He’s in casual clothes, so you guess it’s another one of his day off’s. His sombre eyes of a unique bluish grey color take on your gaze fiercely. It’s true that the eyes convey one’s entire personality, as you feel his menace even though he doesn’t intend to display it.

“Black tea,” he says without a hitch, giving you the exact amount of money, and you proceed to your working space. Boiling of water, straining of tea leaves, pouring it into clean china; as you hand it to him, they start to resemble a routine.

He goes ahead and takes the corner table, and you couldn’t be any happier, thinking he seems to like the spot, choosing it among every other free seats. Levi takes a sip, and enjoys it with no wonder. You didn’t fail to make an exquisite blend.

A couple moments later, he’s still there. While everyone else chitchats with their company, he sits in silence with his beverage, ocassionally looking at the sky freely laid out by the window. He’s never really one to catch up with the bulletin and read daily papers, he’d prefer books for that matter.

As you wipe with a rag the empty tabletop just beside him, you see him looking at the window, cup of tea in hand. He, however, feels your stare, and wordlessly slides an umbrella on the table without batting you an eye. You recognize it as yours and take a step towards him.

“You better not have arrived home drenched that night,” he says. It’s only until he returned to the headquarters that he had realized you must have given him your only umbrella.

A chuckle leaves your mouth, aren’t you concerned. “I might have.” He clicks his tongue.

You grab it in your hands and follow his gaze, soon looking vacantly at the view as well. “You can see the skies from there, right?” you ask, earning a low hum in response.

“I wonder how far they stretch from outside on… Some say they’re boundless,” the words unconsciously slip from your mouth as you watch the clouds move. Something about relatively slow afternoons just hypnotize you to no end.

Levi shifts his gaze to your figure upon hearing a frame of your mind, finding a glimmer of ambition in the mesmerizing pools of your eyes. He can hear your train of thoughts out loud, while you wonder if you could ever get to experience the outside world. He remembers a couple friends thinking the same thing way back, and he realizes, it’s people like you that he hates to see drift away, one of those whom he feels he has to protect, though it’s not like you know each other to great extent.

He brings his cup to his lips and frankly speaks, “It’s not pretty out there.”

His words interrupt you from your daze, making you look at him. You notice he grips the teacup oddly, holding it around the mouth instead of its handle. You heave out a shallow sigh. “Figured you’d say that,” you say with a sad smile. It’s undeniable, coming from him.

You fish something from the pocket of your apron and leave it on his table, then making your way back to the counter. A seemingly little exchange of borrowed objects. He eyes his cleaned dry handkerchief and leaves a comment before you can stray farther, “It does seem endless.”

The corners of your lips upturn into a grateful smile. He really is soft. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t know exactly what you’re thanking him for.

—

Time and time passed, and he always comes every week without fail. Sometimes, when days are light, he even visits twice a week. You could say you have developed quite a relationship with the Captain, though not something that can be considered close to sentimental. The distance is still present, but you’d have small talks here and there, sometimes you’d lend him your books just so he doesn’t bore himself to death, or maybe so he’d stay a little longer.

You gradually learn to read his moods through the language of his orders. You find that he’s more of a tea lover based solely from the fact that he never once asked for coffee. Black tea is his regular, Oolong tea is when something probably turns out good or successful, since the price a little higher and you guess it’s his little way of celebrating, Chamomile tea when something is roughly off, you figure as he never speaks excessively when he orders it.

You never end up joining him, though. Of course, he always takes the table of one, there isn’t room for another.

“The usual,” Levi briefly says and hands you the exact charge. Never faltering, you smile and continue to make black tea for the man. “You still haven’t hired a helper,” he points out and you hum in agreement.

“I can manage by myself,” you inform as you stir his tea. You’ve managed years by your own, what use is there for an extra hand? Besides, it’s not like your shop gets hoarded by huge amounts of people. Coffee shops attract a moderate number, and you’re fine with that.

You slide the finished drink to Levi and he accepts, heading to his own little corner. Ever since he first came, you labeled the corner seat as his own, and you never thought of removing it again. He doesn’t seem like a very social person, like he’s a man of few words if talking is unnecessary. You always wonder how it must feel to have a conversation with such a persona; must be novel and inspiriting. Problem is, you don’t have the guts to initiate it. You don’t want to be overlooked as a fangirl of the sort. If possible, you want to converse casually.

It’s the looming distance between a coffee shop owner and a country’s renowned soldier that obstructs you from feeling on level as him.

Still, you don’t know why you’re currently grabbing a book from one of your drawers and why you’re currently making your way toward him, tray still in hand to clean afterwards as an excuse.

“Fancy a book?” you offer as you set one of your favorite titles on his table. He darts his eye on it and studies the cover for a brief moment, seeing if it’s up to his standards. It doesn’t really pique his interest, but you made an effort, and it’d be of great companion with the tea.

Levi accepts the book in his hands and starts reading, later learning about the main character’s introduction. “You have a lot of books,” he comments out of observation. This isn’t the first time you offered him one, nor is it just the second. He’s come to a conclusion that you have a liking for it.

You hum in agreement. “I like collecting them, but they’re still not enough to fill a shelf, though. I’m thinking about putting one here,” you say, already envisioning where to place it.

He almost immediately thought of the Headquarters’ library. A lot of books there just get covered in dust, unmoved. Cadets these days don’t take reading as hobby. He considers the idea of bringing some for your shop to make use of it. “I can hand you some,” he says, flipping the page.

Your eyes widen in an equal mix of delight and surprise. He’d go that far? For what? Is the Captain really like this? “Really? From where?” you try to hide the excitement in your voice, but it doesn’t escape his ears. Well isn’t that great? An upgrade for your shop and a chance to see him again. Not that he’s not showing himself enough.

“Scouts’ library,” he says, flipping another page, and you’re deep in thought. Is that allowed? Do I have to pay?

Just a couple of pages in, he seems partially engrossed. The protagonist is a traveller who encounters metaphorical life obstacles and is most likely to find self-discovery through it, that’s as much as he knows.

He notices you still haven’t left and bats you an eye. You look troubled and euphoric at the same time, he couldn’t understand entirely what you’re thinking but he has a clue. “It’s free. Some of it are old anyway,” he informs, which seems to bring your face relief. So his hunch turns out to be right, you were thinking of the burden.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking that!” you deny right away, waving your hand dismissively, cheeks blushing. You definitely were.

He stays quiet, and you feel ashamed. Does he think you’re a cheapskate? Or thick-faced? Hey, he’s also reading, you must be a distraction. Oh god, how can you make acquaintances with him now?

You aim to leave and give him his space, afraid that you might be bugging him for too long now, but Levi suddenly speaks just in time.

“You have an allurement for things about the outside,” he asserts in heed. When you don’t answer, he continues, “It’s not all rainbows out there, you know.” His perception of you still stands as he’s continuously reminded by you of people who go through great measures to reach their dreams, and those he lost due to wanting to seek for more.

You don’t know if it’s a positive connotation or a negative but he doesn’t sound so enthusiastic. Your grip on the tray tightens. The way he puts it… is he trying to make you drop your interest?

“I do know that. I just,” you pause, contemplating what to say. You’re stuck with I just want to dream, is it so bad? or I just want to experience the forbidden, I’m sick of being stuck in this birdcage, or an impulsive one: I just want to see, would you bring me outside?

Instead, you settle with “I wouldn’t know, I’m a mere shop owner. I don’t have the chance to sit and talk with someone who’s gone beyond the walls.” Like you, sir.

He studies you as you look back at him with firm eyes. Brat, you already live a life with fair peace. The resolve in your eyes didn’t waver, not one bit. He thinks, will you be content with knowing about the outside? Levi heaves out a sigh and closes the book before leisurely taking a sip on his tea.

“Maybe if you’d put another chair, we’ve been talking for months now,” he then says, an even amount of sarcasm in his tone, enough to not come off as rude.

Dumbfounded, you gawk at the Captain for a good five seconds, eyes slightly enlarged in surprise before laughing your head off, turning a couple heads your way for a fleeting second.

“What’s funny?” he quizzes, thin brows furrowed together, and you wave him off, wiping your euphoric tears away.

“Well, I didn’t know it’d be that simple, Captain!” you giggle, eyes genuinely happy and hearty. Just put a chair in? In all seriousness, he doesn’t exactly look approachable with those half lidded dark eyes and a permanent scowl now, does he? That’s one of the primary reasons you have trouble making advances to him.

Levi looks at you, taking in the undeniably beautiful sight before clicking his tongue and averting his gaze.

He’s absolutely certain he paid no attention to the way you tucked your hair behind your ear in a timid manner, the way your silky locks sway gracefully by the wind’s cool breeze, the way your delicate fingers held to the tray tightly as you try to compose yourself, and the way your glowing eyes looked back at him with a gentle gaze once you’ve finally calmed down. Yes, he likes to think he paid no extra mind to those details.

“Tch, did you think I’d bite you or something?” he deadpans, taking another sip on his cup.

“No, absolutely not!” You absolutely did. “I’ll put another chair some other day,” you say and wave him goodbye upon seeing a customer enter, returning to your working place.

He shakes his head lightly and finishes his cup, bringing the book with him as he takes his exit. The smile in your face never disappeared throughout the day, chest booming in an unrelenting speed.

Sunday comes, and you decide to do a general cleaning. You also buy a small shelf from the nearest furniture shop and have it delivered, filling it with some of your books. You squeeze in a chair to the corner by adjusting the other tables’ distances, and you can only laugh at yourself for not thinking of this long ago. You think, why not just sit on a table of two? but figure maybe the Captain’s already grown fond to the spot.

You feel like a schoolgirl as you mindlessly prepare things to talk about and questions to ask. How much does he know? Are titans really that big? Is the ocean real? What brought him to your shop?

But after that, you never saw him again. You think maybe he’ll arrive later or the next day, but more weeks pass, and not even his shadow appeared.

The slowest weeks achingly turn to months. You’ve been awfully attentive to the morning papers since then, looking for the slightest news about him, or their operations. You think it’s completely understandable, being perfectly aware that the Captain is a busy man. You know that visiting little tea shops isn’t actually a luxury that a guy like him affords, but it tugs at your heart a teeny bit, a small part of you involuntarily longing for him. Eitherway, you just wish for his and his people’s safety.

About five months have passed since you last saw him. Levi, on the other hand, has gotten busy those said times. Expeditionary Operations came after another, and he’s buried with work once they arrive back. His squad got promoted to Special Operations Squad, and intensive training was mandatory. The amount of free time he had back then was generous, and in those five months, he had no time to slack off.

But he never forgot you, every single time he drinks tea, he starts doubting his own blend as compared to yours.

“That’s the last of it,” Levi says as he hands over piles and piles of paperwork to the Commander. Erwin only grunts his response.

The ravenhead contemplates for a few moments before finally speaking, “I’ll be out. I’ll return before dinner,” he informs and turns his back, words more of a statement than asking for permission. The higher ranking officer only stares at him as his figure leaves the room. Fair enough, he’s done with his current tasks as a Captain and it’s his first day off in a while. He leaves him be.

Levi dismisses his tan jacket and fixes his cravat as he heads to the shop he favors. He ends up forgetting the books he’s supposed to give but pushes it aside. Oh well, just another excuse for him to visit.

Minutes of walking on foot, steps a little quicker than normal, and he finally arrives, the ambience hugging at his aura. It’s been long since he last set his foot here. He pushes at the saloon door, a ton of improvisations greeting his sight. The interior is now painted a beige color, the warmth going along with the wooden accents. You’ve added the shelf you said you wanted to put, a fair number of books in it. Lastly, his preferred corner seat already has two chairs opposite to each other.

Your back is turned against the door again, leaning on the counter as you occupied yourself with a book. He notices that your hair has gotten longer in a span of months. He shortly wonders what else has changed.

“Oi, the usual,” a familiar voice says, stoic tone resonating in your ears and you immediately feel your soul light up, like it’s been ages since you last felt so giddy. A chaotic mix of worry, excitement, longing, and bliss surges all throughout your body.

When you face the stale eyed man, your tingling heart shamelessly speeds up, a smile rising on your lips.

—

You wave him farewell as he leaves, and as he cuts eye contact, heat shoots up into your cheeks like crazy, which he totally misses out on.

One step out and Levi feels the presence of a stalker just around the alley. He gives her a bored look and starts walking away, which she then reveals herself and follows suit.

“So this is you and your secret lover’s getaway, huh?” Hange teases, obviously aiming to pry for more. Now what, she’s spying on him? This insane woman.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she has good tea,” Levi answers in nonchalance, staring right ahead the road. The woman makes silly noises at his response, similar to those sounds only she can produce when learning new discoveries about titans.

“Precisely,” the redhead says in satisfaction, nodding her head with her hands stroking her chin as if she got the answer she’s waiting for.

He shoves her actions aside, couldn’t care less about whatever conclusion she came up with. But no matter how much he keeps convincing his subconscious, it’s the tea that draw me in, he just can’t bring himself to believe in it.

[thelionshoarde]

I know you don't follow it anymore, but I feel cruddy so if you have it in you somewhere to do some snuggily obiyuki I would be much obliged. Otherwise, as you were, lol

For you, my dear, I will attempt anything <3 Sadly, that does not mean that I succeeded?? There are indeed snuggles, but this is perhaps a very weird, highly ridiculous fic in which Obi has Touch Issues??? I am sorry but also not sorry and I hope you enjoy it <3

They learn how to come together stubbornly, anxiously, the both of them entirely out of their depth when it comes to love returned and what to do with it.

It's like speaking a new language, relearning your body and how it moves in concert with another. Redefining boundaries long held. Gazes unable to meet, yet unable to keep away. Obi scrubs at his nape with a rough hand. Shirayuki feels hot and cold in equal measure, her skin prickling, heart pounding, each inch between them electric with tension.

"Sorry," she says. "I can take the chair."

"No, no," Obi replies, fingers squeezing bloodless around his nape. "That won't do. My fault anyway, sorry, so I'll take the chair, it's fine, it's fine-"

"Obi," says Shirayuki.

"Hm?"

"We can try again," is all the bravery she can muster.

A grimace, his thin brows quirking up his brow. "Yeah? Yeah, I mean... We probably shouldn't though."

"Obi," Shirayuki says, because she has finally hit the point where this has become ridiculous and her nerves become steel instead. "It's only a cuddle."

"Is it though?" he asks, heavy with skepticism.

With a huff of a laugh, Shirayuki reaches out and grasps his arm in hers, hands resting atop his tensed forearm. She leans in against the softness of his uniform, the warmth that he exudes, and is amazed to find that she can feel the breath in his lungs, the gentle pull in and out, in and out, his rib cage expanding against her own.

It takes a moment, but she syncs their breathing together- as he deflates, she inhales into the space he opens up for her; as he inhales, she makes way for him.

"Easy," she says, smiling.

Obi stares down at her with a complicated expression, some dread and tender thing. "Yeah, sure. Easy," he murmurs, and then sits like a garden statue with Shirayuki a clinging vine for the next half hour or so, until he can't take it anymore, practically slithers out of Shirayuki's grip to dance off the bed, across the floor and out the door, all the while rambling about duty and mischief and the rapid pace of time.

There is a lingering warmth left behind, one that makes Shirayuki frown and curl her fingers into her palm, longing for more.

-

What matters in the end, she thinks, is that the stubborn wins out over the anxious. "Obi," she says, peeking over her book at him. "You don't have work?"

"No, I do," he says, lazing on the grass beside her.

For her lunch break, she has come out to sit beneath a tree to read in the sun, the rays shining down weak and barely even warm, but bright and lovely nonetheless.

"You're slacking?" she asks, more amused than anything when he gives a little innocent grin and lithe stretch of his body, like a smug cat that refuses to be moved. A warm rush of fondness sweeps through her, so she says, "You can use my lap as a pillow, if you want," before she can turn coward, and because she wants more of that closeness, that innocent touch with someone she loves and who loves her back.

Obi's eyes open wide, staring blankly at the sky through mostly naked branches. "We are not cuddling in public," he rasps out.

"No," Shirayuki allows, and her cheeks are hot and her heart pounding and there's a shiver running cold down her spine again. Her stomach twists. Her mouth doesn't know whether to smile or not. "But- the ground can't be comfortable, can it?"

"I've had worse," is the casual reply.

Shirayuki hates how true that likely is. With a sigh, she sets her book down. Smooths out her skirts and stretches out her legs. Obi rolls his head to look at her thigh, covered in thick blue fabric. She pats it nervously, staring down at her own hand as she does, the delicate bones and the dry knuckles and the freckles on her skin.

"C'mon," she says, strangled but determined.

"Is this a thing," Obi asks.

Shirayuki says, "I'm almost positive this is a thing." because she understands he means is this a thing people who love each other do and Shirayuki doesn't know, exactly, because she's never really cared much for romance or the expression of it, but she thinks she's seen lovers seated like this in books, in paintings, out the corner of her eye when passing through parks and courtyards and-

"I want you to," she says, muffled, face on fire.

With a hushed curse, Obi rolls over.

His back is to her now. He's laying on his side with his head just barely touching her, temple to her thigh, a heavy weight. Shirayuki stares at him, surprised even though she was the one pushing, but-

She knows this is hard for him.

She knows what it costs him to reach out, to touch and be touched, to be still and allow comfort, safety and trust.

Very carefully, Shirayuki reaches out and skates her knuckles across the ends of his wild hair, dark and silky. He shivers. His shoulders hunch up, but he doesn't flee and Shirayuki's heart is heavy, swollen up, and somehow love feels like joy and sadness at once, a pained affection.

She lifts her book again, does her best to continue reading.

Obi stays as long as he can.

-

"Are we getting better at this?" he asks one lazy morning, the two of them curled up on Shirayuki's bed. They are laying on top of the covers with the window open, their bodies puzzle pieces carefully lined up, the breeze tickling Shirayuki's hair across her face and onto Obi's neck.

He keeps having to gently sweep it back down behind her ear, smoothing the strands.

Beneath her cheek, Obi's shoulder is hard and bony and a little painful, but Shirayuki never wants to move. She is warm and happy and terrified and wildly afraid to put her arm over his chest like she so badly longs to. Afraid to hold him too close, pin him down the wrong way, to fracture this fragile peace by being too greedy, but-

That's okay, probably.

This is more than enough to start with- Obi's hand in her hair, her cheek on his shoulder, their bodies slowly, gradually relaxing into one another.

"Yes," Shirayuki says, smiling. "I imagine that we are, Obi."

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 11: Pinky Promise

"Is this real?"

Harry practically jumped out of his skin. He'd been sitting on the sofa in the eighth year common room, staring into the fire and trying to ward off the nightmares. He hadn't even heard anyone else walk into the room. "What?" he asked, looking over to see Draco Malfoy, of all people, standing there in his pajamas, face drawn and ashen.

"Is this real?" he repeated.

"Is what real?" Harry asked, looking around to see what he was talking about, unease creeping up his spine. Well, even more unease than he'd already been feeling from the nightmares.

"This," the other boy whispered, sounding terrified, as he gestured vaguely at everything.

And that Harry could understand, he knew what it was like to wake up and not be sure what was real and what wasn't. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, this is real."

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his right hand rubbing his left forearm.

A surge of pity rushed through Harry, he knew this year (the past couple, for that matter) had been hard for Malfoy. And honestly? He just didn't have the energy to hate him any more. "Yeah," he said softly.

Malfoy looked at him, "Do you swear?"

"Yes," Harry assured.

"Would you swear with a wizard's oath?"

Harry nodded at him.

"What's the muggle's version of a wizard's oath?" he asked suddenly. "That's something I wouldn't know," he muttered, more to himself than to Harry.

And in that moment, Harry's (sleep deprived) mind blanked and he blurted the only thing he could think of, "Pinky promise."

(Read more below the cut)

"What?" Malfoy asked blankly.

"A pinky promise," Harry repeated. "You can't break them. Here," he said, holding out a pinky to him. "You just take your pinky," he said, grasping Malfoy's hand and tugging it toward him, "and wrap it with mine."

Malfoy entwined his pinky with Harry's, looking carefully at where their hands were joined.

"I pinky promise that this is real," Harry said dutifully. Then he added, "You're okay," softly.

Malfoy looked up at that, his stormy grey eyes met Harry's and he let go of his finger like he'd been scalded. "I-" Malfoy started.

But Harry just shook his head and turned to look back at the fire, "It's alright. You don't have to apologize or feel embarrassed. Why do you think that I'm sitting here in front of the fire instead of sleeping in bed?" he asked wryly. "It's hard for me too."

Malfoy was silent for a few minutes and Harry let him be, he just stared ahead into the fire and waited. For what he wasn't quite sure.

"Can I sit with you?" Malfoy finally asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, glancing over at him.

Malfoy sat gingerly on the opposite end, tucking his bare feet under him and wrapping his arms around his thin torso.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked.

"A bit."

Harry scooched toward the middle of the couch and put the throw he'd been using over Malfoy's legs, too.

They were quiet for long moments before Harry asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." There was a brief pause, then Malfoy hesitantly asked, "Do you?"

"Godric, no."

Nodding, Malfoy slipped his hand across the few inches between them and entwined their pinkies once more. Then the two of them just sat there in the quiet, listening to the fire crackle and pop until the sun started to peak through the window. They returned to their beds and Harry tried not to think too much about what had just happened.

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

It happened again the next night, and the night after that, and the night following that, and so on. Malfoy stopped even asking and Harry just started reaching out his pinky for him the moment the other boy entered the room.

Sometimes one of them would drift off while they were sitting together and wake with a start, and Harry for one, found it very reassuring to wake to Malfoy's pinky grounding him to the here and now. He wondered if Malfoy felt the same.

Nothing changed for a few weeks until one morning when he came down for breakfast and saw Malfoy sitting by himself. This wasn't unusual, but one look at the other boy and he knew something was off. Malfoy's face was even paler than usual, his shoulder length blonde hair covering up half his face as his fingers clenched and unclenched. He knew those signs, he knew what his body language meant, and so instead of heading over to sit with Ron and Hermione, he moved toward Malfoy.

He sat down across from him and Malfoy looked up, eyes wide, "What are you doing?"

"I pinky promise," Harry murmured and slid his hand across the table toward him, pinky extended.

Malfoy's hand shot out toward him like he was reaching for a lifeline and he wrapped his pinky around Harry's. Harry watched as he visibly relaxed, his shoulders lowering, and brow smoothing out. After a beat he looked up at Harry, "You didn't have to-"

"I know," Harry said, leaving his left pinky looped through Malfoy's right. "I don't mind." Malfoy opened his mouth to say something but Harry continued, "Could you pass the sausage?"

Malfoy's jaw clicked shut and he did as Harry asked. They sat in silence, eating their breakfast and drinking their coffee, fingers still linked.

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

Sitting together at meals became habitual, too.

Ron and Hermione moved to join them eventually. They'd asked Harry about it but he honestly didn't know what he was meant to say. He had no idea what he and Malfoy were doing, it just felt like the right thing to do and in some weird way it felt like Malfoy was the only one who understood him.

Having Ron and Hermione join them was completely surreal and Harry had no idea what to say.

Fortunately, Ron started talking first.

Harry had thought it would be weird to talk to Malfoy, and it was in the beginning, it was awkward and stilted and Harry had mentally cursed Ron Weasley for his extrovert nature. But after a few weeks the four of them managed to have what resembled normal conversations.

Malfoy's right pinky often remained wrapped in Harry's left and Hermione and Ron said nothing about it.

The next time it happened out of (what was becoming) the ordinary was in Defense Against the Dark Arts. They'd been practicing dueling when Malfoy's wand had clattered to the ground.

Harry's attention had been, admittedly, divided between his duel with Ron and Draco's duel with Dean before Draco let his wand fall from his shaking hand. Without a second thought, Harry disarmed Ron and sent a tidy little 'incarcerous' to bind his feet as he started moving toward Draco.

Draco was staring down at his shaking hands as Harry approached.

"Hey," he said softly, trying to draw Draco's attention, "Hey, look at me."

Draco looked up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Hey," Harry said again. "It's okay. You're okay." He offered his pinky to Draco. "This is real," he whispered.

Draco blinked at him and entwined their pinkies together. After a slow deep breath, he nodded once and released Harry so he could go back to working on his dueling.

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

It became a habit basically everywhere after that. Harry and Draco became all but inseparable, they started to learn to talk to one another. Harry enjoyed Draco's sharp, dry whit and Draco seemed to enjoy Harry's sarcastic, slightly dark sense of humor. They worked on projects together, started partnering up in classes, started bickering with each other when they disagreed, and even started teasing each other.

Harry had never set out with the intention to befriend Draco Malfoy, but there was certainly no denying it. They'd become rather good friends.

One night, things changed again. Harry awoke with a start, heart pounding against his rib cage. The curtains around his bed were drawn and for a moment he'd been trapped in his cupboard. For a moment, there'd been no way out and there was no one who cared about him.

He kicked off his blankets and struggled out of bed, escaping the room as quietly as he could so he didn't wake up his roommates. He stumbled down the stairs only to find that Draco was already up.

"Hey," Draco said softly, looking up from the book on his lap and lifting the blanket so Harry could settle in next to him.

Harry all but collapsed, pressing his side against Draco's and only then realizing that he was shaking.

"Hey," Draco said, reaching for Harry's finger, "Are you alright?"

Harry shook his head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

He was quiet for a moment, debating what he should say, before the thought popped out without permission. "Are you ever afraid that no one will ever love you?" Harry asked.

Draco's brow furrowed, "Am I personally? Yes. Should you be?" he asked. "No."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Because you're Harry Potter."

"But what if I wasn't?" Harry asked, looking over at him. "What if I wasn't the boy who lived? What if I hadn't killed Voldemort? What if I wasn't magical? What if I was just an eighteen year old kid, with no parents, and no prospects? Should I be worried then?"

"Well, setting aside all of those things that make up the reality that we live in, no. You still shouldn't be worried."

"Are you serious?" Harry asked with a huff.

"Yes," Draco replied, putting his marker in his book and setting it to the side so he could turn to look at Harry. "Of course I'm serious and if this were the old you talking to the old me, I'd think that you were fishing for compliments."

"But..."

Draco sighed, "But it's not the old me and I know now that you really don't see yourself clearly at all. Harry, you shouldn't be worried because you'd still be you. You'd still be funny, you'd still be observant when it suits you, you'd still be attractive, you'd still be kind. And most of all, you'd still be good," Draco said, voice soft and sincere. "You'd still be the person who sees trash on the ground outside and picks it up. You'd still be the person who cheers on his friends. You'd still be the person who saw their enemy hurting and reached out a hand to help."

Harry blinked at him. They'd never really talked about this and Harry wasn't sure he was ready to now.

"You are inherently good," Draco said. "You're petty as fuck sometimes and the amount of sass that can come out of your mouth is nearly lethal," he added, eyes sparkling, "But when it matters, you are good. You choose the right thing. You choose to do good."

"And that makes me loveable?"

"Yes. Easily," Draco replied. "It's very easy to love you."

Harry blinked at the casual way he said that. "It's," he cleared his throat, "It's easy to love you, too," he murmured.

"You don't have to say that. I know it's not true."

"It is true!" Harry exclaimed. "It's easy to love how hard working and clever you are. It's easy to love you for the way you've tried to fix hurts you've caused. To love and admire the way you came back when it would have been easier to leave. It's easy to admire the way you care for your family. You're really brave, Draco Malfoy, and I love that about you."

Draco tilted his head at Harry consideringly, "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, of course I do," Harry replied. "I'll even pinky promise that I am telling you the truth," he said, holding out his pinky.

Draco took it and said, "I love the way that you see me."

"The feeling is mutual," Harry replied and butterflies took off in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't quite sure why but then very suddenly, they were leaning toward each other. And Harry would never really be sure who made the first move, but then it didn't matter because he was kissing Draco, one hand cupping his face, the pinky on his other hand clasping tightly to Draco's.

They pulled back after a soft brush of their lips. "Was that okay?" Draco asked, his cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink.

Harry tucked Draco's hair behind his ear and stroked his thumb over his cheekbone, "better than."

"You're sure?" the other boy asked, searching Harry's face.

"I pinky promise," Harry replied.

Day 10: The Beach | Day 12: Adrenaline

@saumzi Thanks so much for the prompt! I hope you enjoy it!

[likelyrowdy]

I Have to Write My Name on Things

Pairing: Vergil x GN!Reader Genre: Fluff? Rating: PG-13ish Word Count: 1000

Summary: A while ago, @arsuf shared a post of The Old Man's Diary Entry and it made me feel things. Read it on AO3.

You knew that this was a bad idea. Like, really bad . Phenomenally bad. In the past, you'd made fun of people for doing exactly this. Had warned your friends that they'd be making a big mistake - huge - by doing this exact thing. But was that going to stop you?

Absolutely not.

It all stemmed from an insecurity of Vergil’s. In a moment of weakness (the only, if you asked him) after some vigorous lovemaking, Vergil had traced idle shapes into your skin. “Possessive, much?” you’d asked, a teasing grin on your lips when it dawned on you that those lazy shapes were in fact the elegant lines of his script. Curled into his side as you were, luxuriating in the steady beat of his heart as it rocked you to sleep, you hadn’t expected a response, much less the vulnerability in words confided so softly in your ear:

“As a child I had to write my name on things to make them truly mine.”

And fuck you sideways if that hadn’t pulled on your heartstrings. So the next day you put in an order online, simultaneously flustered and completely confident in your purchase when you brought Vergil your bounty. He hadn’t known what to make of the small motor as he lifted it out of the box until he came across the needles and the ink.

He knew it was just as bad of an idea as you did. At first, he refused. He loved you just the way you were - smooth skin free of blemishes with the exception of a freckle or scar here and there. You were not a book, he did not need to write his name on you to keep his brother at bay. You were already his.

But you were nothing if not persistent. You wanted him to write his name on you.

It started with suggestions over the course of several weeks of where you could place it, but Vergil always had a reason to shut you down. Your wrist? Too visible. Your ass? Undignified. Your bicep? Still too visible.

“What about my hip?” you asked, tugging at a belt loop until your jeans pulled off of the smooth canvas that surrounded your hip bone. “It’s easy to cover up. No one will see it unless I want them to.”

Vergil’s head tilted the slightest bit in consideration, his eyes hungrily glued to your hip. He still was not completely comfortable with the idea, but he had to admit that it held a certain appeal. Would he brush his thumb over the ink once it had fully healed into your soft skin, feeling the ink press up from the rest of your flesh as he held you closer in a moment of passion? Yes, the idea was very appealing.

“You getting a tattoo?” Dante asked as he took up his seat by the phone.

“Thinking about it,” you casually answered, releasing the belt loop so that your skin was hidden once more.

“Hip, huh?" he whistled, cheekily. “Sexy but discreet. It suits you.”

It was the wink Dante sent your way that pushed Vergil over the edge. He stopped beside you on his way to your shared room, bristling when he told you to pick a different spot. Though his voice was low, his message was clear: pick a spot that Dante won’t see; one that has nothing to do with him.

Days later, you made your decision: “My ribs.” You lifted your left arm and pushed your clothes out of the way to showcase the spot you’d picked. Before Vergil could protest, you cut him off. “I know that rib tattoos are painful, but I have a high pain tolerance, -” you wouldn’t have lasted long in this line of work if you didn’t, “- no one will see it if I don’t want them to, and it’ll always be close to my heart.”

When he saw that you really, truly meant it, he acquiesced.

Never one to do anything half-assed, Vergil bought the necessary materials that your kit lacked. Each night, after the shop fell silent, he would assemble the machine and practice scratching lines into the skins of the oranges and bananas that Dante kept in the kitchen at Nero’s insistence. It took weeks for him to get a feel for the machinery, to do the necessary research, and to watch the handful of instructional videos you sent his way.

He wanted to make sure that he did right by you.

On the day, Vergil rolled up his shirtsleeves and donned black, latex gloves. Alcohol wipes cleansed the area before he went over it with a fresh, disposable razor to make sure that your skin was prepped and smooth. He marked the general area with a highlighter while your arm was relaxed at your side so he could be sure that the tattoo would rest where you wanted it to. The better part of an hour was spent drawing his name across your left rib cage in sharpie, wiping it off, and starting over again until you were both satisfied with the placement and size, and he with the penmanship.

His outline was surprisingly straight, though each line was picked up in multiple, weird places and a couple of them were blown out. Despite only using black ink, his shading between the thicker downstrokes of each letter were uneven throughout. Neither of you would know the real damage until it was fully healed in two-ish weeks.

You didn’t need to look at it in the mirror to know that you loved it, but you did anyway: marveling at the way the black ink stood out from the rest of your skin, a shiver creeping up your spine at the sight of his script etched into your skin so close to your heart.

“I guess this means I’m yours now, huh?” Your words were meant to tease, but they came out too breathily and your smile was more wondrous than vexing.

Vergil brushed his fingers over the sensitive skin below the script, his gaze reverent; lips curved in a gentle fascination.

I have a twin brother, sir. We fight over things often, so I have to write my name on things to make them truly mine.

“I suppose it does.”

[13uswntimagines]

Pretty Girl (Christen x Reader)

Request: Christen and reader go to the zoo and reader either works with animals or is just a huge nerd and literally obsess over the animals and christen kinda just falls for her even more

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​! 

You were in your element and Christen was living for it. While she had always been adept at soccer, Animals and Biology were your specialties. You looked so cute in your little safari outfit, and Christen couldn’t help but drop by when she was in town to surprise you, and take one of your legendary tours. Tobin, who had been unlucky enough to be sharing a car with the woman, followed along behind her, not sure how she felt about being dragged along on this excursion. 

“Now if you come over here you can meet Darth Vader!” You said excitedly, pointing to one of the clear cages on the wall, taking a step towards it. 

“He’s a black rat snake, and look at him use the force of his muscles to climb up his exhibit wall. Gravity-defying right? Now do any of you kids know anything about snakes?” You addressed the group of kindergarteners assembled in front of you, listening attentively as some of them piped up about snakes they had seen (and you wholeheartedly ignored the burning gaze of the only two soccer players in the group). 

Most of them got closer to the glass to look at your favorite reptile, but there were always a few who took went to hide behind their moms, who had a tendency to call your snakes either “scary” or “gross.

“The pretty girl on the right is a Ball Python named Snickers,” You smiled, stepping towards the glass. “She’s almost 20 years old, which is the upper end of the lifespan of her species. Though ball python populations are growing rapidly in areas of Florida, they’re actually indigenous to west and central Africa. They’re what we call invasive species- species that invade the habitat and can eat other species that are natural to areas of the Everglades,” You shook your head sadly. “That’s why it’s very important to never release a pet into the wild. It can decrease the quality of their lives but also really hurt native species that are already there” Stupid people releasing pets they should have never had, destroying the environment. 

“Did your girlfriend just call a reptile a pretty girl? Isn’t that her nickname for you?” Tobin joked, nudging Christen’s ribs with her elbow. Christen felt her cheeks turn a little pink. 

“No, I’m superstar,” Christen mumbled, glaring at the chill middy. 

“Hmm, it’s cute how into them she is though,” Tobin smiled. It was amazing how much you lit up around the animals, even if it was a little weird when you called slithery things pretty. You were kinda like Steve Erwin she guessed. 

“You don’t get a Ph. D. if you’re not interested,” Christen laughed, and Tobin nodded. No one wrote a 50-page dissertations on things that bored them. 

“Can you take the guinea pigs out today?” The little girl with pink pigtails looked so hopeful, you almost felt bad that you had to say no. Except that you hated the guinea pigs.

“Sorry I wish I could, but this is the guinea pigs’ day off today.” You saw your coworker Jenni come in and waved her over. “Also my shift just ended. But Jenni here can tell you about anything else in the exhibit you’re curious about!” 

You disentangled yourself from the crowd of youngsters and made your way over to your girlfriend, standing on tiptoe to give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Hey superstar.” 

“Hey, do I finally get your undivided attention?” Christen asked, pulling you into her arms and kissing your lips. You smiled, showing off your dimples as you nodded quickly. 

“Good luck with that around all these… what did you call them? Pretty girls?” Tobin said, facetiously, smirking as she leaned against the wall. She jumped, as a thump sounded behind her. The animal house didn’t have any solid walls, and instead featured glass enclosure. 

“Oh shit, that’s just Milo, he’s kind of an attention whore,” You laughed, pointing to the 36 inch blue racer that had just fallen from his branch to the bottom of the enclosure. 

“He’s gorgeous,” Christen marbled at the bright blue snake, 

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll get a big head,” You smirked at your girlfriend, unable to maintain the serious expression. 

“He’s a snake. They don’t have feelings,” Tobin scoffed, watching as Milo flicked his tongue at her. 

“You just say that because you haven’t met him yet. I have held many a snake and let me tell you, Milo is positively clingy!” 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Tobin started to say, but then Christen piped up. “That’s a great idea! We would love to meet Milo in person, Y/N!” She continued smiling as Tobin elbowed her in the side, and you caught the wicked glint in her eyes. 

“You know, it just so happens that he’s on the schedule for interaction today!” You smiled giddily at your girlfriend, dancing in place for a second before flipping through your keys for Milo’s enclosure. 

“Hey pretty boy, wanna say hi? I got some nice people that really wanna meet you and pet your beautiful scales,” You said, stroking his neck a few times to get his attention. The snake slowly began moving forward, encouraged by your warm, steady hands and you carefully picked him up and set him on your shoulders to support his spine. 

“I thought your girlfriend was a Gryffindor. Aren’t Slytherins the ones who can talk to snakes?” Tobin whispered, using your girlfriend as a shield from the snake. 

“That’s a common misconception. It’s heirs of Slytherin who can talk to snakes, but who's to say that all of Slytherin’s descendants would choose to be there?” You smiled sideways at the woman, not quite taking your attention from the blue noodle wrapping around your wrist. 

“If you come closer you can see his scales shimmer in the light. He just shed last week, so they’re really pretty right now.” 

Christen took a slow step towards you, looking more at your loving gaze than at Milo. It was incredible how calm he was with you, and the care you clearly had for him. 

“Gorgeous,” She said, her fingers coming up to just barely fun her fingers over the cold reptile. He brought his head up to stare in her direction. She froze. 

“It’s alright Chris. He’s just checking you out,” You hummed, lifting the snake slightly and bringing him within reach of your girlfriend if he wanted to go to her. “Can you blame him? They don’t call them foxii for nothing,”

“You say that like he isn’t contemplating how long he would have to starve himself to eat you both,”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading too many clickbait articles. Actually blue racers are foragers, not active hunters,” You raised your eyebrows at the clearly terrified midfielder, feeling comfortable enough with Christen watching Milo to take your eyes off of him. “But I’ll put him back if he makes you feel uncomfortable.”

You brought Milo back to the door of his enclosure, waiting for him to decide he wanted to head back in and being careful to unwind him from your nametag (he always liked to play in your lanyard), he flicked his tongue at you and you took it as a thanks for patently untangling his tail. You locked up the door before standing up straight. 

 You took your girlfriend’s hand and began to lead her from the room. “Come on, lets go to the insectary, I know the gal who works there will let us hold Dot if we ask nicely.”

“Who’s Dot?”

“A super adorable curly-haired tarantula,” you said, grinning, intentionally not looking behind you to see the source of the gagging noise. 

“Why can’t you think normal things are cute like giraffes or elephants or like literally anything else,” Tobin huffed, crossing her arms. She should have listened to Sonnet when she warned her about visiting you at the zoo. At least you hadn’t tried to introduce her to Spike the giant snapping turtle. 

“You’re mean,” you said, turning to stick your tongue out at Tobin over your shoulder. 

“Well I think you’re cute, so I think that makes up for it,” Christen smirked. Sure, you liked the less conventional animals, but seeing you with them made her fall for you just a little bit more.

“I love you,” You melted, leaning in and kissing your girlfriend softly.

“Love you too babe. Now let’s go get me introduced to Dot,”

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track thirteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Sean died in January, and it was cold. That much Grayson remembered. The funeral was fuzzy apart from a few very vivid memories, including one of sitting outside on a bench, the wind cutting through his slacks and freezing his legs. His arms were so cold he couldn’t even feel the wind on them through the numbness, seeing that his suit jacket was wrapped around Cameron’s shoulders. He’d borrowed one of his dad’s ties - it was a tacky pattern but subtle in color. Sean had worn it to the twin’s 8th grade night for football when he’d walked them proudly across the field with the biggest smile on his face. He shivered. But it was still better than being inside, looking at the casket that had his dad but not his dad inside. 

That suit was gone. He hadn’t been able to look at it after that day, so he’d donated it, despite his mother’s qualms that he may need a nice suit again someday. 

That day was coming much quicker than he expected, and that’s how he found himself in the back of a department store sifting through racks of jackets. But there was one bright spot in the scenario, and she was looking through ties on a table to his left. 

Indy held one up with a soft smile, the most she’d been able to offer him in the last day.

“She liked blue.”

Grayson could only nod, the knot in his throat stealing his voice. He took the tie, running his thumb over the silky fabric. They were quiet as they went through and found him a few suit options to try on. Indy had to hold them up high so nothing dragged the ground as they headed to the fitting rooms. 

She sat in a hard plastic chair outside, crossing her legs and fighting her emotions. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. After all, there was no reference, no textbook on the expected emotions of preparing for a funeral of a 15 year old with your ex. If he even was an ex. They’d woken up that morning in bed together after all, with his warm breath on her back, arm around her, hand tucked under her rib cage like it used to be. 

And she felt warm. And safe. And guilty. 

How could she have a flicker of happiness in a world without Bekah? How could she be grateful, or glad that Grayson was just two doors down fiddling with suit buttons when her being gone was the reason he was there? 

It was a blessing, the hold he still seemed to have on her. Because as soon as he walked out her mind went blank for a moment, only able to process him, and his broad shoulders and strong arms that she could still see under his jacket. 

“This is the best of the three. What do you think?” 

It took her a minute to find her words. “Yeah, it looks nice. Very… funeraly.”

Grayson looked in the mirror. “Funeraly. Well, that’s the idea I guess. Works for me.”

He disappeared again, coming back out in his nice pants and crewneck. He looked good, but the look of worry in his eyes made Indy uneasy. She didn’t like when people worried about her. 

“Let’s go find you a dress.” 

She’d been dreading that part. She wasn’t much of a dress girl most the time, but she wanted to look her best for Bekah. She deserved that. So with a sigh she led Grayson across the store to the women’s section, looking for anything black she could find. 

He was patient, offering his hand out to hold any of the options she found to try.  She only found three that didn’t look like they were meant for a night out, and Grayson took the spot in the plastic chair while she tried them on. They all fit, but her favorite was the long sleeved number she’d found - tight enough to be flattering, and long enough to be modest and warm, with a long metal zipper that she couldn’t quite get all the way up on her back.

She reached and stretched as far as she could before she huffed in defeat, unsure of whether she should ask him for help. Was that weird? Or was she just making it weird. 

After another moment of contemplation, she stepped out in it, stomach fluttering against her will when she saw Grayson look up and catch his breath. 

“Can you…” She moved her hair out of the way, revealing her back. He stopped breathing for a second, chair clanging against the wall as he rushed to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

He moved behind her quickly, finger delicate against her spine as he moved to the zipper. It sat right below her bra clasp, and he recognized it as the one with a bent hook, a casualty of the dryer that he’d accidentally put it in back in November. He realized he was taking too long and zipped it up quickly, patting it lightly at the top to let her know he was done. 

He met her eyes in the mirror, and realized she’d been watching him the whole time. 

“Do you think this will be warm enough?”

“We’ll probably be inside most the time, so it should be okay.”

She nodded at him, disappearing back into the dressing room and taking a few deep breaths. Nothing felt real for some reason, and it took all her effort to settle herself, keep herself in the moment she didn’t want to be in. She stripped out of the dress quickly and slid it back on the hanger. It wasn’t worth the argument when Grayson held his hand out for it when they headed towards the counter. With her inability to work shifts her bank account was grateful for his that seemed to always be overflowing. Surely a $50 dress wouldn’t break the bank, but she still thanked him when he swiped his card. 

They walked into the parking lot in silence, and she climbed into the truck when Grayson pulled the door open for her. He sat the bags in the backseat once he climbed in, starting it up and cranking the heat up. The air was still cold, cold enough for Indy to shove her hands under her thighs in a bid to keep them warm. Grayson frowned and grabbed his jacket from the back, passing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, laying it over her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles. She was rigid in her seat, especially when Gray reached his hand over to the back of hers so he could back out of the parking space. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath till both his hands were back on his side of the console.

She hated it. Hated feeling like he was watching, waiting for her to fall apart at any given moment. But she loved it too, because if he was there to look at her with pity it meant he was there. Her mind was exhausted with the constant battle of trying to put a word to her emotions, to guide them into whatever box they were supposed to be in. 

To Grayson, it just looked like she was numb. Her eyes were trained on the New Jersey roads every time he glanced over to her, either out the windshield or through the passenger window. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to know what she was feeling, wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he held his tongue and continued down the road, 10 under the speed limit just to buy a few more extra minutes with her close enough to reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they got to the house. If she wanted to go upstairs, to avoid him until the funeral, he’d understand. He’d let her, even if it hurt. He deserved that. He’d sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait, and listen, and hope she didn’t need him but also hope she did. 

The two played their own games of tug-o-war, parallel to each other until they made it to the house. Ethan was on the porch with Gizmo’s cage in his hands, holding it up and talking to her as they walked in.

“See Giz? It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“Brrr,” Gizmo squawked. 

“Yeah, fuckin brrr. So you gotta stop screaming to come outside before Ma loses her mind.” 

“You sure you aren’t the one losing your mind?” Grayson asked with a smirk aimed towards his brother. 

“Outside!” Gizmo yelled and Ethan clenched his fists. 

“Did you all find outfits?” Ethan asked to distract himself, looking at Grayson’s empty hands. 

“Shit, yeah I left them in the truck though. I’ll grab em Dee, go get warm.” 

Indy nodded and walked inside slowly, taking her shoes off and sitting them neatly by the door. She walked to the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch with her eyes trained on the woods. Even the squirrels seemed to be grieving, moving slow through the grass at the tree line. She watched them anyways, envied their oblivion of all the tragedy of the world as Grayson hung up their clothes in the coat closet and watched her from the foyer. 

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and it pained him to see her literally curled in on herself in a way that he hadn’t seen before. He ran through a million different things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. There were never words for times like these, and he knew that. Sometimes, it was better to just sit in silence. So he gave it to her for a few minutes longer, disappearing to the other room where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard. 

When he reappeared, Indy was watching a robin, feathers bright red against the dreary gray of the sky outside by the bird feeder. He stepped into her gaze, offering her a soft smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get outta here for a little while, hmm?”

“Where are we going?” Her tone was flat, and it made his chest feel tight.

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Those words hung heavy in Indiana’s mind as she followed him upstairs, let him pass her an old pair of boots that were too big for her and his thickest jacket to fight off the cold snap that seemed to follow the warm air that had brought the thunderstorms. 

Just trust me

She did. Or at least, she wanted to, and she willfully climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck, let him drive them down the road on the route that was familiar now. They made it all the way to the tiny homes without seeing another car. Indy felt like the universe was sad with her somehow, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing someone smile as if the world was still the same happy place it used to be. 

She blindly followed Grayson until she realized they were going around the house instead of inside of it.

“Where are we going?” She asked again. Her voice echoed off the trees.

He simply held out his hand. She took it without question, ignoring the tirade of contradicting emotions it stirred in her gut. He still had his callous where his pinky met his palm, but it was softer than usual against her skin. 

They walked through the trees slowly until they reached the cliff that Indy recognized from the first time she’d been out to Jersey. It felt like lifetimes ago that she’d been there, but the water still flowed and she still clung to Grayson’s arm the closer they got to the edge.

“Come sit over here,” he coaxed, leading her towards the middle and helping her sit down slowly. Once she was settled he sat down beside her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants from the ground below him. He could see his breath in front of him, but he kept his eyes on the water running far below his feet. 

“Gray.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart sung - she said his name better than anyone.

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he picked at his fingernails before he spoke.

“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger and got overwhelmed. I don’t like being around people when I need to feel something, you know? Well, I can only be around certain people anyways.” 

The fact that Indy seemed to be one of those people wasn’t lost on her as she listened to him.

“I just thought coming out here might help.”

“Me or you?”

“What?”

“Is it supposed to help me or you?”

“I was hoping both,” Grayson said.

To his surprise, Indy chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

“Well, I’m fine. I’ve done this before after all. Should be pretty good at having people I love die on me by now.” 

Grayson couldn’t find the words for a response, and his cheeks flushed from her tone. She’d never been so short with him before, and he felt embarrassed to think that somehow he’d be the one who could help her when it seemed no one else could. But he swallowed hard and looked over to her. 

“I’m not fine. And you knew her longer than I did. And I know something about losing people too. That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier.”

Something in his words seemed to pull her out of her defensiveness, and she took in a shaky breath, eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. You can have a redo, if you want,” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently just to see her try to smile. 

“I know you get it, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nobody knows how to do this Dee. No one knows how to lose a 15 year old that was supposed to be here for a lot longer than she was,” Grayson said, clearing his throat when it tightened. Indy sniffled and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She was quiet for a moment and they listened to the wind rustle the trees until she spoke again.

“Her mom wants me to write her eulogy.”

“Fuck, Indy.”

“I’ve never done one before. Charlie did mom’s.” 

“Do you want to do it?”

“I want her to have one,” Indy sighed, picking at the grass. “A good one though. Not the one that the preacher does where they pretend like they knew her when they really didn’t.”

Grayson reached for her hand and waited for her to look up at him.

“Maybe Charlie can help. I called her, when we got back to the house. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

Indy froze, then turned so quickly that Grayson put a hand on her hip to keep her steady on the cliff’s edge. 

“Really? She’s coming?”

Grayson nodded. “I know that things are… hard, with us right now. And I know that things are always better for me when Ethan is around so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I think her flight comes in at -”

Before he could finish Indy threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped her up as best he could without pulling her over the edge, scooting them back slightly to keep her safe as he held her as tightly as he could through all their layers. 

“Thank you,” she whispered over the trees. She couldn’t find any other words to express what it meant to her, so she left it at that and breathed him in in secret while he held her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple but stopped himself, squeezing her tighter instead before they untangled.

She pondered her next question for a moment, then decided she truly had nothing left to lose.

“Can we stay out here tonight? At the house.” 

Grayson paused for a minute, stopping himself from immediately saying yes, reminding himself not to take advantage.

“You wanna stay at the tiny house?”

She nodded, fingers going back to the grass, and she kicked her legs so the heels of her boots bounced slightly off the rocks. 

“The funeral is tomorrow. I need to write the eulogy, and I don’t want a bunch of people around while I do that.” 

Silence hung heavy until he gained the confidence to ask. 

“Am I… one of the people that can be around?”

For the first time in a long time, Indy smiled. 

“Did you think I was gonna kick you out of your house?”

Grayson chuckled and shook his head.

“I mean you did break my heart, so it would be fair though.”

He froze.

Indy laughed so hard it bounced off the trees, made a few birds take off on the other side of the water.

“I’m fucking kidding,” she said, nudging his shoulder so he’d let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus fuck Indy, don’t do that! Too soon!” He huffed, but he was laughing too, heart light as he saw the first glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with since he’d gotten home. It was easier to breathe with her around, even in spite of everything else going on. He looked at her, tried to take her in, but he stopped short with a frown when she tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Just a little,” she mused. 

“Ma is making dinner, we’ll go home, eat, pack some stuff then come back out here.” Indy only nodded and let him help her to her feet. She held onto his arm until they were off the cliff, and after that too. Over top of his jacket, she traced 333 on his bicep, eyes on his tattoo that was barely visible under his growing hair. She wondered if he’d gotten any more while he was in LA.

She wondered a lot about what he’d done while he was in LA, whether she wanted to or not. But she wanted to know if he’d been up every night thinking about her. If he’d cried in the shower as many times as she did. 

She wondered if he’d hurt. 

And she wondered how much she would hurt when he decided it was time to go back. Her mind was screaming as she clung to him, wary that she wasn’t keeping him at an arm's length like she had swore she would. 

Her heart drowned it out, singing quietly deep within her at the familiar firmness of his muscles under her hand, the warmth of him beside her. 

She’d take whatever hell was sure to follow with open arms if it meant she could be back in his, even for a little while. 

Grayson played Cudi on the way back to Lisa’s and tried to hide his smile when he heard Indy singing along quietly beside him. He used the time to think of his pitch to Ethan, his plan for how they could split time on each coast, or even manage most of it from offices in New York. It wasn’t his top priority - that was getting Indy through the funeral. But he couldn’t hold off for long.

The house was warm when they arrived in more ways than one - cozy and filled with the smell of spaghetti that had Indy’s mouth watering for the first time in days. Grayson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her fill her bowl, happy to see her appetite had returned. 

Still, when they sat around the table, Ethan and Lisa were cautious to start a conversation, worried they’d say something that could trigger the wrong emotions. After listening to the scrapes of forks against porcelain for too many minutes, Indy cleared her throat. 

“I think we should do something a little different tonight. Something to help everyone’s spirits.”

Everyone breathed.

“Yeah?” Grayson said.

“I say we eat on the couch and watch Emperor’s New Groove in true Bekah fashion,” she proposed, standing with her bowl. No one questioned her - they simply followed into the living room with their dinner in hand.

They laughed at all the right times during the movie, and the world was okay for just a minute. Indy still ached deep within herself, guilt punctuating each smile she let creep up, but she fought it like she’d learned to after Nicole had died. 

Grayson was asleep before Kuzco made it back to the castle, exhaustion catching up with him quickly. He was heavy against Indy when he leaned onto her, one arm going over her waist. She felt Ethan’s eyes on the two of them but she ignored it until he came closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Charlie’s flight gets in around 7, I’ll go get her so you all have time to get some sleep,” he offered.

“Thanks E. And thanks for coming with him.”

“Of course. And hey, anything you need Inds. Literally anything, just tell me. We’re all here for you.” 

She bit her lip and looked down at Grayson.

“Is he okay?” She asked. 

Ethan gave her a small smile. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, considering what we're all doing tomorrow, but… this is the best I’ve seen him since we left actually. I mean, he feels like shit for not being here for, well for either of you. He just wants to take care of you as best he can.”

“He’s always been pretty good at doing that,” she murmured, brushing some of Grayson’s hair back from his forehead. He stirred, curling up closer to her. 

“Get some sleep Indy. Love yah,” Ethan said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the top of the head. 

She sat with Grayson for a bit longer, let him rest until her arm went fully numb and she knew she’d fall asleep with him unless she got up. 

She coaxed him up and made him give her the keys, let him climb in the passenger seat as she packed up a bag of pajamas and their clothes for the morning. He was asleep against the window by the time she got back in the cab, and she was happy to let him sleep. She figured he’d be happy to climb into bed when they got to the tiny homes, but he shook himself awake on the walk inside, cranking the heat up once they cleared the threshold.

“I’m okay bub, you can sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep?” He said instead of conceding.

“I need to write the eulogy.” 

His eyes saddened in understanding, and then he was rummaging through the bag for the paper he knew she’d packed. He sat it down on the small table and then returned to the kitchen. 

Indy watched him as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinets, the clay ones with tiny “I” and “G”’s stamped into the speckled surface. They’d found them at the craft fair they’d stumbled across back in November and picked them up, but Indy realized it was the first time they’d used them as Grayson made them a cup each. 

“Gray.”

“What do you need,” he asked quietly. 

“Um… space, I think. Just so I can think clearly for a little bit. It’s not anything you did, I promise, it’s jus-”

“Dee, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’ll be upstairs. Take your time, okay?”

She nodded and took the cup he offered with a grateful smile, turning to the table to work. 

As much as it went against every instinct in his body, he left her sitting there and moved up the stairs to the loft. Even without the coffee that he downed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Especially not when he heard Indy’s pen clicking against the table, followed by her sniffles that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. 

He stared at the slats of wood and tapped his fingers against each other as he fought to stay still, give her the space she asked for. He was sure it was just part of the process, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but when her sniffles turned to sobs, he didn’t have the willpower anymore. 

She heard him coming down the stairs and broke down even further, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, baby hey it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Take a break.”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t want to. But the need for comfort was too strong, and she broke. She stood from the table and walked over towards the small bench seat. Grayson sat first and she didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. She buried her face in his neck and let the misery have her, let her body shake with the force of her pain and let him absorb it too. She let him hold her, let him love her the way she always thought he had. And it felt good there in his arms. The world was lighter with him there to split the weight. She knew it would crush her when he was gone, but she didn’t care. She wanted to believe Ethan’s words, that Grayson was better there with her, and it was just enough to make her feel like maybe she wasn’t a terrible person for giving in. 

Indy fell asleep in Grayson’s arms. He didn’t care whether the eulogy was finished or not - he picked her up and moved slowly across the room, carrying her up the stairs carefully. She woke up just enough to grab for his hand, a silent invitation that he was happy to take. He climbed into bed beside her, let her curl up into him as he set an alarm he didn’t want to wake up for. They slept peacefully despite it all.

The next morning felt like a dream in the worst way. Nothing seemed to really be happening as they woke up and got dressed in black. Grayson looked good in his suit, but that was about the only thing Indiana noticed. He helped zip her dress and put her eulogy in his jacket pocket. 

“You ready?” He asked as she fixed the lapels on his jacket.

“No,” she sighed, but she walked out the door anyway. He drove to the house as the sun rose over the Jersey hills. They were quiet, and Indy watched the trees go by, watched the world spin as if nothing was different that day. It made her angry, the same way it had the morning of Nicole’s funeral. But she’d learned that day that the world had no consideration for anyone, no matter what you gave her. So she swallowed it down and kept herself as numb as she could until they pulled into Lisa’s driveway and she remembered where Ethan had gone that morning. 

“She’s here,” Indy said, her voice strained. It was the most emotion Grayson had seen out of her that morning, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But he didn’t get a chance to ask, because Indy was throwing her door open and bolting for the house. 

She found what she was looking for in the living room.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the couch in a black dress, and as soon as she saw Indiana she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway.

Indy was sobbing before she reached her, but Charlie caught her and wrapped her up in the hug that only she could give, and Grayson watched as his girl went to pieces. Charlie held strong like big sisters do, shushing Indiana and coaxing her over to the couch, helping her sit down as she cried into her shoulder. 

“You’re okay, hey, you’re alright. Breathe,” she said, but her eyes were on Grayson.

“She’s gone,” Indy blubbered, and Charlie winced at the pain in her voice.

“I know. I know.”

Grayson stood with useless hands in his pockets and tears in the corner of his eyes. He hoped that giving Indy her sister, even just for the day, was enough to help more than he could on his own. When her tears finally stopped, it seemed his plan had worked, even if it was only marginally. She ate a muffin that Lisa had made, and made everyone coffee just the way they liked it to keep her mind and hands busy as everyone got ready to go. She didn’t bother with makeup. It wouldn’t survive the day, that she was sure of. Lisa hovered, made sure everyone had enough to eat before they climbed into the SUV. She waved goodbye from the porch as they pulled away, the funeral home in the GPS. 

It was a somber drive. No one even tried for conversation. Charlie sat in the backseat with Indy, privy to the fact that Grayson glanced back at her every few minutes to check in. Each time she was staring out the window again, chewing her cheek. 

Indy didn’t know whether the ride was long or short. She didn’t know much of anything other than she felt like she was going to be sick as they parked. Cold air rushed in as Grayson opened her door and helped her down.

“You okay?” He asked, just for her.

She nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. 

They passed car after car in the parking lot - almost every space was filled it seemed. Somewhere in her mind, Indy hadn’t processed how many people probably knew Bekah. How many people cared. 

Still, she felt alone in the world when she walked inside of the building. The carpet was dark, with swirling patterns of gold and roses. The entryway felt gold, but the parlor to the left was colder. It was marked with a sign. 

Bekah Andrea Newcomb. 2pm.

Indiana couldn’t breathe. She reached to her left, finding Grayson where she knew he would be, holding onto his arm like she had in the hospital room.

“We can wait as long as you need Indy. There’s no rush to go in there.” 

Her voice failed her and she only nodded. Grayson didn’t move an inch until she did a few minutes later, gathering the strength to step inside. It was fragrant, both in the way an unpleasant place is and in the way a floral shop was. There were enough bouquet arrangements around to fill a house. It was overwhelming, but not so much that Indy didn’t notice the photos. She couldn’t look at them - she’d go to her knees if she let herself even process a single one. So she kept her eyes forward as they walked to the opening of the door on the right.

There was a wide middle aisle, lined with pews on either side full of people.

At the end was Bekah. 

Even from afar, she looked cold inside her casket. Indy’s mouth tasted like metal as she forced herself to walk forward. Grayson walked tall beside her, but she could hear him sniffling above her. The Newcomb’s were beside their daughter, and they offered sympathetic smiles as they noticed the pair headed down the aisle. Luckily, they didn’t say anything - they simply stepped away to give them privacy as they made their way towards the casket. 

Indy held her breath as she got closer, eyes blurry as she looked down into the casket, her hands finding the cold wood when she reached it.

“Oh,” she whispered. Grayson coughed out a sob, wrapping his arm around Indy’s waist and turning his face into her hair. 

Bekah looked like herself, but didn’t. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach, above her hoodie pockets. It took a moment for Indy to realize what she was wearing. A purple hoodie, her favorite leggings and her thunderbolt headscarf.

Her lungs tightened. 

“No, no that’s not right. It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head as her hands fluttered above Bekah. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

“Her hoodie, she wanted her blue hoodie, that’s the one she asked for, that’s what we told her they were gonna find her in. She needs her hoodie, Gray she needs her hoodie, get her hoodie.” She couldn’t get a breath through her throat as she choked on her words, looking to Grayson for help. His face was twisted up in pain as he guided her away from the casket. 

“It’s okay Indy, it’s okay,” he cried.

“She needs her hoodie,” she sobbed, holding onto his lapel to keep him close to her and to hide her face. All he could do was hold her and cry. No one looked at them and he was grateful as he led her back out of the room, back to where Ethan and Charlie were waiting. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, even with Charlie’s hand on her shoulder. The eldest Cross put herself between her sister and Grayson, her protective instincts taking over. Grayson couldn’t be angry. He’d step aside happily if it helped Indy. 

Her sister seemed to help to calm her down enough to catch her breath after a few minutes. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened in there,” she whispered eventually, looking over Charlie’s shoulder to find Grayson’s eyes.

“Hey, no apologies today Dee. It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, tried to accept that it was okay. Something about the sincerity in his voice made her trust him. 

“I wanna go look at the pictures,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes and standing up to smooth out her dress. “Get some new images in my head.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, offering her his arm as they headed back to the parlor. Things were calmer as they started to look at all the frames. Grayson smiled at the first picture he saw of Bekah with hair, her afro tall and proud as she stood with a small soccer trophy and a smile so big it closed her eyes. 

“She taught me how to do twists once,” Indy smiled, leaning her cheek on Grayson’s bicep. “I sucked at it I’m pretty sure but it was better than nothing.”

“I’ve never seen her with hair before.”

“It made her so sad to lose it every time. She always said it was the worst part.”

“My dad hated losing his. Can’t imagine.”

“Oh my god, look at this one,” Indy smiled, moving to the next frame on the table. It was Bekah in the pool as a toddler, with round pink sunglasses and a purple floaty, with her dad behind her, pushing her along it seemed.

“She always told me she hated water.”

“She did.”

Indy turned to see Martina behind her. Her eyes were puffy but she had a small smile on her face.

“When she was four she fell off a pool float with her cousin, almost drowned. Ever since then she never even put a toe in,” she explained. She stepped up next to Indy, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to us that you’re here, and that you’re speaking later.”

Grayson realized quickly he wasn’t part of the conversation, and he excused himself with a reassuring look to Indy. Charlie was still where she’d started out in the entryway, eyes darting around nervously. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, and whether it was because she didn’t like funerals or didn’t know anyone, he wasn’t sure. Either way she hid it well when Indy needed her, but she didn’t bother with the facade when Grayson approached. 

“She okay?” was his greeting.

“She’s talking to Mrs. Newcomb. She seems alright, considering.”

“Considering,” Charlie laughed dryly. “Yeah, she’s been through hell and back. But you know that.”

It stung, even though it was deserved.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well. In my experience what you meant to do doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you did.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but I’m scared to see what happens when you leave her again.”

“Charlie, I’m not gonna le-”

Suddenly, Charlie stiffened, eyes trained over his shoulder on something outside the front doors that made him cut his explanation short. 

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What? What is it?” Panic rose in Grayson’s throat as he followed her gaze. 

There was a man in a navy blue suit walking through the parking lot. It wasn’t someone Grayson recognized, but nonetheless the hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he side stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her from the door.

“Who is that?”

“Our fucking dad.”

“What?“ Grayson whirled. “How the fuck did he even know about this?”

“I told him I was coming into town, he asked why, so I told him. Jesus, I didn’t think he was gonna show up! Indy’s gonna freak if she sees him, she can’t see him.”

“Don’t move,” he said, darting out of the entryway to peek into the viewing room. Indy was towards the front, talking to some of Bekah’s relatives it seemed. He caught sight of Ethan and moved to him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to make it seem as casual as he could.

“Keep Indy busy and whatever you do, don’t let her go outside.” 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t ask for an explanation, and he simply started to move towards the front of the room as Grayson exited out the back, just in time to get to the front door before Kenneth made it in.

To his surprise, Charlie was right beside him when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

He was shorter than Grayson expected. It was obvious his hair had once been blonde, but it was gray now, badly managed with box dye that he could still see remnants of by his ears. 

Charlie’s breathing sped up and Grayson took a step closer to her, just barely in front of her.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Kenneth, who stopped short at the bottom of the three brick-layed stairs. 

His eyes were blue when he looked up. They skipped over Grayson’s broad frame to Charlie and softened just a fraction. 

“Char.”

She stiffened, and Grayson held his ground. 

“Sir, this is a funeral. A funeral I don’t believe you were invited to.”

Kenneth’s eyes went cold the way a father’s do when they’re threatened, and he fixed them on Grayson. Gray enjoyed the fact that he had to crane his neck to see him.

“And who exactly might you be?” Kenneth spat.

“I could ask you the same question sir.”

“The fuck are you, a funeral bouncer?”

Grayson flexed his knuckles.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call me. Either way, you aren’t welcome here and you need to go.”

“Look, I’m here to see my daughter, alright? Now get out of my way.” 

“I can’t do that.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes as it clicked.

“Ahhh. So you’re the boyfriend then.”

Grayson stayed quiet, but his stomach turned at the smirk that creeped across the man’s face.

“Get out of my way, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” Grayson repeated himself and set his feet.

Kenneth moved up another step, but he stopped, eyes on Grayson’s elbow where a hand had appeared. 

Charlie.

“What’s her name?”

Kenneth laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“Are you kidding me Charlie? You think I don’t know your sister’s name? Give me a fucking break.”

Grayson saw the tears brim in Charlie’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“No. I’m talking about the 15 year old whose funeral you’re using for your own personal gain. What’s her name?”

Kenneth didn’t have an answer. Charlie stepped in front of Grayson, standing toe to toe with her father as she took a deep breath. 

“Leave. You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t welcome anywhere near my sister, or me for that matter.”

“Charlie.”

“What type of piece of shit do you have to be to show up when your daughter is hurting like this? Hmm?”

“I just knew she’d be here-”

“You also know her address, Dad. You chose here because you want her weak, you want her to need you and she doesn’t. Get out. Leave. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

“Charlie c’mon.” Grayson could see the panic in Kenneth’s eyes as he realized what his eldest was really saying. 

“Indiana has always been so much smarter than me. And I should have listened to her when she told me to not give you the time of day.” She shook her head, a few tears slipping past her eyelashes, taking mascara with them.

“Charlie, you’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, and you did that to yourself. Now, I have a funeral to get to, and if you try to follow me I’ll let him beat you into the ground like you deserve.”

With that, she turned and walked back through the doors.

Grayson stared at the broken man for a moment longer, and then he turned to follow her. She was sitting in one of the big chairs by the table by the window, hands shaking slightly as she brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, you okay?” He squatted down beside her to get to her eye level. He saw Indy in the way her lips shook while she breathed, trying to pull it together. 

“Do you want me to call Dev?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

“No, he’s already worried enough about me. I’m okay. Thank you for that, by the way. Pretty sure he would have just walked right past me if you weren’t out there. I shouldn’t have even told him about this.”

“You didn’t know he was gonna show up. I’m just glad he didn’t make it inside,” Grayson sighed, eyes flickering over to make sure Indy couldn’t see them. Charlie knew what he was looking for. 

“Well, you’re the hero of the day Dolan. I’m sure deflecting the dead beat father counts for some brownie points in winning her over,” she said. 

Grayson’s brows furrowed when he looked at her. He reached to the table and pulled a tissue for her to wipe her mascara with before he spoke.

“I wasn’t gonna tell her. No need to stress her out more than she already is, you know?”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, her head cocking to the right just barely, and she smiled just barely.

“Yeah. Right,” she agreed. 

“I’m gonna go find her, but come get me if you need me okay?”

She nodded, smiling when he patted her knee and moved back into the parlor. Ethan was walking around with Indy, looking at all the floral arrangements that had been sent. Grayson slotted himself beside her.

“Are the blue ones different flowers though? Like what makes them purple?” Ethan asked.

“They’re all hydrangeas. I think it has something to do with the soil, that’s what makes them different colors.”

“Acid. The soil has to be acidic, Ma always adds stuff to get the blue ones at the house,” Grayson chimed in, subtly relieving Ethan of his duties. Indy relaxed when she felt him next to her.

“The blue ones are my favorite,” she hummed, rubbing a petal between her thumb and finger. 

“Noted,” Grayson said. “Let’s get you some water, it’s almost 2.”

She didn’t protest, nerves buzzing with dread as she realized it was almost time for her to speak in front of so many people. 

“You have my speech right?”

He patted his chest pocket where he’d tucked it that morning.

“You’ve got this. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

She nodded, following him to the small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

Time flew, and before she knew it everyone was seated in the parlor as quiet music played and the service began. There was a preacher who spoke, read some scripture. Indy could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Grayson’s hand anchored her, squeezing hers just barely. He traced over knuckles with his finger. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

She tried, but her lungs felt tight when the preacher gave her the cue. She stood and smoothed out her dress, took the paper from Grayson. It quivered in the air as she carried it to the podium. There were too many eyes on her, too many red and bloodshot from tears already shed. 

She looked at Grayson. He only nodded at her, a silent reassurance. She smoothed the paper out on the wood, inhaled through her nose, and spoke.

“Hi. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Indiana Cross, and I was a friend of Bekah’s. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure how to do one of these. So, I thought about what Bekah would do when I asked her a question - she’d tell me we were living in the 21st century, and that I should ‘just google it’. So that’s what I did. But it wasn’t helpful, because eulogies aren’t designed to be told about 15 year olds. Because 15 year olds are supposed to turn 16, and get their driver’s license and go to prom and grow up to be 17, and so on. So, I don’t think any of us know how to do this -” she waved around the room with a broken exhale - “but that’s okay.”

“I’m the type of person who believes that there are reasons for a lot of things in life, but I’m struggling, like I’m sure many of you are today, to understand what the reason for Bekah being taken from us so soon is. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the universe. All I know is, it isn’t fair, and it isn’t going to make sense to me for a very long time. But all we can do is work to remember Bekah for the light that she was, and will continue to be. So, I’m going to share a few stories about Bekah, and the people that loved her. 

She could hear the sniffles, both her own amplified in the mic, and those from the crowd. She locked eyes with Grayson, who was sitting in the third row. He only nodded his head, willing all of his strength up to her somehow.

“I first met Bekah in a place where you generally don’t want to meet someone. The hospital. But, as anyone could guess, Bekah made a hospital seem like the best place to be simply by being there herself. We played pranks on the nurses, and then got said nurses in on our team and ganged up on the other ones. We ran the halls on good days, we cuddled up and watched movies on bad days. We snuck extra pudding and ice cream from the kitchen once when she was thirteen and got caught, and let me just say, I think that girl could have talked her way out of any trouble she ever got herself in. But the most important thing about that first hospital stay with Bekah was what she told me when I met her. She looked me right in the eyes and she said ‘don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it’. I had never met a kid with so much strength and bravery in my life. But that’s what we did, and by god did she keep that energy until the very end. 

“Bekah went into remission 3 times. And when I found out she was back for this next time, I figured it would be just like her past rounds. She would beat it, because she’s Bekah, and she always beats it. I don’t know where her strength comes from, but I know some of it is from her parents. But in all honesty, I think she was just a special person with something special in her. She was kind, and loving and strong and hilarious and witty and smart and beautiful and special. I would give up just about anything to get to see her grow up, to see the woman she would have become if - if she’d been given just a little bit more t-time.”

Indy’s voice began to falter, her breath hitching in her throat on the way out. She grabbed onto the podium, her notes blurry with tears. Grayson twitched in his pew, moving to stand up, to go to her. She saw him and moved her hand to the top of the wood, tapping her fingers subtly. Somehow, he knew what she meant. Wait.

“But I can find some peace in knowing how Bekah’s last days went, and I hope I can share some of that with you. She wasn’t scared to die. She went peacefully, and I don’t have a single doubt that she’s up in heaven watching us right now, probably making fun of me and also thanking me for not telling you all some of the stories of things we got up to. So to end it, I’ll quote a lyric from one of her favorite people, who she claimed would ‘totally be her boyfriend if he knew she had cancer’, Harry Styles. He says “remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” For now, Bekah is far away. And that’s a hard reality, for all of us, because she deserved more time here. But I know we’ll see her again someday, and I’m going to hold onto that until this starts to make a bit more sense, if it ever does. So, I love you Beks. Always have, always will. And I’ll see you again someday. Promise.”

Her voice cracked at the end as she stepped back from the microphone, fingers numb and cheeks hot and stiff from the salt of her tears. Grayson stood as she walked back down the center aisle to him, reached out to take her hand and help her to her seat. With the pressure gone and everyone’s eyes elsewhere, she crumpled into his chest, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit jacket as the sobs began to break free.

“Shhh, you’re okay. You did so good,” he whispered just for her, his own tears disappearing into her hair. Charlie ran a hand along her back to soothe her as the preacher returned to the podium to speak again. She didn’t hear much of what he said. Everyone cried as the service moved on, sounds of rustled tissue boxes and quiet sobs behind fists made the soundtrack to the show no one wanted to see. 

Everything moved too quickly, and suddenly everyone was lining up to pass by and give their final goodbyes. Indy clung to Grayson’s hand as Ethan and Charlie excused themselves out of respect. 

Indy blinked away her tears to get one more look at Bekah when it was her turn. Grayson reached to adjust her head scarf, and Indy rubbed her hand, willing herself to pretend it was warm. 

Grayson was a pallbearer, eyes red and puffy as he carried her much too light casket to the back of the hearse. It gave Indy comfort, knowing she was safe with him.

She held it together on the walk to the car, head held high the way Bekah would want it to be, and she noticed Charlie scurry to take the front seat, forcing Grayson into the back with her. She was grateful for it, especially when she slid into the middle seat so she could sit next to him as they joined the procession. 

Indy watched the trees, and Grayson watched her.

The cemetery was beautiful as they drove through it. Plenty of trees that Indy knew would be beautiful in the warmer months. It gave her some peace to know that she would rest in such a lovely place, even though she knew she wasn’t really there. She hoped it would give people a place to remember her fondly, to talk to her. She herself had never really cared for cemeteries, but she stood tall anyways and went through the motions. She watched Grayson carry the casket to the pedestal, took the rose that they gave her off of the casket spray and said her goodbyes quietly. 

The sun shone brightly above them, but it began to drizzle right as she was about to climb into the car. A sun shower, she supposed.

Her tears mixed with the droplets that fell. 

“Hey Beks,” she smiled, an odd sense of peace flowing over her as she stood there for a moment to soak it in before she climbed into the car. 

Ethan drove them back to Jersey, and Indy laid her head on Grayson’s shoulder the whole two hours it took to get there. 

When they got back, it was obvious what Lisa had been doing to keep herself busy. There was a casserole in the oven, both a vegan and non-vegan option, with fresh salad and bread she’d baked herself. 

“I know it’s not really dinner time yet, I just figured you guys might be hungry when you got back, and I didn’t have much else to do,” Lisa explained with a sheepish smile. Grayson just smiled at her and kissed her temple.

“Thanks Ma. You’re the best. Dee, you want something to change into?”

“Sure. My stuff is out at the house though,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find you something,” he said before he disappeared upstairs.

“The house? You all stayed out at the tiny homes last night?” Charlie asked quietly. Indy bristled, ready to defend herself. 

“I needed to write the eulogy, I needed somewhere quiet, and it’s nice out there. I just needed somewhere nice for the night, not my place.”

Charlie was smiling.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she said. Indy balked, unsure that she’d heard her sister correctly. She resisted the urge to quote some of the explitivies Charlie had called Grayson when she first found out he’d left for LA during their phone call.

“You’re not saying it’s a bad thing…” Indy confirmed, waiting.

“All I’m saying is… maybe I was wrong. He’s a good guy. Just be careful, okay? Can’t see you like that again, especially with all this going on too.”

Indy was blushing, but she nodded. 

“Here, try these. Might fit if you roll them and tie em’ real tight.” Gray came down the stairs with a pair of black sweatpants and an old wrestling sweatshirt. She took them gratefully, moving into the bathroom to change. She felt free once her dress was gone, like she’d pulled some of the weight of the day off with the fabric. The sweats were still too big, but she didn’t mind. 

Outside the door and down the hallway, Ethan had pulled his brother aside.

“You need to be here.” 

Grayson waited for him to continue.

“I was fucking wrong. I got my priorities fucked, and I put that on you, and I’m sorry. I know the businesses are out in LA, and I don’t think we can really change that right now, but we’ll figure it out. I can fly out here when we need to, and you can come out when you have to.”

Indy heard voices down the hall. 

“Flights are cheaper on Thursdays usually, we could always plan for that.”

It hurt worse somehow, for it to be in Grayson’s voice. 

It was Tuesday.

She disappeared quietly down the hall in the other direction, her stomach turning. 

It was what she knew would happen. It was the pain she’d told herself would be worth letting herself be with him, just for a few more days. 

The pain in her gut had other ideas. The smell of the food from the kitchen made her nauseous when she reentered, and she gave Lisa a sympathetic smile. The angel in the whole ordeal, the last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

“Hey Li, I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m gonna lay down upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course it’s okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, and thank you for cooking. You guys go ahead and eat if you get hungry, I’m probably good for tonight.”

“Okay sweetie, get some rest.”

Indy managed to get upstairs undetected, and she found herself in Grayson’s room out of habit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed under the covers and let her tears fall. She felt stupid, and unwanted, and sad. She’d let her heart get trampled again, all for a few days of comfort. 

She felt pathetic. 

Grayson’s feet thudded up the stairs only a few minutes later. She buried her face in the covers like a child, made her breathing even and slow. 

He creaked the door open quietly, feet pausing before he came over to her. 

She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, and then his lips on her temple. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was gone. 

Indy’s heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes shot open when she heard the door latch. 

Her mind ran circles around itself as she laid there, staring at the ceiling wrapped in the blankets that smelled like him. 

Did he love her? And if he did, did it matter?

It was times like that she wished more than anything that her mom was there. The closest thing she had was Charlie, who she suddenly felt guilty for leaving downstairs. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t reappear so soon. So she sat, and she spiraled and rationalized and tried to make sense of her world that had fallen apart around her so quickly. 

Downstairs, Grayson’s mind was wandering. His stomach led him, as it often did, but the greater part of him wanted to be upstairs in bed instead of at the kitchen table. But he couldn’t deny his mom’s cooking, especially after a hard day. So he sat at the table, glad that Charlie was no longer staring daggers into him from across the table. He gave Indy an hour or so to sleep before he went to check on her again, surprised to see her awake, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Hey you,” he smiled. “You ready to go?”

She looked up quickly. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked nervous.

“Go?”

“To the house. All our stuff is out there, and I figured Charlie could stay in here tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah, the house would be good.”

He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him lead her out to the truck, down the roads to the houses. 

“You still tired?” Grayson asked once he’d kicked his boots off.

She thought of laying with him and nodded, walking up to the loft so he would follow. 

He laid down beside her, let her curl up to him like she always had. It was peaceful, with the quiet hum of the furnace and the woods outside. The sun had set on their drive, and the dim lights from the kitchen made everything a warm yellow. 

Indy took a deep breath and moved her hand under Grayson’s hoodie to find his skin. 

Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

“What?”

She traced it again, slower, but she didn’t get to finish. He sat up in the middle of it, turning to her with concern all over his face.

“You want me to go?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Want isn’t really the right word. But you can go.”

His heartbeat picked up, and he moved into her eye line.

“What does that mean.”

“I really appreciate you being here. I do. But I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to stay here just because I’m sad. You don’t have to stay for me.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt him less. 

“Indy. Indy, look at me.”

She turned and found his eyes, and to her surprise, his were watery.

“You’re my only reason to stay. I want to stay.”

“Stop. Just stop, I heard you earlier, you don’t have to pretend like you want to be here.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Indy sat up on her elbows.

“Flights are cheap on Thursdays,” she said. Grayson’s heart dropped for a moment, and then the pieces came into place. 

“Indy. Baby, that wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Then what was it Grayson, please enlighten me.” 

Grayson took her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“That was Ethan and I trying to figure out how I can stay here. How I can stay here with you. Because I want to be here. I want to be with you, I always have. Ever since I met you I knew I was meant to be wherever you are. I never should have left, it was the dumbest shit I ever did. And I didn’t want to bring all this up, because I know emotions are fucked right now, with Beks and everything. But I want to be here with you, or I want you with me, or I want whatever it takes for us to be okay and together. If that’s something you still want.”

Her head was spinning. 

“You still want me?”

He nodded. 

“Never stopped.” 

Indy took in her first deep breath in days.

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Grayson opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking better of his words before he spoke them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know tonight. There’s too much going on right now, I don’t expect you to know how you feel about it right now,” he finally said, voice too loud in his excitement and nerves.

“Yeah. I need time to… think.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no that’s good. I want you to take your time with it, of course. And I can give you as much space as you need, you know, like, um, I can go sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Despite everything, Indy laughed.

“You don’t even fit on the couch.”

“I could make it work,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re fine. Just go to sleep, and I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

There was an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time - it snuck through even as he tried to hide it.

“Okay. Sounds good. Well, uh… goodnight.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do with all the new emotions that had come to light.

“We should probably lay down, if we’re gonna sleep,” Indy said.

“Right, yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said again, watching him awkwardly pull back the covers and climb in fully clothed. She wanted to laugh at how awkward it was, as if they hadn’t been in each other’s arms every night since he’d been back. He kept his back to her, and she knew with her mind buzzing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

She pulled her laptop out of the bag by the bed, fired up her hotspot and started to scroll through her feeds, passing mindless time and keeping herself busy until Grayson began to snore, rolling to his stomach. It was a sweet sound, and she couldn’t help but to reach over and move his covers up, her fingers brushing over his arm.

He stirred under her touch, grunting a bit as he half woke up, sitting up just enough to pull the yellow hoodie over his head and toss it off the bed.

“Whatcha doing,” he mumbled, reaching a blind hand out until he found skin, fingers landing on her leg under the covers. Indy smiled and moved her hand away from her keyboard, scratched lightly up and down his back, over his tattoo as a thought crossed her mind. 

“Just emails. Almost done.”

“You okay?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I’m okay. Sleep.”

“M’kay.”

He was snoring again momentarily, and once she was sure he was out she claimed her hand back, clicking quietly until she got to what she was looking for. 

Her email from UCLA. 

She scrolled down to the bottom, looked at the two links she had stared at so many times since it had arrived in her inbox.

Accept. Decline.

She moved her mouse and clicked once, and then she closed her laptop, put it on the nightstand and cuddled under the covers. Grayson huffed at her movements, reaching for her in the dark. She let him pull her closer, relishing in the feeling of being with him for another night.

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

Willex, stay

anon this accidentally played into the fact that i’ve been thinking about touch starved willie nonstop for weeks. so. here you go. sorry it got long lol “a lil something” this ended up 1.5k words so it’s now available on ao3 as well

(send me a ship and a word and i’ll write you a lil something for clowngate // completed prompts)

Things have been weird, since Willie moved in.

Not bad weird, Willie doesn’t think. Or, a little bad weird. But everything was going to be bad-weird, after what happened with Caleb, anyway. He’s trying to move on as best he can, but there’s a lot of adjustment at once, after he meets Julie and she breaks his curse and suddenly he is - as far as he can tell - a regular teenaged boy again, alive and well, able to graze his knees if he tumbles off his skateboard.

(Yes, he learned that the hard way).

Usually, Willie’s good with change. He likes life to stay fresh, and exciting. It’s just that sometimes he looks around the Molina’s spare room, with its cozy blue bedsheets and little bookshelf on the wall, and thinks about Ray Molina’s kind eyes and the way he’s basically adopted four ghosts that he knew nothing about prior to this out of the sheer goodness of his heart. Willie wonders if he’s stepping on people’s toes, by being here. If he’s in the way.

Everyone else knows each other so well already, is all, and he can’t help but suspect that maybe they resent him for causing all this trouble in the first place, no matter how many times Alex and Julie assure him that’s not the case. He just doesn't feel like he can ask for anything, since they've given him so much already.

And Willie also has this weird sort of pain, maybe leftover from his curse, maybe his soul being a little battered and sore. But it’s this ache that sits just under his rib cage, that thuds with his heart, and that won’t shift. He lies awake at night and feels it, like a very blunt dagger, or a really cold stone. Sinking deeper and deeper in him, like his chest is a bottomless pool of water.

It’s not all bad. Ray lets him skateboard in the little courtyard outside the garage, when he doesn’t feel like going far. He hangs out in the loft and sketches in a book Julie got him, as he listens to her and the boys rehearse. They sound amazing, and getting to watch Alex is Willie’s favourite thing. He looks so relaxed, when he’s drumming, so unselfconscious. Like Alex finally sees, in himself, the Alex that Willie sees all the time.

He just wishes Alex would be that Alex around Willie, again. The way he was before. Alex treats him so carefully now, so tentatively, like any wrong move could make Willie flinch.

Maybe Willie just flinches more than he used to. Maybe it’s not all Alex’s fault.

--

The ache is back, and Willie’s lying awake, and staring at the ceiling, and wondering why Ray Molina has a copy of The Communist Manifesto in his guest room, when Alex appears at the door. Not literally appears, as in poofs in, but appears by poking his head through the gap Willie left and saying, “Hey, are you still awake?”

Willie looks over at him. Alex is clearly dressed for bed (it’s weird, having to sleep again after all these years), and his blonde hair is all shaggy and in his eyes.

For some reason, the pain in Willie’s chest deepens further. Maybe it is because of the curse. He knows how furious Caleb was about his feelings for Alex. How threatened he felt by them.

“Yeah,” Willie says, belatedly, when Alex gives him a stranger look than normal. “I mean. Apparently.”

“Can I come in?”

Willie nods, sitting up and shuffling his legs up so there’s room for Alex to sit on the end of the bed, which he delicately does.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Alex tells him, folding his hand in his lap and looking up at the roof, the way Willie was moments ago. Willie is looking now at the distance between his toes and Alex’s thigh.

In the past, he never would have hesitated to just tuck his cold feet under the legs of a boy he liked. In fact, that sounds exactly like the kind of thing Willie-from-before would do. He’s just not Willie-from-before any more.

Usually good with change. Not sure how he feels about this change.

“Check on me?” he asks. Still looking at his feet, and Alex’s pajama-clad leg, and Alex’s hands in his lap, now. Wishing he was holding one of Alex’s hands.

God, his chest hurts. It makes him feel shaky.

“You’ve been... quiet?” Alex offers, and then cringes at himself like he regrets the word choice, his beautiful eyebrows pulling together, his beautiful mouth pulling to the side, his beautiful nose framed by the light from the hallway, streaming in through the gap in the half-open door. “Not that you can’t be quiet! Not that you were loud before, either, just...”

Not yourself.

Alex doesn’t have to say it. Willie knows already. His throat feels tight, and man, he doesn’t want to cry in front of Alex, that would be such a shitty thing, after all of this. “I’m sorry,” Willie says softly, though he’s not even exactly sure what he’s apologising for.

Maybe for not being as much fun as he was before. For being yet another thing Alex has to worry about, now, instead of being somewhere Alex doesn’t have to worry about anything.

For some reason, those are the words that break Alex, that make him impulsive.  It’s like he moves before he thinks, when he puts his hand on Willie’s knee, squeezes tight. His other hand he moves to Willie’s cheek, cupping his jaw, tilting his head up so they can look at each other properly. “Please don’t be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

The feeling of Alex’s hands burns and soothes all at once, and something in Willie breaks. The floodgates stored in his ribcage burst, the pain overwhelming and then washing away, and he feels the tears spilling over before he has a chance to stop or hide them. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, so gently, with such kindness.

Oh. Yeah, he can. It was Alex, then, too.

“Shit,” Alex exclaims softly, trying to withdraw his hands, but that’s the last thing Willie wants, and he manages,

“Stay? Please, Alex, I can’t be-”

Okay, well, ‘alone again’ is a little melodramatic, he thinks to himself, even in the middle of his own breathless crying. No need to take it that seriously, Will. Alex is saying, “Okay, okay, I won’t go - I’m not leaving, just - what do I do? Am I helping or making it worse?”

Willie just surges forward, rolls onto his knees, and buries his face in Alex’s neck, arms around Alex’s shoulders. Alex holds him back, tight, soothes him in sounds more than words.

The pain washes away down the river. Everywhere Alex touches him, every time Alex runs a hand through Willie’s hair or down Willie’s spine, the ache recedes, reduces, dies down.

“I wanted to give you space,” Alex whispers, lips practically against his ear, the warmth like a bucket of water over Willie’s head in the best way. He’s doing some of his best overthinking, Willie can tell even through his upset. Alex is an astonishingly good multitasker. “But I gave you too much, huh? This... I should’ve been doing this.”

“You didn’t have to,” Willie says, sniffling in a truly disgusting way. “Shouldn’t have to now. Don’t want to make you worry.”

“Please make me worry,” Alex interrupts him. “Please. For once, let me play to my strengths?”

That startles a laugh out of Willie, and Alex grins, Willie can feel it against his face. Now that he’s done crying, now that they’re just sitting there holding each other, he can feel the blooming warmth inside him, the relief. The quiet.

“Better?” Alex asks.

Warmth where there was cold. Comfort where there was pain. It wasn't the curse after all, he guesses, but this is a change Willie can deal with. It’s not Caleb, haunting him still somehow. He just needed a hug. He hums his affirmation. “Can we just... stay like this, for a bit?”

“I guess so,” Alex groans, smiling, and laying back on the bed with his arm outstretched and welcoming, shaggy hair still in his pretty eyes. “I guess we can.” When Willie lays down on his arm, he says quietly, “Just. Tell me next time? If it gets like this? I just wanna help, but I can’t know what you need if you won’t ask me.”

Willie’s instinct is to brush him off, even after everything that’s happened, but the relief is still so palpable, and Alex seems so warm and genuine, and safe, like everything Willie’s ever dreamed of. Better than he deserves, for sure, but that doesn’t mean he has to say no. He’s seeing that now.

“I’ll ask,” he promises, and he means it. “I’ll ask you.”

--

part 2

part 3

[underlinediagnosis]

Weird Looking Dog - Chp. 1-3

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A Borrower Au.

Warnings - Themes of abuse, abductions, intentionally hurting minors, fear play, and people being treated like pets are present. 

Can be read on...

Deviantart- https://www.deviantart.com/batterysavermode/art/Weird-Looking-Dog-Chapter-1-872465523 

Archive of our own- https://archiveofourown.org/works/30746024/chapters/75884288

My first g/t writing so embrace the hiccups. 

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                                  Chapter 1 - Lung Aches

She could never run away from the cold air. She should never seek comfort from a hug from her mother. Never wear a smile when her father would tell a joke. She could never fulfill her dream of meeting a dog. No. She could never be happy again.

The cold and shiny metal caused goosebumps to form along her pale short legs. Thin and weak arms hugged her dull pink shirt. The shirt looked too big for the small girl. In reality she had grown too small for the shirt. The thin fabric hiding ribs that jutted against her skin like dull blades.

Her toes that laid flat against the metal were pink and felt numb. The sensation of constantly being cold was sadly becoming normal. The sight of tall silver bars surrounding her was becoming a normal sight as well. The bars were narrow but there were many circling around her. With gaps so small that she could only fit an arm through.

While the sight of bars never comforted her like the sight of her mother or father. The poor child had immediately decided that the sight of bars, the bone chilling frost of the air, the silence and despair of an empty room. Was better than interacting with any human. Whose body heat felt sick and the leather skin felt gross to touch.

Not that she would say any of that to the humans. A regular human was scary enough to bring tears to her eyes. The thought of an angry human sent a shiver down her spine. No matter how much fear, dread, and pain she felt from the humans. Those feelings were always there but grew when she was with a human. Yet there was a permanent weight in her chest. Always so potent. She missed her mother and her father so much. She missed her neighbor Mr. Klipspringer. She missed being able to listen safely in the walls whenever the humans would talk about dogs.

All of her loss made her chest hurt so much. Normally a child her age could fool themselves into thinking that they would be saved. Delaying the permanent weight of despair in their lungs until the last seconds. Yet with the experiences Rose Fox had been through. She knew that the sad feeling in her lungs would be there forever. Just as she knew she was destined to live her life in a cage.

Her innocent curiosity of the world was long since sucked away. Thinking about sad questions led to her blurting out. Which led to the humans hurting her for doing something bad. Yet she never really knew if it was bad for speaking out of turn. The way the humans taught her was way different than her parents.

Her parents taught her with love and passion. With a warmth that she wished for. The humans on the other hand were just plain scary. They did not bother to tell her why she had to do something. She just had to.

Not that she wanted to ask in the first place. Instinctively knowing that just following what ever they wanted would be best for her survivability. Maybe that is why she was always so tired. She may sleep on the uncomfortable metal but there was always a part of her that was awake. Listening for danger and so scared of any human.

That part of her was also confused but still, as always, on high alert. A couple days ago she had heard the human screaming. His loud voice had shook the house. Patches of blood still crusted around her ears. Even thought she had tried to cover her ears with her matted hair and small hands. Humans were just so loud.

Then, for the first time since she got here, the only sounds was the weather banging against the house. She did not know how long it had been since the house went quiet but she did know one thing.

She was very hungry. Normally when the human was away she had enough strength to buy the time. Rather it be self care or watching the wind play with the trees. Now looking at the only light in the room, which being the sunlight from the open window, caused a headache.

All of her emotions felt dull in her weakened state. Almost matching her weak body. All of her nails and toenails ripped clean off in an attempt to eat anything. She knew toenails and nails grew back, her mother had told her why but she forgot, but waiting for new ones was taking longer than she intentionally thought a couple days ago.

Her stomach grumbled but that sound was just as common as hearing the birds cry outside. Her tired brown eyes stared at the lock of the cage. A mechanism that looked as tall as her. The humans called it a lock but she just called it another human thing.

She knew she could never escape. How would she be able to reach the human thing? Her arms were too short. Also if she were to some how to open the door she had no way of getting down. She was suspended in air by a long metal chain that was attached to the bird cage.

She knew she was very high up. This is because the cage was eye level with the human. At least when the scary human was in the room. As much as she hated him she wished he would bring food.

Even though her young brain thought that she could survive off of her nail clippings. Seemed as true as the fact that humans were mean and scary.

The small girl somehow had the energy to flinch when the house creaked. She knew all too well that the sound was not caused by the wind. Not by a bird or by a massive tree. No, the sound was caused by a human. She did not know the layout of her new dungeon as well as her old house but she knew one thing. Humans had a door that led from the inside to the terrifying outside.

Dread coursed through her veins and she found it hard to breath. Her whole body felt numb at the thought of being under an intense gaze again. Being toyed with and being through so much fear that no person, let alone a child, should be through.

She felt tears shooting down her face. Hugging herself and fearfully trying to squeeze into the world's tiniest ball. Her breathing quicken and her lungs stung against the cold air. Her numb toes felt unmovable from fear. The notion that the human would bring her food could not even help her ground herself.

Her grip on her tattered pink shirt tightened. Leaving her pale hands to become as white as snow. Her dirty face was painted with a stroke of fear and concern. Memories of hands swooping down like when an owl catches its prey. She sniffed as she thought of her mother’s laugh. Her father’s award winning smile. Her heart beat fast but her body was frozen in place. Her natural instincts to stay as still as possible. Try to stay hidden and unnoticed.

She was jolted out of her panic when a voice rumbled through the house.

“Hello?”

This was a different human.

                                     Chapter 2 - Birdcage

“Hello?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood. The open entrance with light blue walls had a stagnant air. Even with the large open windows the house felt suffocating and still. Something was not right and John Watson was sure of it.

Hesitantly closing the front door behind him John Watson silently crept into the open family room. Large open windows lit up the room. The large grey couch stretching out before him. All thoughts of how much of a cock Sherlock has been forgotten. Easily replaced by the unstill air.

John sighed with tired eyes. Rushing down the hallway. Doors on either side opening to empty rooms. The last door looked out of place in the hallway. Marks and scratches visible against the oak wood. The handle did not budge at first as he moved to open the door.

The walls of the room seemed to hunch over as if they were crying. The terrible paint job looking like tears. A single strand of light came from the window. The rest was shadowed by the tree right outside the window. The carpet was as stiff as wood. Looking like the red carpeted seats found in movie theaters.

The man living in the house was not in the room. In fact the room looked as worn down as an abandoned building. The only signs of how wealthy the person living here was a single object. A bird cage beautifully hanging in the air by a strong metal chain. The birdcage hung in front of the window. The metal gleaming and it’s shadow stretched along the floor.

The bird cage was empty. As evident by the chilling quiet air. Which seemed almost too quiet. Like as if someone was trying to hide. The human’s brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the birdcage lost in thought. He stood at the frame of the door. His shoes firmly planted in place.

He shook his head and smiled sadly to himself. All this interviewing and trying to catch up with Sherlock had not left a lot of time for sleep in his schedule. The side effects were clearly showing.

Then the phone in his pocket chimed. It’s loud chime causing his heart to skip a beat a little. He was on edge from the strange feeling that came from this room.

A small thud seemed to echo louder than the chime of his phone. When in reality it was hardly noticeable.

Something was in that birdcage.

Without really thinking he walked over to the cage. Wondering what color of feathers the bird would have.

-----------

Her body did what the humans had tried to beat out of her. She quickly laid on her side, even though she knew humans did not like that. Her rib bones basically touching the cold metal surface. She scratched up into a ball. Her knee caps touching her forehead, she did this even when she knew that fingers will force her out of her panicked ball with ease.

She laid there with thoughts that no child of 7 years old should have to think. She shivered with prey instincts that would put a rabbit’s to shame. She was not afraid of being eaten, the poor girl was not even aware of such things.

This human was new but that did not make a difference. Mr. Klipspringer, her neighbor, had been so right.

“If a human finds you. They have the need to harm you. It comes as natural as the need for food and water,”

His quiet voice echoed in her head. As the booming footsteps from outside became louder and louder everything in her froze. Even the hairs on the back of her neck stopped rising. She gripped so hard on her pants that it started to hurt. She was about to loosen her grip but she did not dare move when the air swooshed.

A breeze that sent her matted hair flying. Her ears started to burn from the lack of her hairy blanket. She knew all too well what that sudden gust of wind meant.

The human had opened the door. An object that was the size of a mountain moved without thought by the human. She could not see the human. Her face was basically buried into her chest. Yet she could feel and hear his presence.

She could hear fabric shift with the rise and fall of his chest. Her brain and body tormented her with the phantom sensation of warm human breath surrounding her. Goosebumps covered her skin, both from the cold and the fear, every strand of hair on edge.

Tears dropped onto the cold metal surface. Her cheek screaming at her to move from the cold metal surface. She wanted to fight, squirm, find a way to escape his notice. She wished she had the strength of her father. Or the quick wit of her mother. Even in her fear her lungs felt heavy from sorrow.

She felt naked being in plain sight but that is what the humans wanted. They wanted to look at her. They thought that being out in plain sight made her happy. In reality it made her tired and on edge all the time.

Maybe that is why she gave into her instincts. The large part of her screaming at her to sit like a doll. To fake happiness out of fear of being hurt. After all the humans always smiled with large scary teeth whenever she had to play pretend.

She may be young but she knew cause and effect. If you stay quiet maybe you will be able to hear the humans talk about dogs. If you wait long enough your nails will grow back and then you can eat again. If you show fear the humans will forcefully correct you.

It had only been a year in captivity and the poor girl had no reason to smile for real.

Maybe that is why when a loud chime broke the silence, she flinched. Her body hurling herself like a fish out of water. The impact caused a thud from her body hitting against metal. She barely held in a gasp as she cringed from the sound she made.

She screamed human words in her head. She did not know what they meant, only knowing that if she said them it would result in her getting thrown. It seemed like she deserved being thrown from the amount of noise she had made.

Now she was going to end up trapped. Not trapped in a cage where she could shiver in the cold. No even worse. Trapped in hands that made her feel like she was touching a maggot infested rat carcass.

Her heart pounded so fast. Humans were so scary and confusing.

She knew she was being ‘bad’ for giving into her instincts. She did not know why curling into a ball was bad when it felt like the safest thing to do. As the human moved and the world shook. She understood that the heavy pain in her lungs whenever she thought about her mother or father was going to become an afterthought. The human might even break bones for her fearful misdeeds.

                       Chapter 3 - The Man Looking In

John Watson's face showed the two emotions that he had felt once his blue eyes gazed upon that small figure.

His brow furrowed in concern. His mouth gaped with surprise.

Well the surprise had hit him first.

He basically had his face press against the metal bars to take in all the details of the impossibly small girl. She had long matted brown hair that clung to her back. She kept her face hidden. She wore black baggy pants that stopped at her knees. Her legs were short and thin.

A large bruise on one of her legs was as clear as a spec of ink on a blank piece of paper. It was dark compared to her snow white skin. It was circular and seemed too large for her stick like legs.

Oh god.. Was the bruise a finger print?

His eyes anxiously checked the rest of her body. Looking for any visible signs of injuries. She wore a thin salmon pink shirt. It was tattered and clearly had seen better days. Her legs and arms were skin and bone. Seemly too thin even for such a small body type.

She looked to be two inches tall. Way smaller than any of John’s fingers. He finally blinked after his minute long stare. Guilt slowly crept into his heart. Slowly washing away the shock of meeting such a small kid.

A kid. A child.

Obviously scared and here he was staring at her like she was some sort of freak show. With a nervous swallow it did not take long to realize that he was the one scaring the kid.

He blinked away tears that were forming. His heart wanted him to just hug the kid. His mind whirling at what she had been through to end up in a cage. He let out a sigh. Stopping almost immediately when he saw the matted clump of hair flying.

This poor child was so scared.

Scared of him.

He reminded himself. He stood in silence for a moment longer. Forcing himself to become as still as a statue. Worried that the girl would have a heart attack if he moved. Even in his shock of seeing such a small figure he needed to remain calm.

It did not matter that he could barely see her fearful shivers. They were there. A child was all alone in facing a big scary monster. He needed to be the nightlight for the child. Right now he was only being the monster that hid underneath the bed.

“Are you okay?”

John Watson’s voice was hesitant and he thought he was being quiet. He barely held in a wince when the tiny body flinched. He blinked once more in confusion when he realized the little girl might not even understand what he was saying.

Time seemed to stop as he waited for an answer. He was almost afraid for the kid to answer. He felt dizzy at the thought that someone could be heartless enough to put a little kid in a cage. Well, a little little kid, but a person nonetheless.

He watched with horror as the child only curled further into a ball. Her spine showing itself against the flimsy pink shirt.

Way to go jackass.

He thought to himself.

If the little girl were to look at those large blue eyes. She would have seen the shift in his gaze. From fascination to utter concern.

He opened his mouth to speak. Hesitating at the last second just incase the little girl spoke. After a few more awkward seconds of waiting, standing there with his face pressed against the cage, he knew with a pang of sadness that the kid was too afraid to speak.

He knew he could just get the child out of there. He was in control of a small human being. A feeling in which he did not like one bit. Clearly the little girl seemed to agree.

He knew that if he were to just grab the child out of there. Many things would happen. The girl would panic. Things would be easier. He could get a closer examination and look for any broken bones. Easily take her back to his flat. He could, and would, try to help find her parents. Assuming she had parents.

Yet something stopped him from taking advantage. It just felt gross to do.

She did not know that all John wanted to do was help her. John’s heart skipped a beat when he imagined what she was thinking.

The shivering in her body only grew worse and worse. Oh god. Did she think she was going to be hurt?

Or worse?

It took everything in him to refrain from tearing apart her prison.

He knew that someone had hurt her. As evident by the large bruise on her thin leg. He cut off that line of thought before visible anger could show on his face. His anger at what someone else did would no doubt scare the girl to death.

He spoke again. Cutting off his internal pity party for the other person in the room. He stiffened once more. For the first time in his life feeling dangerously large and tall.

“My name is John Watson. I am a doctor which means I help people. I uh.. I am here to help,”

He whispered.

[writtenfan]

🔺Imagine that your Lucifer’s human “pet”, and he decides to do some behavioral training with you...💋🔺

LuciferxFemReader

(Mature Audiences: BDSM themes and swears, pet play/degrading/pain play)

"I don't think I told you to move!" He rocked back and forth pulling a dart from thin air. "Tsk, tsk." He sighs in a murmur as he moves the dart in his hand back and forth pinching it between his fingers looking at a spot besides your head. He squints his eyes and let his tongue hang out the corner of his mouth as he pulls his hand back.

You shut your eyes as he throws it towards you, you hear the air whiz by your ear and the sharp thunk of the dart hitting the wall. You open your eyes and he stands there, staring at you. His hands now in his pockets. You glance to your right without moving your head and see the feathery end of the dart sticking out of the wall.

"Alright, since you moved and flinched...you know what that means," he says in a singsong voice, pulling a hand out of his pocket and dancing his fingers in the air.. "On the floor." He scrunches his face and lowered his head, glancing at the floor and then your face.

He tilts his head, upon noticing you not doing what he instructed.

He points to the ground, but you don't move.

He leans back with a smug grin, the lines on his eyes moving with his squinting eyes. He raises his eyebrows and you jump a little as he takes a step towards you. Your heartbeat thumps against your chest as he takes his time walking over to you, the sound of his feet against the hardwood floor the only sound in the den. His mustard color jacket, covering his white T-shirt. His dark blue pants cuffed revealing white socks underneath his brown shoes. His dirty blond hair, pushed back, neatly, yet the ends on the side of his face, stuck out just a little.

He stops in front of you his chest close to your face, he smelled so good. The wrinkles of his shirt, grabbed your attention you wanted to look up, you did a bit, but not at his face. He flexes back his shoulders and then does a little shimmy. You can feel his eyes looking down at you with that terrifying smile of his. "Oh, so you didn't hear me?" He blinks twice and pulls the dart from the wall beside your head, you flinch again at the suddenness of this movement. But you look up at his face.

He examines the dart with an unsatisfied expression and bites on his lower lip.

"That's unfortunate...for you."

He grabs your shoulder and pushes you down, hard. Your knees buckle and your face slams into his waist, and slides down one of his legs. Your hands grab at the sides of his legs so you can push yourself off him. But he sidesteps and slams his foot down on your upper back. You let out a whine as the wind is knocked out of you, your palms clutching at the floor. You turn your face to the side, feeling the pain of your rear in the air as your knees press against your chest. You only see his other foot as he turns the one against your back as if rubbing off something from his shoe.

You let out a sound as he puts some of his weight on you "I wonder how hard I'd have to squeeze you. To pop ya like a gusher~" he chuckles as he lifts his foot, and squats down, craning his face to meet yours as he pulls on your shirt tightly, the collar of your shirt choking you. "Aren't you curious? Hmm?"

He purses his lips and scratches the side of his chin. The sound of his stubble against his fingernails, is similar to Velcro.

"Well, let's find out huh?" His face looses its smile as he pushes the palm of his hand against your back and pivots. "Ugh, I'm too old for this..." He lets out a low long sigh as he sits on top of your back, he drapes his arms over his knees and twirls the dart in one hand. His weight, pushed your lungs and rib cage against the floor. You let out a uncomfortable sound and he chuckles, each chuckle pushing against your back.

"My arnt you the comfy seat!" He rocks himself back and forth on your back as he runs his hand from the top of your head to the back, in a petting motion. His  fingers were so thick and heavy and his nails occasionally raked across your scalp. Each movement, made your knees sandwich your ribs harder.

"I just love all the whining and trembling breathes your doing, keep it up."

You feel something sharp on the space close to your tail bone. It presses itself against your bare skin, and lifts off. Over and over.

"So, let me just say. When I tell you to do something-"  You feel it press harder and longer against your skin. You try to move you back lower to the ground and he only follows, pressing harder.

"-you do it. Kay? I'm getting tired. Of you bratting it up." You feel his head nod as his body shakes. Every breath is starting to hurt . You clench you're fists and move them closer to your face.

"I want my little pet, to be trained..." he lifts the dart and the pain stops. "Oh, I haven't even gotten you a collar." He slaps his knee with his free hand and leans his head down to your face.

You beg him to get off, softly.

He sucks in his lower lip and looks at you blankly, you watch as he continues to chew on it.

"Nah." he says with head shake squinting his eyes before straightening up and moving his legs, criss cross on you. Making the uncomfortableness worse.

"As I was saying, collar...collar..." he clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers, this makes you jolt and he chuckles feeling you do so. "Well. Until I get one. Guess I gotta improvise." You feel him pivot on your back, you swear you felt your spine crack.

His legs now on either side of your body as he faces your rear. He leans over pressing one of his elbows onto your hip and tugs your shirt up revealing your lower back.

"Now. Hold still~" he cooes as he presses the top of the dart and starts sliding against your skin, cutting into your flesh. You let out a cry as you try and move your knees out from under you. He grasps your waist and squeezes it as you do. "Don't. Move." He growls tightening his grip as he continues to make slow cuts into your skin, using it like paper.

He starts to hum as you feel the sharp stinging sensation travel with the direction of the dart.

You beg him with gasping breaths to stop, you tell him this is too much. 

"I.....F....E....." he says ignoring your pleas as his dart follows with each letter, mimicking it on your backside.

"R...." he rolls the" "r" and stops moving  the dart but pushes it hard into your skin as he releases your waist. He leans over and blows chilling air on the open cuts and it stings fiercer than Hydrogen Peroxide. He lifts the dart and lets out a satisfied grunt.

"Now, it's upside down. But~" he pats the side of your rear. "At least it's on there. How great is that?!"

He shifts his weight and your able to breath better, you take a deep breath in and your body shakes as he stands off you, tears run down your cheeks as you try and press yourself up, onto yo ur hands and knees. He lets out a sharp whistle and your stop. Buckling back down into your face. You feel the top of his shoe press against your side and you let him push you sideways. Your whole body shakes. The stinging sensation worsening with each second, you disassociate in the direction of his shoes.

“Ugh. Don't tell me your broken already?" He lays down besides you and looks at your face,  amused.

You sneer and look away from his eyes but suddenly your face snaps back to his, this movement sending a pain down your neck.

"Oh, no...I still see it...you still need some behavior training." He sucks in his lower lip and let’s it drop.

" Don't try and to be tough. I know how to make people do what I want." He reaches over to you and places his thumb against your chin. "But your not a person, are you? Your my little animal. My whimpering..." he rubs his thumbs in small circles. "...potty trained, little bitch..." he giggled staring at you coldly.

"I'm going to take very good care of you, as long as you keep me entertained." He says wagging his finger in your face.

He slides his thumb up your jaw. "Whose my pretty little girl? Aww...look at you, such wet eyes..." he rubs at your tears and then slides his finger across your eyebrow. "Such a pitiful, little thing...so weak, so breakable. So fun~"

"But I'll take good care of you. Take you for walks. Have you sit on my laps during meetings...Well, I will as long as you be a good girl." His face is so comforting yet his words strike this weird feeling into your heart.

"I have to say, your my most favorite pet that my daddy's ever given me...all mine to play with, all mine to enjoy...." he smiles wide, showing his teeth.

"It's so interesting what you do to me...I just couldn't just let you go unclaimed...I hope you understand that I do this all out of love~" His smile drops as he stares into your eyes.He rolls his tongue around in his mouth. Your eyes start to droop.

You feel a series of small slaps against the side of your face. "Nuh uh, wakey wakey. I'm not finished playing with you yet..." he snaps his hands to your collar of your shirt and pulls you up as he stand up, you choke and spit escapes the corner of you mouth. He winces and lets out a Eww as he takes his jacket and rubs it against your lip.

"Disgusting. Stop that..."  He gives you a good look tilting his head before pulling you along to a throne on the other side of the room. He sits down and lets go. He pats the inside of his leg.

"Sit."

Your body trembles and you start to turn around to sit. But he grabs your wrist and turns you back around.

"Siiiiit. He sings.

"You climb into his lap. Feeling his heavy breaths against your chest as you wrap your arm around his shoulder and your knees rest on either side of his legs.

"Get comfortable..." he whispers in your ear. The chill making goosebumps travel down your body.

"My...you feel so soft and warm...and that scent of yours " he whispers as he presses the tip of his nose  against the side of your neck. You let out a soft exhale as he does this. "It's sickening..."