#so yes i am in fact always Exhausted with damn near nothing left to give at the end of the workday

[thenightisland]

had to go to a little training inservice thing on employee burnout today which was hilarious bc i am definitely not burned out by this job quite the contrary this is the least taxing any job has ever been on me but i scored insanely high on their little burnout thing and i wanted to be like buddy what you consider career-ending burnout i, as an autistic person with a full time job, call tuesday

[sukirichi]

— the other side

request:  BRUH YOUR SWIMSUIT SHOPPING WITH JJK IS GOD LEVEL 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 I think you wrote Gojo perfectly 🥺 Could I pretty please request FaceTime sex with Gojo 🤩 Like maybe Gojo’s away on a mission and he really misses reader and he’s needy so he calls her and has her put the phone down in front of her and tells her what to do 😳

warnings: nsfw, mutual masturbation, facetime sex, dirty talk (+unedited fic)

note: i actually wasn’t sure if i could write this well since i’m not the best at dialogue, but i tried my best and i hope you like it anon! thank you for the request! dinner has been served!

masterlist ! 

Ruined. He’s absolutely ruined you.

You pull your fingers out of your clenching hole, your cheeks sweaty as you pant against your pillow. Hole clenching around nothing at the sudden emptiness, your chest heaves up and down with the gnawing dissatisfaction that you could no longer cum yourself; could no longer feel pleased unless it’s Gojo doing it for you.

Before you know it, a single tear flows down until it collects besides your lips. Hands rubbing against your tired eyes, you sigh at the clock blaring 2:19 AM mockingly at you.

It’s two in the fucking morning – and you haven’t cum ever since Gojo left for work.

Your fingers just wasn’t enough; could never be enough compared to his magical tongue and long dick that absolutely drives you into with so much need, large hands grappling against your soft mounds for leverage while he pounds himself into you.

It’s not the same without him. It’s been four long days ever since Gojo left for work; four torturous days that you’ve done everything you could to get off, only to keep failing after hours of humping your pillow or doing all the work with the cute pink dildo you got just for days he wouldn’t be around. It never ends well. Your wrist would only cramp or your thighs would ache afterwards, but you never came.

Perhaps that’s one of the consequences of being greedy and wanting to keep Gojo Satoru all to yourself. In return, he’s also stolen you of the privilege of fucking yourself.

Arm sprawled over your face, your breathing begins to regulate. Your legs are still wide open, arousal leaking from your disappointed cunt. You were ready, so ready for Gojo to come home and just fuck you silly.

You hate yourself for being this way, hate that your lips are trembling because you miss him so much and you’re actually crying all because you feel so empty without him buried within you.

It’s stupid, so fucking stupid, but you can’t help it.

You turn around to your side and hug his pillow closer to your body, breathing in his scent. It helps to calm you down a bit and even reassures you you’re not really alone; he’d come back in a few days and you’ll have him all to yourself again.

It’s been a long day, and the days just keep stretching over with the fact you’ve pretty much masturbated everywhere but still never got to come. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, your eyelids growing heavy at the same time you wrap one leg around Gojo’s pillow. His musky scent still remains, almost mocking that he’s never really away from you, but the dull aching deep within your pussy says otherwise.

You’re so helpless without him.

Just as you’re about to gaze off into to dreamland, your phone blares from your bedside table. You don’t waste another second before scrambling off the bed to get it, nearly falling off if you hadn’t grasped on to the sheets hard enough.

Gojo’s contact name of baby with a heart emoji flashes on the screen. Out of reflex, your entire body responds. Palms sweaty, lips puckered, pussy fluttering and nipples peaking – it’s embarrassing how your body reacts to him strongly. If he was here and he saw the way you open yourself up to him, Gojo would laugh while knuckle deep in you, teasing that you’re so eager for him and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

You quickly swipe right to answer, the grin on your face large and beaming when his handsome face greets you. “Satoru,” you smile, leaning back on the pillows to make yourself comfortable. “I missed you.”

There’s no lie about that. He’s still so handsome with one arm propped underneath him, hair down in messy strands and his eyes free from the blindfold, allowing you to witness the magic that pooled within that beauty. Satoru is now wearing a plain white shirt in exchange of his usual dark uniform, his bicep flexing under his weight, but you’re more focused on how his eyes crinkle once he finally saw your pretty face.

You could tell he misses you just the same.

“Hey, baby,” he coos through the call, and his low, husky voice immediately sends chill down your spine. The cold air bites at your exposed cunt and you shudder; you already know you’re wet again. It’s still ‘yesterday’ where he’s at, meaning that he’d have to leave for work after three hours or so as the sun begins to rise, while you’d still be slumbering at peace.

Or at least, sleep as comfortably as you could with countless failed orgasms.

“I missed you too,” Satoru sighs. His eyes droop for a moment, and he sees the way you open your lips, ready to tell him to get some more rest instead of calling you. Satoru only presses a finger to his lips, eyes glinting playfully at your awaiting gaze. “I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me. I just needed to hear your voice.”

Your heart skips a beat at that. You’ve always known that Satoru is flirty, and even though he isn’t exactly being too flirty right now, the mere thought of him wanting to hear your voice before he sleeps does wondrous leaps to your wavering heart.

“Me too,” you confess in a small voice, tugging up the sheets under the chin as you grow more and more shy with each passing second. “It hasn’t been the same without you, Toru. I can’t…I can’t be myself when you’re not here.”

Satoru, despite being an absolute dumb fuck all the time, isn’t stupid when it comes to that tone of your voice. He nods once and presses the phone closer to his face, voice low and serious. “What’s wrong, baby? Do you want to talk to me about it?”

Yes and no. You seriously debate whether it’s best to tell him that you can’t cum without him, simply because he’s always so much better and feels perfect compared to your nimble fingers that barely even stretch you. On the other side, you don’t want to keep him up too late, plus phone sex… well, you haven’t really done it before. Just imagining showing yourself bare to Satoru through the camera already makes your body feel warmer than it already it is. He’s seen you naked hundred of times before, but the idea that he could record it…

You swallow audibly and look away from him. Your cunt is already gushing as you imagine Satoru recording the way you lose yourself as he buries his cock into your hilt, but it’s a different thing if you could both masturbate to the thought of each other.

“Babe,” Satoru cuts off your train of thoughts, “You feel frustrated too, don’t you? I’ve never hated my fist as much as I do now.”

Your head snaps to his direction so fast Satoru laughs at your crazed reaction, and the sound only increases when you start babbling to him. “Y-you,” you shake your head in disbelief, “You too? You can’t cum too? I mean, I’ve done everything I could, I even got a dildo but it’s not enough, Toru, it’s never enough, I need you so bad.”

You don’t care that you’re whining at this point. Satoru doesn’t give a damn either because he’s already palming his erection through his sweatpants from the other side of the world, jaw clenching as he imagines you doing lewd things without him.

“Aw, my poor baby,” he teases you, making you pout and hide under the sheets with only your eyes peeking through. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now,” his voice drops an octave lower, eyes darkening as lust consumes both your body. “Just be a good girl and follow my instructions, okay? I’ll make you feel good. We’ll make each other feel good. It’ll feel like I never left, okay?”

“O-okay,” you nod shakily, still unsure of what to do. “Is there-?”

“Yeah,” Satoru grunts as he whips his cock free from his confines, hips jutting forward now that his hand is wrapped around it. He sighs at the relief of finally getting his chance to cum. He understands your situation; his cock won’t even come close to the warmth of your tight pussy clenching on him. “Show me yourself, pretty girl. Show me those pretty pink lips of yours,” Satoru places his phone somewhere on the table near his bed, pushing his sweatpants down until his cock slaps against his underbelly, the tip red and leaking.

You gasp at how lewd he looks. The sheets are absolutely crumpled beneath him, and you clench your thighs at the sight of Satoru wrapping his hands around his large, angry cock with his eyes staring straight directly at the camera.

“Come on, baby, don’t be shy,” he rasps, “I want to see you, want to hear you. You’ll let me hear those beautiful moans, won’t you?”

When his hups jut forward to meet the tight grip of his hands, something inside you snaps. Breath shaky and legs trembling, you throw your sheets off to the side and get your phone stand before setting it up at your bedside table, making sure to tilt the camera downwards before you lean back onto the bed. You’re already naked underneath Satoru’s large shirt, and it doesn’t take much as you spread your legs eagerly for him, using two lips to spread your lips open even without his command.

Satoru groans at your arousal leaking down the sheets and making a mess. He pumps himself harder, smirking at how your heavy breathing is all he could hear. “So fucking pretty,” he praises, “Now put two fingers in your pussy for me, baby girl. Stretch yourself open so I can see how much you miss my cock.”

Obedient as ever, you do as you’re told, letting out a shuddered moan when your two fingers go past your walls without resistance. You’re wet, so fucking wet for him, but you want him. “Satoru,” you whine, pushing your fingers deeper and deeper and pulling them out for friction. Your walls clench around your digits and you start imagining that it’s his long fingers buried into you this time; getting off to his image and relishing in how Satoru is moaning your name. “Miss you baby,” you cry out, hands trailing up to squeeze your nipples. “I want you so bad.”

“Me too, baby, me too,” the sound of Satoru’s slick running up and down his shaft, along with his low groans, are like music to your ears. Your moan grows louder when you open your eyes and see that his muscles are flexing as he fucks his hand eagerly, his gaze focused on the way you’re shuddering around your own digits. “Another one. Add another one.”

Shakily, you add another one, your head falling back at the welcomed intrusion. It’s still not enough, but it’ll do for now.

You just imagine that it’s his cock inside you instead, each vein prominent as the ridges of your wall hug him completely. Satoru replaces his hand with your pussy as well, that the fist running down his dick is you bouncing on his cock instead. He can already picture the way your breasts bounce in front of him and Satoru shudders, “Tits,” he growls, “I want to see your fucking tits. Want to feel them on my hands,” Satoru chuckles at how eagerly you lift your shirt up to show him the beaded nipples, teeth biting down on the material with your hands still knuckle-deep in your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re always so pretty, babe.”

“Miss you,” you keep crying out, words muffled through the shirt you’re biting. You pinch your nipple at the same time you rapidly finger yourself, your pussy squelching and the sounds pornographic as it echoes all the way to Satoru’s phone. You miss him so fucking much that it’s unreal. There’s no more self control when your back hits the bed, hips lifting off the bed and giving Satoru a clearer view of your juices dripping down your ass.

Satoru can’t resist the way his balls tighten, desperate to have you right next to him so he can fuck your brains out already. He wishes he could come home and be in your warmth, be in your embrace, but he’s still got curses to kill that fucking you would just have to wait much to both parties’ displeasure.

Sweat is beading down his forehead as he watches you thrash around your bed, his cock only growing harder and a low growl emanating from his throat when you keep moaning satoru, satoru, satoru, I love you so fucking much.

“I love you too,” he manages to say in shaky breaths. “You’re so perfect for me – fuck.”

You push yourself off the edge by pulling your lips aside and pinch at your clit. At that, your back arches off the bed, making your fingers dig deeper into you and for a split second, you manage to hit your g-spot. Satoru can tell you’re close by the way your legs spasm and he encourages you, spitting down his cock as he pumps his fist around his length almost angrily.

“That’s good, baby, keep going, keep going,” his teeth clenches when you nod, tears falling down your pretty cheeks. “Want to fuck you so good – I’d have you screaming around my neck while I take you from behind and shove your face down the pillow,” you moan in response, the sound high pitched and almost whiny. Satoru chuckles before he cuts himself off with a hiss, his balls tightening and his cock throbbing already. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck your ass when I get home?”

“Yes, yes, please,” your belly tightens at the thought of Satoru stretching your tight hole, even better if he pulls at your hair while his hips slam at the flesh of your ass.

Rubbing your clit fervently, Satoru’s name comes out as a broken cry as your orgasm chokes you. The tears are staining your cheeks the same way your cum is making a mess on the sheets, and you grind down harder on the sheets, scissoring yourself just to extend your orgasm.

“Satoru,” you whine, “Fuckkk.”

“I’m close, baby, I’m-” Satoru falls forward when his cock shoots out thick ropes of cum, some of them landing on his abdomen and one sticks to his chin. Your pupils blow wide with lust as you shudder around your fingers while riding down your high, in disbelief that Satoru is cumming so much.

He’s shameless as he continues thrusting into his fists. You’re worried he would overuse his strength and beat his cock to death, but Satoru only chuckles as he keeps pumping his cock, his cum overflowing and pooling down his thick thighs.

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself, falling in the same state as you when he drops down on the bed. His dick begins to turn limp but it’s still twitching, turning a dark shade of pink as he beats his dick almost lazily the time. The both of you take a moment to breathe at the orgasm; not as mind blowing as the ones you’d get if he was there rutting into you instead, but because he’s there, you’re still left with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Wiping the arousal left on your hands on your shirt, you grab your phone and fall into your pillows, cheeks squished and eyelashes fluttering slowly. “Toru,” you call out softly, “You asleep?”

“I want to come home already,” is all he says. He’s still half-passed out in his bed and you laugh, rubbing your thighs together and grimacing when it starts to stick together from your cum. Glancing at Satoru’s form, you dash to the bath to clean yourself up by washing away the cum, coming back to see that Satoru was also in the middle of cleaning his cum with napkins.

“Facetime sex,” he laughs to himself with a shake of his head, mirroring your form by langind on his pillows. He looks absolutely adorable with his lips puckered out like that, azure blue eyes drooping close. “I miss you, babe. I promise when I come home I’m going to fuck you endless.”

You chuckle at his words, wondering how he’s able to say such suggestive things when he’s seconds away from passing out due to exhaustion. Your eyelids grow heavy as well, and along with the light blanket of satisfaction and post-orgasm bliss, the only thing that wouldn’t make this a good night of sleep is the fact Satoru isn’t next to you. Nevertheless, you’re grateful that Satoru took the time to call you despite his busy schedule.

Your heart flutters when Satoru lazily calls you baby, mumbling on and on about how much he misses you. Now that he’s come down from his high, he’s reverting into his big baby self.

His eyes are closed and he’s burying himself deeper into his pillows. You’re about to say goodbye when Satoru lightly snores from the other line, a smile tugging at your lips when you see that he’s now blissfully asleep. Wishing that you could run your hands through his hair, at least, you kiss the screen in the hopes it’d reach him at least metaphorically.

“Sleep well, my love,” you whisper before swiping left to end the call.

Even through the other end of the line, on the other side of the world, Satoru’s worries and exhaustion are washed away with the love you send him.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain (part 2)

A/n since y’all liked part one!!

... i think i could make a part 3?? we’ll see lol 

This is the LONGEST thing i’ve written on here wow,, and the smuttiest 

Warnings: teasing, oral, unprotected sex (pls this is my first time writing full smut be gentle lol)

-- 

Exhaustion is an odd result of pain. I didn’t think I was that tired after the burn. I certainly didn’t feel sleepy while Kirigan cleaned my shoulder and brushed his soft lips and sharp teeth along my neck to distract me from the pain. Why am I even thinking of that? Of the way his breath felt against my skin, the way his tongue soothed any bites he left against my skin. I breathe out flatly. 

Stop thinking of him. Stop thinking of him in that context--that’s why he did it. He enjoys getting under people’s skin, that’s why he’s always insulting the way I see the world. My hand reaches to my neck, touching my skin where I can still feel his lips on my skin, tracing the faint marks I had seen in the bathroom mirror.

I should have asked the healer to get rid of them before they fully formed, but the thought of showing them to anyone was too embarrassing to bear. I force my hand away, dropping it onto my pillow. 

He had acted so strange today, he had been so blunt. It was a tactic. He wants to be in my head and I’m giving him what he wants. I sigh, rolling over and pulling my duvet further up my body. It’s too hot for this. Ugh. I kick the duvet off of my legs, letting my nightgown wrinkle up my body. Strong hands could pull the fabric up in a similar, yet much more euphoric way. 

No. Who’s thoughts are these? The fact that I picture the same hands that dabbed at my burn earlier today has me questioning my sanity. I can’t sleep like this. Kirigan wanted to be in my head and now he is. Damn him. I can’t stand him which means I can never have him.

Desire has nothing to do with tolerance. The thought leaves my face warm and stomach twisted. 

I sit up sharply, sliding out of bed tiredly. I’ll get some air and everything will be fine. The moon will clear my mind.

The Little Palace is strangely twisting at night, all long shadows and yellow lantern light. I slip out of my room quickly, but my thoughts are not immediately banished with the change of scenery. I must be ill. Infection must have set in regardless of my efforts and the healer sealed it beneath my skin and now it’s impacting me. Fever. I’m delusional with fever. 

“I didn’t take you the kind for a late night trist.” 

His voice leaves the hairs on the back of my neck standing like soldiers at attention. I manifested him the same way people manifest the devil. “Air.” My defense is childish. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get some air.” 

The sound of even footsteps leaves me frozen in place. “What keeps someone like you awake?” It’s like he can read through me. “Thoughts of me?” 

He can never know. “Obviously.” 

My sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, he lets out an almost humored breath. “Or perhaps it’s pain.” 

The comment is so confusing I almost don’t realize he’s bringing up my shoulder injury. How had I let him see me so vulnerable? Why did he seem somewhat concerned in his own way? 

“My shoulder’s perfectly fine.” Good. A normal direction for this conversation to head. “It took the Healer all of two minutes.” 

The touch on my shoulder is so sudden I almost jump. Kirigan doesn’t shy away at that, fingers firmly brushing down the skin. “It feels the same.” 

I could scream. His strange observation means nothing to me, but the implication is enough to drive me mad. The implication that he knows my skin well enough to be able to judge whether the healed skin feels different is sickening. I’m tired of this. 

I turn on my heels, all of my tiredness and irritation twisting in me. “Even if it didn’t, it’s none of your concern.” 

“I didn’t realize you were extra irritable when you’re tired.”

Every conversation with him leaves me feeling petulant. “I’m not tired.” I cross my arms, keep my expression set. “I just--I wanted to get some air.” 

“Hm.” He takes a step forward, preparing to close the small distance I’d managed to create between us. “And why is that?” 

The question leaves me irritated in an odd way. A flat way. There’s a narcissistic entitlement in that question. An entitlement to my thoughts. I shrug. “I hoped it’d make me tired.” 

Kirigan draws his eyebrows together, curiosity and something resembling amusement playing at his expression. “If you’d like to be tired, I think I know a few ways to be of assistance.”

A faint, aggravating warmth comes to my face. Not only did my lie earn me a ridiculous innuendo, it’s also trapped me in a corner I cannot escape. Healing from the burn had left me pathetically drowsy. There’s no way he can’t see through me, a tired haze has to be visible on my face. My eyelids feel weighted and I’m too distracted by my deep longing for sleep to hold onto irritation. 

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” The words are not meant to be a challenge, just a way to dismiss him. I don’t think he takes them that way. 

He draws his eyebrows together, eyes threatening to lose that curious quality. Kirigan steps forward, I step back blankly, desperate to keep enough distance to keep what’s left of my wits about me. He ignores my reaction, taking another step forward. I take another step back. My back touches the wall. I am a mouse and he’s an excited cat. 

“You don’t have to,” his voice is too low, too intimate, “I’m not sure that’s something you want to understand.” 

My chin raises just slightly, a silent protest. “Dependency is a fatal flaw.” 

“So is desire,” his reply is much too quick. “Desire is worse, because one can resist dependency based on pride...but desire, that is something that one sacrifices for.” 

Maybe if I was less tired I’d bother to interpret his words a little more. But all I can focus on is his tone--the quality of it. “You sound heavy.” My voice is as light as the night breeze I was craving moments ago. “But you always sound heavy.” It’s the wistful observation of someone slowly disappearing. “At least you’re pretty,” I muse, falling more and more distant by the second.

Something soft breaks across his features, his lips quirking. “Pretty?” 

I rest my back against the wall comfortably, eyes shutting without permission. “I’m sure I’ll regret that comment in a moment.” 

He stays silent, but his presence does not disappear. I can’t tell if I’m glad for it. The warm touch on my shoulder startles me out of my drowsy trance. Panic has me ready to jump off the wall, but Kirigan brushes his thumb up and down my shoulder. His touch sets any skin that comes in contact with him aflame. I shouldn’t find the gesture so comforting. My eyes flutter shut again, my body relaxing against the wall. When my protest dies out before it begins, Kirigan shifts closer. I’m confused, but too at peace to answer. Something velvety and warm brushes against my collar. Soft and warm and electric. He’s kissing my skin again. 

My lips part in hopes of arguing, but when his teeth graze the skin he already marked earlier I’m gone. My eyes shut again, but this time it’s different. Pleasure and drowsiness clear me of all inhibitions as his touch becomes more and more assured. I let him test me, his mouth moving against any and all exposed skin. I don’t even stop him when I feel his hands graze the hem of my nightgown, wrinkling it the way I imagined earlier. 

“Kirigan.” I need to find my strength, but what’s the point of strength when his touch leaves me so warm? The only acknowledgement of my protest he offers me is the lingering squeeze of my thigh before his long fingers begin to graze towards the inside of my thighs. I have no choice but to let his lips brush up my neck, his teeth grazing my skin the way they did earlier today. “Kirigan.” I try to sound firmer, but he destroys the rest of my sentence before I have the chance to get it out. His teeth nip the base of my neck, ruining my protest for a second time.

 Maybe if I was less tired I’d be able to fight him off a little better, but I’m so drowsy I had trouble thinking before he started touching me. My eyes shut in both bliss and exhaustion. His thumb presses into my hip. Something in me stalls as his fingers brush the hem of my underwear--testing me, challenging me. I open my eyes on instinct, but he remains unbothered, slipping his thumb beneath the only fabric that divides us in order to better grip my hip.

I stiffen because of how badly I want to melt. This is bad. This is insane. We’re in a hallway in the middle of the night and he’s General Kirigan. Whatever attraction I feel is another tactic to manipulate me. 

“We need to stop.” The command is weak, my voice as dry as my resolve. 

He angles his head in order to regard me a little better. His expression is one of mock confusion as he smirks. Actually smirks. “Stop what?” False innocence drips from his voice as he leans towards me, expression amused as his lips near my own. “I haven’t even started yet.” My eyes widen, something that amuses him. “Y/n?”

I’m left on edge. I’m left wanting. My lips part flatly, but words feel so distant. “Yes?” 

“What happened earlier?” His voice is the kind of sinful that’s meant to coax. Kirigan brushes his thumb across my shoulder, eyes watching mine cautiously. “How did you get burned?” 

I push against the sultry quality of his voice. “I told you--an accident.” 

“Hm.” His eyebrows draw together in a surprisingly soft way. I stare at him freely, but he ignores my gaze, eyes locked on my newly healed skin. Is he truly that concerned? “Whose accident?” 

I swallow once. “My own.” He still isn’t looking at me. “I’m not exactly the most coordinated person, you’ve witnessed my clumsiness yourself.” 

Kirigan is not convinced. Perhaps he will never fully buy my partial lie. His grip on me hardens. Restraint. I may not be able to win against his paranoia, but I might be able to distract him. Cautiously, I move one hand forward, touching the hand that’s on my shoulder. I hesitate. Touching him without prompting almost feels too intimate. I’m being ridiculous. I brush my fingers against the back of his palm, letting my touch trail up his forearm. 

“Y/n.” My name borders on a warning. 

I suppress a smile, playing into my sleepiness as I tilt my head to the side. “Yes?” 

He doesn’t reply, expression tightening as my hand snares around his wrist, pulling it off my shoulder with more care than I thought myself capable of. The intensity of his gaze is enough to burn me. I turn my full attention to his hand. I’d never admit this out loud, but this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about how objectively attractive his hands are. I kiss each of his knuckles slowly, brushing my lips against his skin tentatively. 

To my surprise, he allows my indulgence. I glance at him through my lashes. Kirigan’s eyes are shut, expression bordering on pained. “Kirigan?” 

He opens his eyes but his expression does not ease. His other hand leaves my thigh, grabbing the low collar of my nightgown with such a fierce speed it takes me a second to realize what’s happening. He pulls me away from the wall in a way that borders on violent. 

“I don’t know who you’re protecting, but I guarantee you they’re not worth it.” The words are acidic. He’s seething. “I grow tired of your resistance.” 

If he hadn’t transformed into something so untamed, I might have had enough gall to tell him I grow tired of being toyed with. I say nothing, instead I take in the abrasiveness of his anger, the tension of his grip on the thin fabric that clothes me. I am unflinching in my assessment in the most tired way possible, eyes struggling not to shut and body desperate to rest, but even more desperate for him. His eyes stare into mine, searching for something I am too far gone to offer. He must realize my sleepiness is genuine because he soon drops his gaze, taking his time in analyzing the even rise and fall of my chest as well as the hint of cleavage his grip on my nightgown is exposing. Pure heat finds itself in my face, chest, and worst of all---core. His staring lacks any shame. 

Kirigan parts his lips as if to speak but then instead takes a moment to lick them. The thought of his tongue in relation to lips only makes the burning in me worse. It’s practically an ache. A needy one. 

“I grow weary of your lack of understanding.” 

Understanding? “What is there to understand?” 

His head angles itself to one side but he doesn’t meet my gaze. The hold he has on me loosens just enough so that his hold on me is no longer taut. That should not disappoint me the way it does. I wait patiently, ignoring the bundle of unexplained nerves in my stomach as best as I can. Something strange colors his features when he finally looks at me again, something almost vulnerable. 

“I brought you here.” He sounds farther from me than ever. “I…” His exhale is gentle, but his expression is quick to harden. “Who are you so willing to protect?”

I must be really tired because his voice sounds like it borders on heart ache. If I didn’t fear Arthur’s safety I’d tell Kirigan everything if it meant his pain would dissipate. I never thought Kirigan’s potential pain would bother me, but now that I’ve seen him look stricken by something so weighted--now that I’ve seen the way he wears pain--I don’t want to be the one to give him that. I want to be the one to give him some kind of sanctuary. The thought leaves me with a desire to flea. 

“Will you just believe me when I say it’s no one?” In a way that’s the truth. Arthur is not particularly significant unless you’re a young Grisha female with a desire for heart ache. “No one worth mentioning at least.” 

He’s quick to retighten his hold on my nightgown, leaving the fabric taut and more of me exposed. “You being desperate to protect them makes them worth interest.” A different response than I expected. 

My lips thin. “Only because it was a small accident. They don’t deserve to be punished over the briefest loss of focus.” 

I take his silence as an indicator that he is considering my words. His free hand finds my shoulder as he pulls me even closer to him by the fabric he’s gripping. “And if I were to revoke the threat of punishment?” His voice is the definition of temptation, low and promising and coddling me with its sinfulness. I still as Kirigan leans forward so that his lips are practically on my ear. “Then would you tell me? If I released you from the binds of your nobility?” My lips part but I have no words prepared. Before I can think of what to say, his lips graze the side of my jaw before his teeth nip at the end of my ear. “Tell me just to humor me.” 

The command doesn’t make sense to me, but from his lips it feels important. “You won’t hurt them for what happened?” 

His voice seems rougher than before, “Would that make a difference?” 

“It would make all the difference.” I don’t like the honesty of my words. 

Kirigan allows one hand to trail down my waist--a gesture I consider obscenely intimate when paired with the soft brush of his lips on my collar. “I already know who.” His voice is a dark hum. “I was always going to know one way or another--but it’s good to know you would have told me.”

My stomach lurches, dread pouring into me like tar. Before fear can force me to take action, Kirigan begins to leave open mouth kisses from the top of my jaw to the bottom of my neck, taking his time to assault any spot of skin with his tongue that he wants. This reminds me too much of earlier--touches meant to distract from pain with the use of pleasure. 

“Are you--” His mouth is now on my collar, threatening to destroy my question. “Are you going to hurt him?”

At that Kirigan straightens. The sudden lack of contact leaves me cold. I shouldn't be thinking of him. Of his touch. “I’m curious,” he draws out each syllable, delighting in my nerves, “Would you bear his punishment?” 

I’m not sure. I hate that. I haven’t known Arthur for that long, and while he’s kind, he also seems to see all women as replaceable. That isn’t reason for him to endure Kirigan’s punishment but I don’t know him well enough to just blindly agree to that. I loathe myself for not being noble enough to take Arthur’s punishment instantly. 

“What kind of punishment?” 

Kirigan’s expression twists into a greedy smile. He pushes me back easily, pressing me into the wall with more confidence than ever. I’m silent in my confusion until he presses himself against me and I feel something hard and bulging press into where I’m neediest. I stifle a gasp of surprise and something similar to pleasure. “I’m sure I could think of something for you.” I’d care more about my confusion if hot need wasn’t flooding my thoughts and my body with undeniable desperation. “I haven’t even spoken to him.” I exhale, untrusting relief desperate to escape me. Kirigan is quick to lean forward, lips brushing my ear as he prepares to whisper. “I’m more likely to harm him because he has your favor than anything else.”

Warmth burns my face. “He doesn’t--he’s not exactly the one that holds my favor.”

The heat of his breath adds to my burning as he presses his bulge into my core again. “And who does?” 

I’m not sure what he considers favor, but if it has anything to do with wanting he wins. But he can never know that. “There are some contenders, but no one yet.” 

His hand moves off my hip and nears my throat. “Would it be too bold to assume I’m on the short list?”

He’s two steps away from taking me in an open hallway, I doubt he finds much bold. “Do you want to be?” 

Kirigan’s hand tightens on my throat. “I’ve made it clear from the beginning what I want.” His words are lethal and each syllable has him restricting my airflow a little more. Something in me must be broken because my neediness only worsens. “I brought you here because I see all that you could be. Forget being a Saint, we could be gods.” The sentiment is so raw it’s almost harder to bear than his tight grip on my neck. He leans close again, his scent only adding to my budding lightheadedness. “Say the word, and I could have you praising me like I’m already a god.” My stomach knots in both nerves and insatiable hunger. “Though I’m the one that would be doing the worshipping.” 

My resolve is shattered, leaving me broken and twisting. He releases his hold on my neck in order to move his hand beneath my chin. There is nothing gentle about the way he jerks my head forward, forcing me to look into his eyes. Something about the look he gives me has me melting. His eyes are searching for something in me.

He must find whatever he’s looking for because I feel his touch against my heat, fingers pressing against fabric. I bite my lip on instinct, suppressing the sound of my undoing. Kirigan’s eyes never leave mine as the hand on my chin moves to brush against my bottom lip. 

“I can only give you what you want if you tell me what that is.” 

He exhales slowly, pressing his thumb against my lip downwards. My mouth parts on instinct, something that he takes well. His thumb enters my mouth slowly, taking in my reaction as I taste his skin on my tongue. Kirigan pulls his thumb away from my tongue slowly, a thin string of saliva connecting him to my mouth. With one swift tug, his free hand pulls the only fabric separating him from where I want him most down my thighs. His expression reveals nothing as his thumb, still wet with my saliva, is pressed against my core. His touch teases my clit, just barely brushing where I need him most. The whine that escapes me is so desperate I’m ashamed I can’t help it. 

“So wet already,” his appraisal is gentle, the praise whispered against my throat as his lips brush against my neck. “So wet, so needy that you’d let me take you in this hallway and I’ve hardly touched you.” His finger presses further into me. I let out another pathetic breath. “A pity, someone like you--so painfully under cared for.” I’m reduced to nothing by his words and touch. “What I’d give to undue you here, against the wall--I’d have you crying so loudly everyone would know that I’ve claimed you, that I’ve made you mine.” Before I can reflect on his words, he steps back, pulling my underwear back up as quickly as he yanked it down. 

I let out an instinctual whine. My hand moves to his arm, grabbing him like he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “What--” 

Kirigan squeezes my hand, a predator’s smile on his lips. “I want to feel all of you,” his hand squeezes my hip, “I can’t exactly do that against a wall, dove of mine,” he leans forward, lips brushing against my jaw in a way that leaves me chilled and melting at the same time, “At least not the first time.” 

His whisper forces my breathing to hitch, a fact that he notices with an amused look as his thumb brushes against my collar. Kirigan pulls me away from the wall easily. Even the causal touch feels electric against my skin. 

The walk towards my room is tense, his hands never leaving me as if he’s aware of how necessary it is to keep me distracted to ward off my better sense. When we reach my door, Kirigan opens it like it’s his. Entitled. Typical. 

I step into the room, his touch lingering on my arm. A brief shyness pushes itself into my chest. I had let Kirigan touch me in a public space and lead me back to my room. The door closes. I don’t turn. 

Kirigan’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “Shy, now?” His question is teasing, rekindling the fire beneath my skin as he places an open mouth kiss on my neck. He plays with the thin strap of my nightgown, pushing it off my shoulder. He kisses down my neck, collarbone, and shoulder. My inhibitions are melted away again. “When your breathing stalls like that,” his whisper is enough to elicit a desperate shudder, “I am left desperate.” 

He leans forward, mouth trailing down my chest, coming dangerously close to my breasts. The electric current of his touch is all consuming and addicting. I press my back into his chest. His hands are the opposite of shy, touching me everywhere except where I’m most desperate. Kirigan’s hand places itself between my thighs, using his thumb to tease my entrance. I let out a needy sound. And then he retracts his hand, grabbing my shoulders and turning me in one swift motion. 

“Kirigan.” 

His eyes are dark, clouded by something I don’t understand but am too aware that I reciprocate. “Tell me that I have your favor.” His words are taut, bordering on snapping. Kirigan’s grip on me tightens hard enough to bruise, an assertive need taking over him. “That you want me.”

Desire, pride, and rationality twist in my stomach, leaving me too distracted to form words. My gaze drops to the ground on instinct, something Kirigan clearly finds unacceptable because he’s quick to grab my chin and force my eyes to meet his. 

I swallow once, courage withering beneath the look in his eyes. It’s as twisted as a spindling shadow, but the look is fierce admirational, appreciation so deep I could drown in it. It scares and consols me all at once. “I want you.” There’s something pained about such powerful emotion. I loathe and am empowered by it all at once. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words leave my throat scorching with their sincerity. 

As soon as the words leave me, he’s closing the distance between us, the slightest exhale of tension leaving his lips before they meet mine, prepared to devour me. I reciprocate his actions on instinct alone. There is no hesitation, no space, and yet it is not enough. Not enough and yet I don’t know how to be closer. But Kirigan does. One of his hands cup my cheek, coaxing me towards him as if I could possibly have the will to leave him. He steps forward, guiding me to step back. I obey fluidly until I feel something hit the back of my legs. It’d startle me if I wasn’t so consumed by his touch.

His mouth begins to move away from my skin. I chase after him, desperate to keep him touching me. He stops me by placing a hand on my shoulder, a warning about my neediness. I pout, but as he studies me I pant. Maybe the excuse for air was a good idea. I don’t fight the uneasiness of my breathing as I hold Kirigan’s gaze. He regards me with a patience I consider unbearable, taking in the determined look in his eyes, my swollen lips, disheveled hair, and the top of my night gown that’s half falling off. 

It’s in this moment I realize how much more vulnerable than him I am. 

If Kirigan notices any shift in me, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he adjusts his hand on my cheek, his thumb brushing the hot skin gently. “You are everything.” His voice is cracking glass. “Everything that’s good, at least.” 

Maybe he did notice my initial reaction because I am no longer certain that I am the one that’s most vulnerable. “You’re better than you think.” I only say this because it would only weigh on me more to stay silent. “I see it and you don’t want me to.” 

His hand continues to stroke my cheek. “I want you to see all of me.” The heavy beating of my heart seems to stall in my chest. Kirigan drops his hand before grasping the hem of my nightgown. He pulls the fabric upwards easily, bundling the fabric above my hip. “I want you to…” He exhales flatly, pulling the fabric upwards even more. Nerves flood my stomach as he leans towards me, kissing down my jaw. “To know me,” he whispers against my throat.

I am nothing but uneven breaths as he mouth moves down my chest, stalling only once he’s reached my breasts. He pushes me forward easily, guiding me so that I’m laying on my bed. He’s quick to move over me, kissing up my neck as he adjusts so that I’m against the headboard.

When he pulls away again, I’m left pouting. He grins, fueled by my disappointment. “Don’t worry,” he breathes, fingers hooking around the waistband of my underwear before tugging it down my legs easily, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.” 

Being so exposed has my doubts flooding back, but Kirigan is quick to fight against my instincts in a way only he seems capable of. He squeezes the inside of my upper thigh before leaning down, pressing his mouth onto the skin his fingers just touched. His kisses here are meant to leave me even more desperate, each nip and fleeting pass of his tongue is lazy yet intentional. I am incapable of doing else besides letting out pathetic whines. 

He ignores where I need him most, kissing up my thigh, across my lower stomach, and then down my other thigh. Kirigan continues the pattern across my skin, ignoring any pleas I swallow my pride to give. He is not rushed by my words or cries or the occasional desperate adjustment of my hips. 

Kirigan lifts his head slightly, releasing my inner thigh with an obscene ‘pop’. “Patience.” His fingers trail up my thigh and over my core, teasing my entrance with his lithe fingers. “Unless you’re ready to beg?” 

It’s a challenge, like everything else. The urge to give him my pride to satisfy the electric desire I’m not sure I’m capable of bearing. But then I note his tense hold on my thigh. A sign of restraint, of want. 

“And if I want you to beg for me?” I don’t know where the words come from, but they charge the room with potential. 

Something strange crosses his fingers before his lips tilt upwards in a dark way. “Would you like the strength of that? To have someone like me powerless before you?” My face warms. Kirigan leaves a lingering kiss on my thigh before he moves off the bed. I sigh at the loss of contact, but my tired neediness stalls at the sound of his belt coming undone. “I want to see you on your knees.” I sit up carelessly, desperate to obey him. I’m kneeling in front of him in an instant, taking in his length. The size of it has me gaping. “Open your mouth.” 

I take the order more eagerly than I should, but I make no move to take him. This is just another challenge. I keep my eyes on his as I stick my tongue out before licking the bottom of his member all the way up to his tip. The sound he lets out is pure sin. I lick his tip slowly, each motion of my tongue is strategic as I finally place him in my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, moving up and down slowly. 

The pace is not enough for him, he grips my hair from my scalp as he thrusts into my mouth. The motion is more powerful than I expected and I am left unable to breathe. My slight gag does the opposite of discourage him, he repeats the motion again and again, pushing himself into me until I can feel him in my throat. 

The sounds he lets out are a chorus to me, but it’s not enough. I need more control, I need a way to make him beg. I raise a hand, wrapping it around the base that I cannot fit into my mouth. I stroke him once slowly, making a point as I try to push myself back in order to make him want me more. 

He groans again. I make a point of pushing myself off of him. Precum protrudes his tip. I lick it off of him slowly. I lick up and down his member in the smallest way possible. 

“Y/n,” the restraint in his voice fuels my teasing, “Tease me and you’ll still be overwhelmed by want when the sun rises.” 

A pout tugs at my lips before I open my mouth again, taking Kirigan to my limit. He lets me set the pace of my bobs at first, but then he becomes desperate, holding me in place by the roots of my hair as he moans and thrusts into me without restraint. He ignores my choking as he continues until he throws his head back, letting out a quick praise of my name.

He finishes in my mouth and I swallow all he offers me greedly. I back off my knees slowly, throat burning as his member leaves my mouth. “On the bed.” He’s turned into something insatiable. “Now.” 

I move back to my bed, laying in the same position as before. He takes his time approaching me. When he finally gets to me, he kisses my thighs easily. I let out a small breath before something that’s pure pleasure meets my core. His tongue laps upwards lazily, grazing my clit but not quite touching it.  My hips thrust towards his face, but with hand he holds me down. A coil in my stomach continues to build as he angles himself more purposefully, tongue finally taking care of my clit. My gasps become less and less reasonable as he continues to lap at all that my body has to offer. The coil tightens, I see stars--and then, like cruelty personified, he pulls away. His absence leaves me ready to cry out. 

My desperation only fuels Kirigan as he lines himself with my entrance. Concern twists my stomach as I consider how full my mouth felt when he was in me. I expect some level of warning, but he thrusts into me with no warning. I let out a pathetic cry, but that means nothing to him as he pulls out just to thrust into me with full force again.

“Only I can hurt you,” he demands, thrusting into me as I call out his name. My eyes water at the sensation of such fullness, pleasure and pain combining themselves in a way that leaves me incapable of thought. “Your tears,” he muses, one hand moving to wipe at a tear rolling down my cheek, “Are mine.” 

His thrusts become more and more brutal, less and less even. Each movement of his body in mine leaves me begging for more and less at the same time. He continues until the coil in my stomach tenses to the point of breaking. 

“Kirigan,” I manage, voice far away, “I’m going t--”

“I know,” he offers, “finish with me, dove.” His hand finds my throat, adding the slightest bit of restrained pressure. “And do not hold in your cries.” 

Two more sharp thrusts have us both finishing, calling out for each other as we try to draw out the high of our orgasms together. 

We stay intertwined like that for longer than we should, but then Kirigan stands. I envy his ability to do so. I don’t call for him even though I still don’t want to be alone here. A moment later, I hear him approach. I’m too drowsy to ask what he’s doing as a damp towel is wiped against my forehead and inner thighs. 

When he’s finished cleaning me, some raw emotion settles in my chest. “Are you leaving?” 

Kirigan hesitates. “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

I roll over, the motion leaves my body aching. Kirigan accepts my invitation, crawling beneath my sheets and adjusting our bodies so that he can rest his hand on my back. 

--

Tags: @luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy 

@i-padfootblack-things

 @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @benbarnes-supremacy

@we-love-our-bandz @fire-in-her-veinz @weirdowithnobeardo @bvudzsoo @kaque @ponyboys-sunsets @coldlilheart @granillx @dreamohlittledreamofme @sanna2020 @zaynzierulez 

@ive-died-everday-waiting-for-you @xxaerynxx @ralesera @tea-effect 

@tranquillitymoon

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 41: Embrace

"Potter," Malfoy greeted with a nod, walking past him as though Harry wasn't the host of the baby shower and going straight over to Hermione. Harry watched as he greeted her with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek before taking a step back and putting his hands on her swollen belly. "I still think that you should name her after a constellation."

"We don't even know that it's a her," Hermione laughed.

Ron wandered over and Malfoy rested his hand on his shoulder for a moment as he said, "It's a her. I have a sixth sense about this sort of thing," he added with a wink.

"We're still not naming her after a constellation," Ron said. "How pretentious do you think we-"

Luna coming through the door interrupted him watching Malfoy cozying up to his two best friends. "Oh, hello, Harry," she said, before tilting her head in that peculiar way of hers, "I see you're being plagued by the jimmiricks."

"Sorry, the what?" he asked politely.

"Jimmiricks," she repeated, "They've pronounced all of those feelings of longing and rejection," he said, patting his arm conciliatorily and flouncing away before giving him a chance to respond.

"I haven't got feelings of longing and rejection!" he called after her, ignoring the weird look that one of the women who worked in the justice department with Hermione sent his way.

It was a lie. He knew it and Luna probably did, too, thanks to whatever wacky little creature she could see. He'd be way more inclined to believe that she was nuts if she wasn't always right.

He turned, his eyes immediately seeking out that shock of blond hair, frowning as he watched as Malfoy laughed at something Ginny said, resting his hand lightly on her forearm. Luna slipped up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and he smiled, clasping his hand over her arms and looking over his shoulder at her.

And it wasn't that Harry felt like Malfoy rejected him outright, it was just that he was the only person Malfoy wouldn't touch.

(Read more below the cut)

They'd all been friends for five years and the most willing contact that Harry had ever received was a stiff handshake toward the beginning when Malfoy and Ron had become auror partners and then friends.

He hadn't really noticed at first but Harry had watched him, as he was wont to do, and the fact of the matter was that Malfoy was always touching someone but that someone was never Harry.

"Thanks so much for this, Harry," Hermione said, distracting him from his increasingly circular thoughts.

"Of course!" he replied, shoving his thoughts back into the dark corner they'd emerged from. "I'm happy to," he added. "Ready to start the shower games?"

-------

Shower games went as well as shower games can go, really, until they got to the diaper derby.

"So, let's partner up," Harry called, "Then when I say go, one partner uses the roll of toilet paper to make a diaper on the other. Ron and Hermione are obviously the judges." He waved his arms, "go find a partner."

It took a few minutes but eventually it became clear that there was an odd number of people. Malfoy was left standing somewhat awkwardly without a partner.

"Errm," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want to, um, you know?"

Malfoy smirked at him, "I would like to um, you know."

"Shut up," Harry replied without any heat, feeling embarrassed and awkward and why had he thought this game was a good idea? "Umm," he said, "you have two minutes, begin."

"Right," Malfoy said when Harry turned to face him, "I have a better fashion sense than you, so you are wearing the diaper."

Before Harry could protest, Malfoy was holding the roll of toilet paper to Harry's waist and Harry froze.

Malfoy was touching him. Willingly. And sure, it was for the purpose of a game, but still, he could have just insisted on sitting out.

"Relax," Malfoy huffed, "I won't bite."

"Right," Harry said, not relaxing one bit. Malfoy was touching him rather intimately, all things considered, it was better to keep himself still and focused lest he embarrass himself any further.

"Right," Malfoy repeated, sounding resigned and disappointed, and Harry didn't quite know what to do with that.

The two minutes seemed to somehow last for an eternity and end in the blink of an eye. Harry could scarcely pay attention to the judging. They didn't win but they didn't lose either, and as Harry was about to turn and congratulate Malfoy, Luna floated over to them and said, "oh, Draco, I see that Harry's jimmiricks have infested you as well."

Harry's head whipped to look over at the other man.

"Jimmiricks?" he asked.

"They amplify feelings of longing and rejection," Harry murmured.

Malfoy's mouth popped open and he looked like he might have replied but Ron interrupted, clapping them both on the back and congratulating them.

"Excuse me for a minute," Malfoy muttered before disappearing.

"What did you do?" Ron asked.

"Me?!" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron rolled his eyes, "Spill."

"It's not me!" Harry protested. "Malfoy's the one with the problem with touching me."

Ron's eyes widened, and if it's weren't for the nature of this conversation, Harry would have found it comical. "That is a lot of information-"

"Not like that!" He ran his hands through his hair, "He just is always casually touching everyone except me."

"And why do you think that is, mate?" he asked.

He shook his head, "Because he hates me. Because I spent too long antagonizing him and now-"

"That's not it," Ron interrupted him. "Just go and talk to him," he said, nudging Harry toward the balcony window that Malfoy had escaped through.

Steeling himself, Harry made his way out onto the balcony. "Hey," he said awkwardly as he stepped outside.

"Don't," Malfoy said without looking at him, "just leave it. Luna's just-"

"Yeah," Harry said, stepping up and leaning on the railing next to the other man. "It would be easy to think that she's just a little bit unhinged except that-"

"She's always right," Malfoy finished with a sigh.

"You touch everyone except me," Harry said, the words rushing out without his permission. "All the time, you are like a super tactile individual. Except when it's me. That's what my jimmricks are about."

He scoffed, "Well, I wouldn't want to soil your perfect, savior image."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said, "Just that you've made it quite clear that you don't want me to touch you."

"What? How?"

Malfoy turned and glared at him, his silver eyes flashing, "What is this, Potter? You know damn well that you stiffen up every time I am near you. I see you with your friends, with literally everyone else, but whenever I am around you're quiet and you're always watching me. And then there was whatever the hell that was in there. Your body language is anything but inviting."

"Wait," Harry said, "you've got this all wrong-"

"Then explain it to me!" Draco hissed, "because it's exhausting being attracted to someone who hates you and spending every second that you are in their presence wishing that the earth would just swallow you whole so that you don't have to see their disdain for you."

"It's not disdain," Harry murmured, reaching out and touching Draco's hand, his fingers brushing lightly against Draco's. "It is literally anything but disdain for you. I spend every moment of the time we spend in close proximity to one another wishing that I was anyone but me."

"What?"

Harry shook his head, "Draco I am dying for you to touch me. Not in like a creepy way," he hastened to add. Then, "Not that I'd be opposed to like-" he broke off, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Suffice it to say, I am attracted to you, too. And very unopposed to you touching me."

The corner of Draco's lips twitched, "So, you don't hate me?"

"Godric, no," Harry said, huffing a laugh. "I thought you hated me."

Draco bit his lower lip and shook his head slowly.

"So, would you maybe like to go out sometime?" Harry asked.

"Yes, he would," Ron said from the doorway to the balcony, startling them both. "Sorry to interrupt, but 'Mione couldn't find the spinner for the next game."

"Right," Harry said, just remembering that they were in the middle of a baby shower for his future god child. "Right, sorry," he said, "I'll be right in."

Ron nodded and disappeared back inside.

"Sorry," Harry said.

Draco shook his head, "Don't be." He leaned forward and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth. "Yes, I would like to go out sometime."

"How's tonight?" Harry breathed.

Draco smiled at him, "The works for me," he said, then he added, eyes twinkling with mischief, "Maybe I can show you just how much I have been wanting to touch you, too."

----------

Day 40: Hesitant | Day 42: Sensitive

[theoswriting]

lavender, honey and coconut (e.p. x fem!r)

summary:  Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs. y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning. That had been her first mistake.

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

word count: 4k

a/n: okay, this is my first time writing for cm and emily prentiss, so I hope it isn’t too ooc! this is definitely a different vibe to the show lmao, i mostly wrote this to amuse myself, and then decided it might be worth sharing. I hope you’lll enjoy it xo (tell me if u do, i’m nervous)

warnings: some alcohol is consumed, light swearing

ao3

Penelope Garcia can sniff out secrets like a cute security dog can sniff out drugs.

It's a well-known fact that if you want to keep something hidden, one, you don't tell Garcia because she's incapable of keeping anything secret and two, don't breathe near her because she will be able to figure out that you're hiding something, and she will know which buttons to push to get you to spill everything.

Penelope likes to think that in another life, she would've made a great interrogator. In this life though, she uses her powers to get what she wants out of her friends.

This was one of the first things y/n found out when she joined the BAU. Derek spoke about the tech goddess' powers with reverence while the rest of them spoke of it with fear. Even Hotch seemed a little disconcerted by the whole thing.

y/n had been amused but had brushed off the warning.

That had been her first mistake.

***

Paperwork days were the worst.

y/n should probably love them more because if she's stuck behind her desk, it means that no one is out there getting brutally murdered. Still, it's a lot less exciting. It doesn't help that the bullpen is oddly quiet, everyone focused on their files. Spencer is going through his about a mile a minute, stopping from time to time to rewrite something or to look up some kind of information. Derek is slower and y/n can almost see the boredom oozing out of him. Yet, he doesn't look up when she looks over at him and keeps diligently going through his notes.

Finally, her eyes land on Emily. Her head is propped up on her left hand as she writes with the right. Occasionally, she will bite her nails as she focuses hard on part of her notes. y/n thinks she looks extra cute when she frowns, trying to understand her own writing. It makes y/n smile before refocusing on her own work.

y/n is almost done with one of her reports when she notices some missing information. She could easily look it up herself, but she's bored and this is the perfect excuse to get away from her desk for a bit. So she stands up, gathers her papers and walks to her favourite tech genius' lair.

y/n opens the door and sees Penelope's back turned to her. Before she can say anything, Garcia's voice rings out.

"Well if it isn't my favourite ray of sunshine, what can I do for you, y/n?"

y/n smiles at the blonde's greeting, as she sits down next to her, "Are you busy?"

"Not at all!"

"Great, I'm missing some information on this file, but most importantly, I'm in dire need of entertainment."

Garcia happily grabs the file from y/n and starts tapping away at her computer, putting up the information she needs on her screen in no time. She prints it all out and hands it to y/n with a flourish.

"Here's the info you need," She starts, but her eyes quickly turn regretful, "Sadly, I have no recent office gossip to entertain you with."

y/n pouts at that, "Damn, not even from Slutty David?"

Penelope shakes her head and opens her mouth to speak when she suddenly frowns at y/n. She pulls back slightly and y/n wonders if she'd forgotten to put on deodorant that morning. Penelope says nothing, just watches her.

"What?" y/n finally asks, unnerved by the staring.

"What are you not telling me?" Garcia asks simply and it's y/n's turn to frown. She can't think of anything that she might be hiding from her friend.

"Nothing?"

y/n is pretty sure that's the wrong answer and that Penelope is going to keep asking her questions until she confesses to something she didn't even know she was hiding. To her surprise though, Garcia only stares at her for a few more seconds before dropping it. As quick as it disappeared, her bright smile is back on her face and she goes back to telling a story.

It turns out that yes, she did have something to tell y/n about Slutty David.

y/n leaves Penelope about twenty minutes later with a refreshed brain, ready to get back to work. When she gets back to her desk, Emily looks up to give her a smile. y/n smiles back and winks at her as she sits down. Emily's smile broadens before she turns her focus back to the file in front of her.

y/n does the same, her smile staying even while going through an autopsy report. It's only hours later when y/n is almost done with paperwork that she freezes. She looks up at Emily and realizes.

That's what she's been hiding.

She frowns. There's no way Garcia knows that though, she and Emily have made sure, they've been careful.

Yeah, it was probably a fluke.

***

Mornings where she gets to wake up next to Emily are y/n's favourites. Even the early ones, when they get called in for a case, having Emily next to her makes it all easier.

That's what happens that morning, both of their phones going off at 5:45 am. Emily is the one to reach for her phone while y/n latches onto her and drops a kiss on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"It's JJ. We have to go in."

y/n nods and painstakingly opens her eyes. She drops another kiss on Emily's shoulder and turns away from her to get up, but before she can go too far, Emily reaches for her and kisses her. y/n scrunches up her nose even though she's smiling into the kiss.

"Morning breath. Gross," She manages to mutter against Emily's lips.

"Don't care."

y/n had wondered when they started dating if it would get to a point where it'd be too much to be together and then work together as well. Now, six months into their relationship, y/n knows she had worried over nothing. They have a system and boundaries. They keep the PDA to a minimum at work, which isn't a problem considering they had decided to keep their relationship a secret from the team. It's not that Prentiss and y/l/n don't trust their coworkers, it's more than they don't want to screw up the group's dynamics.

And it's also ridiculously funny to see how long it's taking a whole group of profilers to figure out that two members of their team are dating.

After getting dressed, y/n starts packing a new bag, taking clothes from the one drawer Emily had emptied out and gifted to her on their 2 months anniversary. Emily had a similar one at y/n's place. Considering their jobs and the amount of time they spent at each other's place, they figured it was smart to always have enough clothes at each other's place for instances like these.

Not even 10 minutes later, they're out of the door. They kiss one last time before Emily gets into her car and y/n gets into hers. As usual, y/n takes the long way to work, her place being famously further away than Emily's. So when she finally gets to the conference room, everyone is already there and waiting for Hotch.

y/n sits in between Derek and Spencer, "Good morning, my people!"

"It certainly is not," Hotch deadpans as he enters the room. y/n closes her mouth and nods to herself. She should've seen that one coming.

The others chuckle quietly, but the laughter quickly dies. Hotch was right. This is far from a good morning.

The murders are gruesome, the victims are all women which bear a striking resemblance to Emily. y/n doesn't bring attention to it, it wouldn't bring anything to the case except worry over a detail that isn't of much importance, at least not right now. Instead, she watches her girlfriend look at the pictures, and by the way her jaw clenches and unclenches repeatedly, she's come to the same realization.

"Alright everyone, wheels up in 20." Hotch dismisses them, and almost everyone rushes out of the room to get their bags. Garcia stays behind though, and so does Emily. y/n gathers her stuff slowly then, waiting for Garcia to leave the room so she can have a moment alone with her girlfriend.

Garcia doesn't leave, though.

She's staring at y/n ominously. She's missing a furry cat to be petting and she'd look like a supervillain from a cheesy action movie. y/n tries smiling at her, but the blonde doesn't respond in the slightest.

y/n leaves the room. She'll check up on Emily before take-off. She is big enough to admit that she was a little freaked out by Garcia.

She thinks nothing of it until hours later, when she's setting up their evidence board in a small town in buttfuck, Texas. JJ is standing next to her, writing the name of the second victim.

"Garcia has been asking about you."

It's such a weird thing to say that y/n is a bit taken aback. She pauses and slowly turns to look at JJ, "Uhm… Okay?"

JJ puts the cap on the pen and turns to y/n, her face probably too serious for whatever this is about.

"Remember when we told you about Garcia's weird ability to tell when someone is hiding something juicy?" y/n nods, still confused as to where this is going, "Well, she's smelt whatever it is that you're hiding."

y/n briefly wonders if no one is bothered by the constant comparison of Garcia to a literal hound dog, but apparently not. She lets out a small chuckle and nods at JJ, clearly not believing the warning tone the blonde had used, "Yeah, okay, I'll sleep with one eye open."

"y/n, I'm serious," JJ lowers her voice and looks around before confiding, "Penelope is the reason the whole team knows I had a one night stand with Slutty David."

"You had sex with Slutty David?"

JJ shudders, "Everybody makes mistakes."

***

y/n tells Emily about JJ's warning as they cuddle into bed that same night, exhausted from a day of leads getting them nowhere. To her surprise, Emily agrees with JJ.

"Garcia has a way of getting you to admit to things you thought you'd never say out loud."

The way she talks about it has y/n looking up from her very comfortable spot on Emily's shoulder to her girlfriend's face. She's staring off in the distance as if haunted by whatever it is that Garcia had dug up on her.

"What the hell did she find out about you?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

***

"So, are you seeing anyone?"

It's Saturday night and they're out at a club for a Girl's night. After the case they'd had, they deserved a night to unwind. They've chosen a bar where the music is loud, but not loud enough to drown out Penelope's question. JJ and Emily are gone, lost somewhere in the crowd fighting for the bartender's attention, in search of more drinks. As y/n's brain finally processes what Garcia has just asked, she fights the urge to smile and look for Emily.

y/n has drunk enough to be on the dumb side of gay.

"Why do you ask?"

"Answering a question with another question, very telling," Garcia smirks.

Penelope seems oddly composed for someone who is two cocktails and three shots deep into the party. Usually, a drunk Garcia means sloppy kisses on the cheek and getting her away from attractive strangers before she can say anything overtly sexual or inappropriate. So something doesn't add up. y/n squints her eyes at the blonde in front of her, like that will somehow help her see things clearer.

It doesn't. Everything looks fuzzy and she probably should stop drinking.

"I'm not."

The lie tastes gross in y/n's mouth and if there's one thing that could make her feel better, it would be kissing Emily. Before she can stop it, a smitten smile makes its way onto her face. Garcia slams a hand on the table, making y/n jump. She focuses her eyes on Penelope who's pointing an accusing finger at her.

"There! Who did you just think about?"

y/n sputters, racking her brain for a more convincing lie but she can't stop smiling so she gives in. Damn her inability to lie when she's drunk.

"Okay, fine" y/n amends, "I am seeing someone, but please keep it quiet."

Penelope obviously does not keep quiet. Instead, she squeals loud enough that she startles a few people passing by their table. Of course, that's also the moment JJ and Emily pick to come back.

So when Garcia basically yells, "I knew it!" for the whole bar to hear, there's no way y/n is getting out of this one.

"Knew what?" Emily asks with a smile as she puts down a drink in front of y/n. She immediately grabs it, thinking that maybe if she blacks out, this conversation will also be erased from the history of the universe.

"y/n is seeing someone!" Penelope happily informs the two recently arrived. JJ whips her head, excitement filling her eyes, about a million questions fighting to be asked first. Emily, for her part, chokes on her drink.

"Why haven't you told us anything?" JJ says, her blue eyes even more glassy than usual, "Who is it?"

y/n shrugs, going for a nonchalant vibe. She goes with something vague.

"You don't know her."

Penelope's smile widens, "Oh, so it's a her."

Shit. Not vague enough.

What follows are a series of questions that y/n refuses to answer and thankfully, with Emily there to mediate, they manage to change the subject. Seriously, y/n could kiss her right then and there. Instead, she takes a sip of her drink and glances towards Emily. They decide to leave less than an hour later. JJ is about one sip away from taking her top off while y/n is just about ready to throw caution to the wind and start making out with Emily. To hell with consequences.

Penelope is still suspiciously acting sane.

"Oh, Pen, be careful, someone dropped their drinks right behind your chair."

JJ's heads up makes y/n glare at Garcia who looks a little too guilty.

***

When they get back to Emily's place, y/n barely waits until the front door is closed before kissing Emily. Emily welcomes it, blindly throwing away the keys to wrap both hands around her girlfriend's neck. The kissing is sweet, the taste of their last drinks still sticking to their mouths. It's a little messy due to the fact they're both smiling like two goddamn idiots in love. When they stop, Emily grabs y/n by the hand and drags her to the kitchen so they can both drink water to make their hangovers hopefully less painful in the morning.

They're almost done when Emily speaks.

"We have a problem."

y/n stops moving. She should've known this moment would come.

"Listen, if this is about the burnt toaster, I've already ordered a new one."

"Garcia- What?" Emily turns around to look at the spot where her toaster usually rests, "What happened?"

Realizing her mistake, y/n puts her empty glass of water down and wraps her arms around Emily's waist, "Nothing you need to worry about," Emily looks back at her girlfriend who looks too innocent, "What were you going to say?"

"Garcia knows you're with someone."

y/n nods slowly, wondering where Emily is going with this. She doesn't see any problems. Sure, Penelope knows that she might be sort of taken by a woman, but that's it. Even in her drunken state, she'd managed to keep any other incriminating details to herself.

"Garcia has a way of finding things out, it's only a matter of time until she puts two and two together."

Emily looks genuinely fearful and y/n wonders again, what kind of dirt Penelope had gotten Emily to disclose. She thinks back to JJ's warning as well. y/n turns it over in her head, but in the end, she scoffs and leans up to kiss Emily.

"Don't worry, babe. I'll make up a fake break up or something and we'll be fine."

Thinking she could fool Penelope Garcia so easily was y/n's second mistake.

***

Derek is getting himself coffee when y/n swiftly approaches him from the side.

"What secret did Garcia get out of Emily?"

"Which time?"

"There's more than one?"

"Oh yeah."

***

The whole thing with Garcia does make y/n and Emily reconsider telling the team, or at the very least, Hotch and HR.

They hadn't at first because of team dynamics, but mostly because they themselves were figuring out how they worked as a couple. It turns out they worked great, and hiding each other from their coworkers and best friends was getting a bit much for the both of them.

They wanted to show up at Rossi's dinner parties together without worrying about what their friends would think. y/n wanted to hold Emily's hand after a rough case on the jet without it being questioned, just as much as Emily wanted to drive with y/n to work every morning and walk into the building together.

So the next morning, Emily and y/n get to work before anyone else and walk into Hotch's office.

He doesn't have much of a reaction, not that they were expecting anything more.

What does surprise them is that, after giving them the whole speech about professionalism and whatnot, he smiles at them and says, "I'm happy for you both."

Aaron Hotchner smiles at them and y/n feels like her relationship has just been blessed by the angels from above.

***

"Hey, Spence? Do you know what Garcia dug up on Emily?"

"Emily sprained her wrist a few years back and told us that it had happened at the range. It turns out that she'd sprained it falling from her skateboard."

"Her skate- What?"

***

When y/n had told Emily they'd be fine, she wasn't being cocky, but she just knew that there was no way Garcia would suspect something with how careful they had been.

They never showed up together at work. At first, they always timed their arrivals carefully, until it became second nature. They were never overly affectionate with each other. If they needed to be comforted during a particularly hard case, they'd wait to be behind the closed doors of the hotel room they shared on most trips. As much as y/n wanted to, she never showed up to work wearing one of her girlfriend's sweaters, no matter how warm and comfortable they were.

Bottom line was, there was no reason for Garcia to suspect anything when their teammates who were literal profilers hadn't caught onto anything.

No one except Hotch knew. And only because they'd told him, so.

y/n should've known though, from being a profiler herself, that being too confident meant she was bound to slip up and make a mistake sooner rather than later.

It all happens very quickly.

JJ asks y/n if she can grab a couple of files she had left with Garcia and bring them back to her because she was waiting for someone to call and she couldn't go too far. y/n, of course, accepts, always happy to get away from her desk and the paperwork begging for her attention. She quickly knocks on Garcia's door before entering and the tech doesn't turn around as she greets her.

"Bonjour, Emily, what brings you to Casa Garcia today?"

y/n chuckles at the blonde's eccentricities, "Sorry, but you got it wrong, it's me."

Penelope rolls her chair around to face her and she looks truly distraught to have gotten it wrong, "But I always get it right. I'm the all-knowing Penelope Garcia."

y/n gently pats her shoulder as she reaches past her to some files she sees on the desk, "Are these JJ's? She asked me to get them for her."

Garcia nods, but she still looks defeated at having failed to guess her visitor's identity, so y/n tells her she'll come by later with some coffee for a chat. Penelope nods and turns her attention back to her computer and so she leaves.

It's funny, y/n thinks, that of all the people Penelope could have confused her with, it was Emily. Maybe some of Emily's fears had planted themselves into her brain unbeknownst to her because y/n suddenly feels very uneasy. Why did Pen think it was Emily walking in? Had she unconsciously started walking like her girlfriend? No, no, that was ridiculous. Emily had a very distinctive gate that was very different from y/n's.

Still, something is off. y/n trusts her gut, it has never failed her, and her gut is telling her something is off.

She doesn't know what though. She had woken up with Emily that morning and they'd actually had time to enjoy a nice breakfast together and had plenty of time to get ready together. In fact, they had even gotten to enjoy a very pleasant shower together. y/n smiles at that particularly good memory until she realizes.

"Shit," she mutters, but not quietly enough. She's standing in the middle of the bullpen, her coworkers' eyes on her. Before she can tell herself that it's fine, that she was just paranoid and that there was no way Penelope had noticed, she hears a familiar but hurried clicking of heels approach the bullpen. y/n turns around to see Penelope standing on the other side of the glass window and one look at her is all y/n needs.

She knows.

Before Garcia can make her way inside the bullpen and bring mayhem with her, y/n hastily makes her way to her. She drops JJ's files on her desk haphazardly under Derek, Emily and Spencer's bewildered eyes. When she gets to Penelope, she gently grabs her by the arm and urgently leads her away.

"You smell like lavender!" Penelope exclaims with no preamble, "You usually don't smell like lavender, you smell of honey and coconut, but never lavender and that's why I got confused!"

y/n confidently nods in greeting at an agent passing by Garcia's office as y/n shoves her inside. He looks unsettled but only smiles in return, preferring to ignore whatever is going on. Smart man.

"That's why I thought you were Emily! Because Emily is the one who smells of lavender!" Penelope is pacing while y/n stands with her back to the door.

"Okay, Pen, I need you to breathe," She says when the techie is still going on about lavender, honey and coconut.

"Breathe? How can I breathe when you and Emily are dating."

y/n thinks that's a bit dramatic, but Garcia has finally stopped pacing and talking. y/n slowly steps towards the blonde and puts both of her hands on her shoulders. She debates for a few seconds, wonders if she'd get away with a lie but at this point, y/n's pretty sure the cat is out of the bag.

"Yeah, Emily and I are together."

y/n should've been prepared for it, but when Garcia lets out a high pitched squeal, it still gets her by surprise. Her pained grimace is quickly chased away by laughter when Penelope hugs her with all the strength and excitement caffeine was providing her.

"This is so great, I'm so happy for you two!" She lets you go long enough to see the smile that's made its way onto her face. It's the same smitten smile she always gets whenever she thinks about Emily and Garcia honest to god pinches her cheeks, "Aww, look at that smile!"

y/n laughs and tries to get her cheeks away from anymore pinching. That's when the door opens enough for Emily to sneak her head in, "Hey you two, is everything okay?"

She looks at Penelope first, but her eyes end on y/n. Before she can say anything though, Penelope smirks, "Why yes, lover, everything is just fine."

At that, Emily gets in and closes the door behind her. She looks at y/n for confirmation.

y/n just nods, "Yeah, she knows."

"You bet your sweet ass I know!"

And with no further warning, Penelope tackles Emily in a hug much as she'd done with y/n minutes prior. When she lets her go, Emily steps closer to y/n, and with a hand on her lower back, she says, "I told you she'd find out."

y/n ignores the I told you so her girlfriend apparently couldn't wait to give her, but yeah, she's not wrong.

It'll teach her to ever doubt the abilities of the all-knowing Penelope Garcia.

***

Months and months later, y/n meets up with Penelope for brunch on a Sunday morning. Before she can even greet her, the blonde fixes her with a stare that is both strange but oh so very familiar.

"What are you planning?"

This time, y/n grins and tells Garcia not to worry, that she'll know in due time. After all, she can only hide the little velvet box in her coat pocket and its content for so long.

***

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part one.   here and under the cut, you can find a little under 120 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes one to three, edited for roleplay purposes.  tw: police, murder, supernatural elements, mentions of apocalyptic scenarios, near death experiences, injuries, vehicular crash, recreational drug and alcohol use.

❝  jesus, [name]. you’re not making this easy, are you?  ❞

❝  makes you wonder... do these things follow me because i chase them, or were they always following me?  ❞

❝  darkness and complete disorientation does a number on the human brain.  ❞

❝  i don't think he was a werewolf.  ❞

❝  i’d call it the customer service smile. you know, the one that says  ‘ thank you for shopping with us, please die now ’.  ❞

❝  i’ve found the more showy the text, the less impressive the actual phenomena.  ❞

❝  my job here is kind of… shaky at the moment.  ❞

❝  [name] was also engaged in the study of the impossible in his free time.  ❞

❝  so it’s just me who drives you up the wall then?  ❞

❝  well, you’ll be happy to hear i haven’t been having any fun. no weed, no ghosts.  ❞

❝  there hasn’t been a new lead on her case in more than half a year.  ❞

❝  so here i am, wrapped up in a blanket, staring at my little fireplace, so bored i actually decided to call my sister for once.  ❞

❝  it’s a little town near bandon. very little. nice little mini-market, and that’s about it.  ❞

❝  i doubt i’ll sleep much tonight. that’s okay. i just feel like looking at the stars for a while.  ❞

❝  it's probably for the best. i am simultaneously exhausted from the drive and absolutely wired from the coffee.  ❞

❝  i wonder if there will still be ghosts out there when that happens?  when the earth is gone?  ❞

❝  glad to hear you’re enjoying yourself, then.  ❞

❝  knowing doesn’t make things any easier, but it does make them a little less frightening.  ❞

❝  that’s all just a lazy way of saying that the real explanation is too difficult—or too horrible—for them to accept.  ❞

❝  it almost killed me, but in the end it settled for putting me in pt for a year while i figured out how to use my hands again.  ❞

❝  he muttered something about my time being up. or maybe he said it wasn’t up.  ❞

❝  i don’t really care that i didn’t get any writing done today.  ❞

❝  nothing. not a single idea worth writing down, no itch i needed to scratch or question i needed to answer.  ❞

❝  guess there really is no such thing as bad press.  ❞

❝  i have no idea what a writer’s  ‘ process ’  usually looks like, but i’m pretty sure it’s not this.  ❞

❝  see what i have to deal with?  god… siblings, am i right?  ❞

❝  what can i say?  i have a soft spot for gothic architecture.  ❞

❝  computers have never been very good at reconciling paradoxes.  ❞

❝  they’re pretty much over funding my little expeditions.  ❞

❝  that kind of smile doesn’t normally show that many teeth.  ❞

❝  you know, that’s only scary the first few times you do it.  ❞

❝  one day, it will be dead. one day all the stars will burn out, go dark and silent. one day, everything will be so dark and so cold that no new stars can ever be born. the old ones will blink out one by one, like candles going out, and then… nothing. silence. darkness. void.  ❞

❝  the simplest explanation is almost always the right one.  ❞

❝  i don’t remember getting in my van, putting the key in the ignition, or speeding away from that house, but i must have.  ❞

❝  no, no, i’m fine, i’m fine, just go bother someone else.  ❞

❝  i haven’t eaten, moved, or written anything all day.  ❞

❝  but maybe that's just the fact that it is two in the morning and my brain is running mostly on caffeine.  ❞

❝  given how good a [job] he is, i know it’s not the first time he’s done it.  ❞

❝  i escaped, but i knew that whatever was in that house has just marked me as prey.  ❞

❝  calm down. think. you’re just going to confuse yourself.  ❞

❝  just wanted to tell you a couple of us are headed out to marvin’s for drinks if you want to come.  ❞

❝  one of the most disappointing things about living in america is the lack of genuinely haunted houses. out of all the supposed haunts i’ve visited, maybe one in ten seems like the real deal.  ❞

❝  sounds… peaceful. not many distractions, then?  ❞

❝  something tells me this tape wasn’t played in court.  ❞

❝  one of the neighbours must have called 911.  ❞

❝  my infamous accident. it almost killed me.  ❞

❝  i just woke up to footsteps in the kitchen. i don’t know who, or what, but there’s someone in here with me!  ❞

❝  could you shut the door on your way out, please?  ❞

❝  uh, wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.  ❞

❝  the fire that i said went out?  yeah, it just started burning again.  ❞

❝  so i asked him to lie.  ❞

❝  it'd really be just a few of us. maybe me and [name] and one or two other tagalongs…  ❞

❝  apparently, the press had a lot of questions too.  ❞

❝  i’ve driven more than 8 hours and drunk enough bad coffee to give an elephant heart palpitations. i’m sure as hell going to get my money’s worth.  ❞

❝  oh sorry, am i bothering you now? what happened to  ‘ call anytime you want, [name] ’ or,  ‘ you’re always welcome here, [name] ’ ?  ❞

❝  i’ve forgotten to charge my phone. again.  ❞

❝  i… think i’m going to turn around now.  ❞

❝  well sorry if i wanted to have a nice talk with my sister for a change.  ❞

❝  will it just be left there forever? our legacy? look upon our works, ye mighty, and despair?  ❞

❝  no matter how far away from home you are, no matter how different the constellations might look from where you’re standing, you can always look up on a clear, dark night and feel like you’re about to fall right into it—the terrifying, endless expanse of nothingness.  ❞

❝  i know authors can do some crazy things to get out of writer’s block, but i’ve never heard of one resorting to arson.  ❞

❝  why do you always think there’s something wrong?  ❞

❝  ours is not to question why, ours is but to digitize and stay the hell out of trouble.  ❞

❝  so let’s try walking backwards. just keep an eye on it.  ❞

❝  i got lucky. or maybe i was just fast enough to escape.  ❞

❝  maybe there are secret passages behind the walls and corridors.  ❞

❝  no matter how far i walked, i couldn’t find the way i came in.  ❞

❝  well, i /know/ i’ve had worst nights. i just can’t think of any right now.  ❞

❝  i do want you to have fun, [name], i just don’t want you to get yourself killed doing it.  ❞

❝  i mean, obviously, i do care, that’s the whole reason i made this trip. to get away from the noise and focus.  ❞

❝  i might have… forgotten to tell anyone where i was going.  ❞

❝  before i get started, there’s just one thing i need to say. i have absolutely no patience for the unexplained, or the things people call  ‘ unexplainable ’,  ‘ supernatural ’, or  ‘ paranormal ’.  ❞

❝  i told [name] that i needed to get out, to get inspired.  ❞

❝  okay, if someone is messing with me, they’re going to be very sorry, very quickly.  ❞

❝  [name] lied his ass off to save yours.  ❞

❝  a crash like that does funny things to your head.  ❞

❝  i still don’t know how he got there without me noticing.  ❞

❝  any plans i had to travel abroad went up in smoke.  ❞

❝  i thought of pulling out the bad cop routine.  ❞

❝  strange how something so dead can be so beautiful.  ❞

❝  it hated me:  hated what i do, and more than that, hated who i am.  ❞

❝  lots of tall tales. and more than a few ghost stories.  ❞

❝  oh good, you’re still here!  ❞

❝  reviewers absolutely grilled it:  said it was a nonsensical rip off of the dark tower, whatever that means.  ❞

❝  i jumped out the window. cut my hands on the glass, but thankfully not bad enough to need stitches  ❞

❝  i told her, tonight.  ❞

❝  for a minute, i wondered if that would really be so bad. it was a fitting way to go, given my… well, everything.  ❞

❝  i suppose that’s a universal constant—maybe the only one.  ❞

❝  i never let myself get this turned around. especially not at night.  ❞

❝  i don’t know if it’s actually haunted. but if not, then it was sure as hell convincing.  ❞

❝  i’m not one of those people who thinks she’s the spawn of satan or something ridiculous like that.  ❞

❝  unless i’m prepared to accept that she was murdered by something that crawled out of a funhouse mirror, this isn’t much help with the case, either.  ❞

❝  i have to try and work some actual cases the rest of the time. you know, cases that might have some answers i can find.  ❞

❝  it's cold, damp, and dark as night. i'm in my element, at least.  ❞

❝  your place is waiting for you.  ❞

❝  yeah, i’m all good. great… hanging in there, you know?  one day at a time.  ❞

❝  oh, i see you. you think i’m still scared of [thing], huh?  think you can freak me out?  ❞

❝  trust me, i’ve had a hell of a day, and you do not want to mess with a pissed off…  ❞

❝  and tell my sister i'm sorry.  ❞

❝  oh god, it's cold.  ❞

❝  the night sky really is beautiful out here.  ❞

❝  tell him he shouldn’t have been such a good liar.  ❞

❝  i’ve been listening to this for the last two weeks now.  ❞

❝  it’s not even that i’m having bad ideas. i’m not having any at all.  ❞

❝  can’t get away from the work, no matter what i do.  ❞

❝  i made sure i switched off my phone before i came up here, just in case.  ❞

❝  god, these things smell of weed.  ❞

❝  yeah, well… just wanted to make sure you’re okay, you know?  ❞

❝  [name] is dead. that's all there is to it.  ❞

❝  no, i need to get out of here. it’s been a long day.  ❞

❝  a lot of the art i found was just paintings of a night sky full of stars.  ❞

❝  my job is to look the facts dead in the face and find an explanation. one that will hold up in a court of law.  ❞

❝  personal and career choices, i guess you’d call them.  ❞

❝  damn. i could’ve sworn i felt something strange about this place when i hiked through this morning… or maybe it was a different part. hard to tell this late at night, anyway.  ❞

❝  well, let’s just say a middle-aged man-child running out panicked and tearing at his eyes would hardly be a marketable image.  ❞

❝  i didn’t mind that i’d be alone—i always expected that to be how i went.  ❞

❝  i’m sure that’s on my personnel file by now, as if it could get any more problematic.  ❞

[mavda]

Beast Tamers

Ch.1 |  Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4(1) | Ch.4(2) | Ch.5(1) | Ch.5(2) | Ch.5(3) | Ch.5(4) | Ch.6(1) | Ch.6(2) | Ch.6(3) | Ch.7(1) | Ch.7(2) | Ch.7(3) | Ch.7(4) | Ch.7(5) | Ch.8(1) | Ch.8(2) | Ch.8(3) | Ch.9(1) | Ch.9(2) | Ch.9(3) | Ch.9(4) | Ch.10(1) | Ch.10(2) |

Ch.10: The Two-Tails (3)

Naruto stretches his arm and searches for his wife's body in the dark. She's on her side, with her face to him, and his hand touches her belly with tentative fingers. 

He lingers and stares at the ceiling. Seeing nothing and only listening to Hinata's soft breathing and the wind rustling the leaves outside. He doesn't want to leave the bedroom. 

When he sits, he shivers as the cold finds him. He takes a second to feel Hinata's warmth and then leaves her side with a reluctant face nobody sees.

Jiraiya is always there waiting for him. And the training continues, wherever they left it at. The cold wakes Naruto and he is conscious of his body, present in whatever instruction Jiraiya shares. And yet he doesn’t see results. 

It is frustrating and annoying and it is difficult for Naruto to ground himself when he knows he needs to control this as fast as he can if he wants it to have any real effect on his body… on his lifespan. 

Hinata’s breath on his neck keeps him awake at night.

Jiraiya senses some turmoil, but Naruto knows he won’t pry. He knows he can’t do anything, and Jiraiya is pragmatic at heart. He has never inflated Naruto’s dreams, has never told him of hopes he doesn’t share. 

Naruto has forgotten what those are supposed to make him feel.

He has a baby on the way and enemies that seem to multiply. 

The shame he feels when he stands and Jiraiya tells him that he has to keep on practicing. The irk that feels him as he realizes that he can’t even focus enough on his pregnant wife. The fear that seems to seep from his bones as he merely thinks about an attack. 

And all the things that can go wrong.

There are plans. There plans and backup plans and backup plans for those backup plans. He knows them by heart, recites them inside his head when his mind runs wild.

But his feelings are always running amok. 

Shikamaru is right beside him and Tsume and Shino check time and time again their perimeter. Nothing moves without Naruto knowing. 

But they all know this is the calm before the storm. 

The Beast Tamer meeting is a taunt. A game and a chance someone is taking for reasons unknown. They gather all the information they can. Read it and classify it and read it again. They have ideas, but nothing sure, and no one really trusts what the other Beast Tamers have to say. 

Gaara is the only one they trust and although he tries his best, he comes up with the same information Naruto can gather. 

So they set out to know more. And Naruto has meetings upon meetings with his vassals. He smiles, he laughs, he pries and he tests. And his heart rests a little as he realizes that most of them are still on his side. 

With only a few exceptions. 

He can see it in their eyes, in the way their body shifts and their words come out too late, too quick. He zeroes in on one.

Lord Graff comes into the room with a smile plastered on his face. Naruto makes small conversation and offers a drink the man accepts with a slight tremble on his hand.

They could drug him, they could kidnap him, they could very well torture him to know more. 

But if their movements have been so cautious before, if this whole ordeal is a careful plan, he fears what they can do when brought into a corner. So he will play along.

And he asks about mundane things he doesn’t care about. 

Lord Graff relaxes after a while. With Naruto sharing information about the other vassals with whom he has had subsequent meetings too. He has to show himself to be cautious, but he can’t show himself to be suspicious of someone. Not yet. Not until he is where they want him to be. 

“Harsh times we are going through, huh?” Naruto says, just after sipping his sake and giving a defeated sigh. It comes to mind that he doesn’t really need to act up the anxious-worried tone he laces his voice with, and that is enough to make him huff out and add a touch of exasperation Lord Graff buys immediately.

“Indeed, my lord! Harsh times indeed! Such a shame things seem to have piled up upon you these days! But I am sure with this new Beast Meeting information you have so kindly shared with me some fruitful ideas will be laid out!”

Lord Graff is new money and has always been eager to rise the ranks, but money? Power? Naruto hadn’t pegged him as such a greedy man. His beaded eyes run over Naruto and Naruto makes sure to show his body feels fine. 

Information for what? His family doesn’t seem to be affected by this ordeal and neither does he seem to be threatened.

A grudge? Naruto has barely known him for a couple of years. 

Lord Graff babbles on without Naruto saying much. He has downed their sake on his own, as Naruto controlled his intake and encouraged the man to keep on drinking. Naruto is in fact surprised the man still can control what his mouth says in such a situation. 

Maybe he doesn’t know much. Naruto wouldn’t let a nobody know about what he plans to do. 

“Is everything all right with your lovely wife?”

Naruto doesn’t flinch. His hand doesn’t tremble and his voice comes out with a worry he practiced beforehand. “She is, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, of course! The lord’s wife is a precious person so it stands to reason that we worry so much about her. In fact, it seems that no one has seen your wife in a long while and well-”

“I am sure you can understand, you know, with all that has been going on and what not.”

“Oh, oh, absolutely, as long as everything is all right, my lord.”

“It is, thank you.” Naruto takes a deliberate slow sip out of his cup, as hostility begins to fill his body, “I take it your family is well, too?”  

“Yes, yes, my lord, thank you so much for asking.”

There is nothing Naruto gets out of him and Lord Graff leaves after a while, positively drunk and yet tight-lipped as always. 

The cold wind helps Naruto relax before walking in to the innermost part of the compound. Lord Graff is either another fool that knows nothing or his overbearing questions mean something, and Naruto wishes whoever was behind all of this would just turn up in front of him to fight it out with their fists. 

He wants peace and tranquility and his life seems to refuse to have anything to do with those concepts.  

He enters his bedroom the moment he knows his brows are not burrowed and his muscles are not taut. There is no one inside and his heart leaps inside his chest and his mind is filled with thoughts he never wants to think about. 

He begins listing places and schedules and hours and he is barely turning the first corridor when he sees Hinata walking alongside Sai and a couple maids in the distance. She is fresh out of her bath and her cheeks are rosy. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Naruto hides before anyone can see him, his back pressed to the wall, his head tilted back. He breathes in and out, and then in and out again. 

He needs to control this damned Beast, control it. But the moment he even thinks of harm coming to his family… of danger being near Hinata, his mind goes into overdrive and he knows he will tear everything apart to keep her safe. Himself included if need be. 

His hand is shaking and he stares at it till it settles. The cold wind bites at his skin and after a while he resumes his way back to his room.

 ⁂⁂⁂

Naruto comes into the room with tired eyes and Hinata is ready to let him sleep and rest and cuddle him, but the moment she walks to him to help him undress Naruto envelops her in a hug that makes her yelp. 

    “You smell good.”

    Hinata blushes as Naruto drags his nose down her neck, laying a couple of kisses on his way. 

    “I j-just took a b-bath.”

    He hums in appreciation and then rests his head on top of her head, letting a heavy sigh leave his body. 

    He must be exhausted. 

    “Sh-shall we go to bed?”

    He puts space between them and brings his finger to her chin, lifting her face to him. “Do you feel all right? Are you tired?”

    Hinata has to bite down the scoff that wants to leave her body, as he looks a hundred times more haggard than her, but she knows how worried he is and how anxious he feels about not being with her as much as he wants to, so she kissed his palm and makes him follow her into their bed. 

    She undresses him and although Naruto complains about being able to do it himself and how she has to take care of her body, she loves being able to give him comfort, so she insists. 

    He has his head on her lap as she caresses his head, their eyes on the garden outside. Naruto finds this relaxing most of the time, but he feels tense somehow, and although Hinata kisses his cheek, and does her best to soften his posture, he doesn’t budge.

    “Did s-something happen?”

    He says nothing. He only turns his face to her, blinks as if pondering and then turns his whole body to hers, his face buried between her belly and her thighs. He brings his one hand to her bottom and the other claps the hand that caresses his face.

    “I just don’t wanna go to that meeting,” he whispers. 

    And Hinata says nothing, because she doesn’t want him to go to that meeting either. She rubs her thumb over his hand and drags her fingers over his scalp. 

    “I-I’ll be waiting for you.”

    Naruto buries himself even deeper into her body and then sits with slow movements. He cups her face, maps her face with his blue eyes, then dips his head for a kiss.

     “I love you.” He says and repeats. “I’ll be back before you notice.”

    Hinata doubts it, but she can’t bring herself to tell him. Sometimes he reads her better than she can. 

    She kisses him back, brings her body closer. “I’ll be waiting.”

    Naruto licks her lips, drags his hands down her body. “You smell like soap.”

    Hinata is about to tell him again that she took a shower, but Naruto opens her sleepwear and kisses her overflowing breasts. “I’ll help you take a bath again, don’t worry.”

    Hinata laughs and Naruto brings his head up, confused and worried he may have overstepped. “Is that all right?”

    He looks so pretty under the lamp, Hinata can only stare dumbstruck. “I w-won’t need another bath.” The saliva on her skin is getting colder and it brings memories that make her legs rub together in anticipation, “I love having your s-smell on me.”

    She expects Naruto to laugh or smirk, give her one of his usual winks. Be playful like he always is. But he just gives her a bittersweet smile that makes her want to gather him in her arms and never let go. 

    Naruto is faster, though. He kisses her neck, brings her head to his shoulder, then clasps her hand and squeezes. 

    He doesn’t seem to want to let go either.

[xxsmokeyy]

ok so how about a story where (preferably bi) reader and levi both fall for petra and there's this competition between them as to who can win petras heart first but after petras death (or some other issue; your choice) they both mourn and bond with each other and realize that all those times they tried to outshine each other, they fell for each other instead

Levi x Petra x Bi! Reader (F) One Or The Other

genre: mild angst, fluff (healing)

summary: it’s a bit surprising that despite being rivals, both you and Levi have gotten through a lot together. before you know it, you’re already seeking refuge from one another.

tw: mentions of death

wc: 6,575

You know it’s a heck of a risk trying to aim for someone’s hand like Petra’s. She’s the entire definition of a dainty, lovely girl everybody admires, of course including you. Besides, you don’t even know if you stand a chance, not when there’s a tough guy your way.

Namely, Captain Levi.

Well, there’s another one named Oluo, but you don’t even think of him as a competition. Definitely not a threat as well.

“Hey,” you call the girl with strawberry blonde hair. She looks back at you with a smile and stands upright, wiping the sweat trickling down her neck. You watch as she tucks her hair behind both her ears to get rid of the stray fringes. Isn’t she just hot?

“Need help?” you ask, ready to give her a hand upon seeing her singlehandedly clean the stables.

“I don’t think Captain would allow that,” Petra says before petting the said man’s horse. “Am I right, big boy?” she talks to it, combing its black mane with her slender fingers. Adorable.

“One dick of a Captain we have, don’t you think?” you say, rolling your eyes heavenwards as the image of your superior passes by your mind. “Hmm, not really. I believe his austerity is right just the way it is,” she says in full decision. Of course. The one thing you don’t like about her is the way she worships the shitty Captain like some kind of noble man.

You let out a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms. “You have got to stop being a clean freak apologist, Petra. Unless you’re inlove with him or something,” you point out and take a step towards her, taking away the broomstick from her other hand.

She’s visibly spent to the bones, tending to the horses all by herself to meet the Captain’s regulations. He only always assigns one person per duty, saying soldiers should learn how to clean alone just as much as learning how to fight, which is an utterly dumb stance in your opinion.

When she blushes by your words, a small pang hits your heart. It’s just as you guessed.

Not that it’s not so achingly obvious enough these past few years, but it’s only gotten worse ever since the new 104th recruits joined the Scout Regiment. She keeps praising the dickhead in front of them whenever they ask about him, telling them a variety of stories stretching from way back, it’s ridiculous.

“I don’t!” She really doesn’t. She just idolizes him so much that it comes across as romance. People keep rubbing to her face that she’s inlove, though it’s definitely not what she feels.

Her denial nature and easily flustered reactions keep your spirits low, almost surmising with a conclusion that you had no chance at all if not for the fact that she never made romantic advances to him her whole stay in the army.

“You do,” you avert your gaze, not wanting her to notice the brewing jealousy in your eyes, else she might avoid you or act awkward if she finds out.

“I don’t!” she presses, accidentally pulling on the horse’s crest, forcing a neigh out of it. Petra apologizes to it like it can understand her. “If that isn’t definitely guilty, I don’t know what is,” you mumble under your breath, releasing another sigh as you start sweeping the scattered hay.

Once the Captain’s horse calms down, she faces you, hands on her waist, ready to explain her feelings in fine details. “Look—“

“Who said you can slack off?” Speak of the devil. Your conversation is given a good interruption when the dark haired man arrives.

Petra immediately fixes herself, fist slamming to her chest as acknowledgment of the Captain’s presence. “We weren’t, Captain! She just wanted to help me out,” Petra clarifies right away, voice firm and booming.

You feel the infamous pair of fierce eyes dart on you, and you briefly thank anything that first comes in mind for your current position, back facing the Captain so he can’t see your disgusted scowl.

You prep yourself and turn around, giving him a half-assed salute. “I just finished with the laundry. Thought I could give her a hand,” you say, tone almost holding no formality at all, “—sir,” you lazily add.

His brows twitch as he hears you out. Brat.

“I don’t recall telling everyone to work in pairs, neither of you understood that?” he pinpoints, staring you dead in the face. You’re not intimidated, though, not one bit. If you think I’m scared, you can kiss your own ass. “I insisted. In case you didn’t notice, she’s tired,” you inform, steadiness unwavering. What is even wrong with assisting someone? This merciless prick.

“Oh?” He walks toward you in strides, easily coming face-to-face with you in a span of seconds.

“Come to my office, Petra,” he orders without looking at her, and the woman gives you one last glance, then making off after giving him a polite yes. There it is. He’s about to show his true colors, you just know it.

“Cheap way to win her over,” Levi lowly spits at you, and you can feel his hot breath ghosting harshly over your face. “If you’re so kind, do it all over again,” he orders lastly, internally entertained by how your eyes shut close in fury, grip on the broomstick tightening.

As he finally steers to leave, you swear in your life you never wanted to hit someone so damn much it’d knock them out cold.

Levi heads back, footsteps fading into the background, and an exasperated groan leaves your mouth. You frustratedly throw the broom to the floor, startling his horse, which does nothing but make your blood boil stronger in your veins. Fuck him!

—

You lie down on the hard ground, even more deadbeat than the girl you opted to help. For shit’s sake, who knew this is what you get for volunteering to be of use? You can only imagine how the new cadets would have it hard once the Captain notices their mediocre cleaning skills.

It’s probably nearing curfew, you guess from the excessive appearance of stars in the skies, but your muscles are strained stiff you can’t come inside any time now. You were left with no choice but start from scratch. If you act up and not clean up to his standards, you’ll only get it way worse, so you decided not to push him further.

You sense someone approach you, and you strongly wish it isn’t Levi. He’s the last creature you’d like to see today.

Soft and familiar amber eyes greet yours from upside down, a petite body looming over you, and you couldn’t be anymore thankful. Petra gives you a sympathetic look before sitting down beside your laid form, keeping her hands behind her back.

“I told you,” she starts, “it’d be no good if Captain sees, but you insisted and he arrived! Now look at you, you’re absolutely exhausted, aren’t you?” she continues to scold, though it doesn’t strike you as a scolding. More of a concern, yes. A smile creeps up your lips.

“Just give me the bread,” you confidently say, and she sighs in defeat before revealing the pastry she had in hand. Your heart feels giddy as you sit up straight, taking the food she went out of her way to prepare. It’s like the tiredness just disappeared into thin air. What an angel.

Petra scrunches her nose as she watches you eat in speed. You cock a brow as you see her look at you like you’re— “Do I stink?” you frantically question and smell yourself all over. No way, you’ll definitely get points off now!

She giggles bubbly and shakes her head to dismiss your assumptions. “No, but you’re biting like you haven’t eaten in ages. That famished?” she asks once she’s calmed down.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, unsure of what to think. She’s definitely an angel, especially when she smiles. You sigh for the nth time, “Obviously. Did you see how much of a bastard our Captain is? In all honesty, I’d prefer Hange as our squad leader,” you complain and resume to munching.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, gaze boring into yours. You tear your eyes off of her and stare at the horse stalls. “What did the old geezer make you do?”

“Nothing, just a bunch of paperwork,” she says truthfully. Oh, for all you know, he just wanted her all to himself. What an unfair move, using his authority to have her alone.

You angrily bite down on the bread, later realizing you’ve finished it. As she observes you, her eyes widen, suddenly remembering something. “I forgot your water!” she exclaims and rises to her feet, but you stop her before she can leave, grabbing her soft hand.

Your chest stutters involuntarily from the contact and you compose yourself right away. “It’s alright, I’ll get it myself. Go back to your room before Captain catches you,” you urgently say, not wanting her to get in trouble again. “Just help me up,” you ask to which she generously follows. You briefly wish the moment could last longer.

“You sure?” she quizzes when you finally stand up. Both of you heading inside, you nod and hum in agreement, “Thanks for the food.”

She gives you a smile as you both reach the halls, waving you goodbye before you part ways. Ahh, you feel all energetic now.

You walk to the mess hall, footsteps light and shallow. Judging from the dimly lit corridors, it must be a few minutes away from curfew. You just hope you don’t bump into some higher-ups. Hange’s fine, though.

As you push the door open, you regret it right away. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter unintelligibly. Aside from the raven haired man, the room is dead empty, a lone candle in a chamberstick providing dull light. Technically, he is the last creature you see tonight.

You have lost count of how many sighs you’ve released the whole day, all energy in your body draining once again. Steel eyes lock on you as you enter. There’s no turning back now. Well, at least Petra isn’t the one who found him here.

Levi cocks a brow as he watches you proceed inside, seemingly heading to the water jug. You stay quiet and take a glass, then filling it with water. As much as possible, you don’t want to converse with him.

He seems like he won’t let you succeed with that. “Done with the stables?” he asks, sipping on his tea.

“Yeah,” you curtly answer, not up for some bantering.

“Some goody two shoes you are,” he scoffs, ticking you off, but you refuse to let it show. You face him and lean your back against the counter. “Like you’re any better with your assholish attitude,” you sass him out, drinking on your water all the while remaining eye contact. You’ll show him.

“And you complain like the little brat that you are,” he rebuts.

“You’re just threatened that she might go for me behind your back when I just wanted to help,” you answer with a shrug, taking a few steps closer to the table he’s seated.

“Women like you like to play dirty.”

“You don’t know a thing about women,” you snide with a condescending smile, belittling the man before you. He can’t be one to talk about women when he treats you like shit. If there’s someone Petra might end up with, you sure as heck wouldn’t want it to be this guy.

He throws you a glare, piqued by your words before standing on his feet and and walking his way to you. You stay steady, unfazed by the intimidation he’s giving off.

“After all these years, do you seriously think you stand a chance?” he deadpans, which strikes straight to your feelings. He doesn’t have to emphasize that, you already know it, memorized it even.

“I don’t know, but it’d be just as much as a loss if she chooses you,” you say, slamming the glass you’re holding onto the table. After giving him one last glare, you turn your back on him, having enough of the senseless arguments.

He hates how you only ever treat him as a Captain in the battlefield, but not when you’re at ease. You always looked at him like an arch nemesis of the sort, not afraid to answer back at him like he doesn’t deserve your respect. He stressfully closes his eyes and massages his temples as you leave.

—

You sit on the bench, just in front of the Captain, who is currently beside your beloved Petra. Look at him making his moves. You roll your eyes discreetly, sipping on your fresh tea.

“What are you, on a diet or some crap?” Levi asks, finding Petra’s plate empty, bowl of soup halfway finished.

“No, I gave it to the girl you made run laps,” she informs, “she almost passed out, you know.” Right? you wanted to agree but decide to sit still and listen.

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead puts his own loaf of bread on her vacant dish. “Eat. We have an upcoming expedition,” he only says and sips on the liquid left in his cup. Petra’s cheeks turn into a feminine shade of pink, and you so wanted to pull her away from him. She exclaims a yes and starts munching. Great, I should’ve done that first.

You’re not about to put up without a fight, though.

“Dear Captain has to eat as well, don’t you think?” you sarcastically chime in, transferring your unmoved bread onto his plate. “Can’t have him thinned to bones when the walls get breached again,” you add, innocent smile downright infuriating to Levi’s eyes.

You desperately try to keep in your barging laugh to yourself as you watch him look at his plate disgustedly.

What do you say, Petra? I’m just as kind as he is, right? That show off.

Petra hums in agreement and nudges the Captain to eat, a string of hearty giggles leaving her velvet lips, alluring about a total of three people from the same table. You heart skips a round of beats as you watch her flash her toothy grins. Talk about an appetizing view.

Her giggles boil down as realization hits her. She gives you a mixed look of confusion and thoughtfulness, opening her mouth to speak and stop you on your tracks.

“But—”

You wave her off before she can shove her worries to you and prop yourself up, momentarily stretching your limbs in relaxation to then pick up your dirtied china.

“Don’t worry, Petra, I’m already full,” confidence brimming in your tone, you tell her and take your leave. But not without giving the Captain one last glimpse. It was even more appetizing to see him pissed.

Your other comrades only watch in awe as they see the unnamed rivalry uncover ahead of their eyes, your victorious smile determining the whose triumph it is for today.

How about that?

—

When you finish with dish duty, you head to the dining area once more to check if the sconce candles are extinguished, only to find them still lit and burning, with a side of holy bastard, as you like to call him. Of all people.

“Here again? What is this, your lounge room or something?” you mockingly ask and take a seat in front of him, wiping your wet hands on your pants. He ignores you.

You purse your lips out of observation. He must be a tea addict, having another one after dinner. “Are you always here every night?” you ask again, initiating a genuine conversation.

He finally looks at you and sets his tea on the table, a bit surprised by your question. “I am,” he answers. You nod, about to ask another question but he beats you to it.

“I’m removing you from the flank,” he suddenly blurts, taking you aback. What? Your rested face visibly loses composure as your brows furrow together.

“What do you mean? Is it because I shitted on you earlier? Oh please, do you think I’ll hit on Petra while on a mission?” you continuously spurt in one go, hackles slowly raising.

“It’s not about her. Erwin specifically asked for you to join his group since you apparently answered him right,” he remarks, completely calm. You are smart, that’s already a given that he knows, it’s just that feelings can get over the best of you that he doesn’t find rational.

Your ragged breathing upon taking him the wrong way steadies as you listen. “The Commander?” you confirm and he grunts his response. “Alright then, you better watch over her in my stead.”

Levi takes a glance at you, steel grey eyes holding an unreadable expression, which you find amusing and triggers a laugh out of you. It’s like his answer should have been already staring you in the face. Naturally, he’ll do that without you ordering him.

He can be cute at times, can’t he? In a funny way of course, you inwardly clear out.

Meanwhile, he thinks you’re out of your mind as you humor yourself. He’d honestly like it if you just leave him alone right now, which you eventually did, waving him goodbye.

The night before the expedition, you pay Petra’s room a short visit.

She answers the door within three quiet knocks. “Hey,” you greet with a smile and she offers to let you in forthrightly. “No! It’s fine, I just need a few seconds,” you dismiss.

“What is it?” she curiously asks, now face to face with you as you stand in her doorway.

“I won’t be with you tomorrow, so you better take care. Stick with Gunther, or Oluo. If possible, not with the Captain,” you whisper the last bit jokingly, but she ignores it and only questions why you’re separated. You explain the situation to her, leaving out the confidential details.

Petra nods, stroking her chin. You notice she’s already in her nightwear and is probably prepared to sleep, so you decide to return to your own quarters.

“Take care, alright?” you remind, eyes boring into her borderline gold ones. They were pretty and gentle, a pair you always adored through the years.

Petra wishes you the same and then a good night, strongly wanting to unite with you safely after the mission you could feel it deep inside you.

As you look at her, you‘re certain that you haven’t met a more loving person your whole life. Will there ever come a time that you’d confess to her? Probably not. If you’re being frank, you don’t think what you feel for her is that deep a love that you’d go out of your way to initiate a romantic bond. If nothing else, it might only be admiration, an attachment at most. You like her, that goes without saying, but there isn’t any room for in depth involvement, especially not in this line of work, you think.

The door to her room finally closed, you spin to get your own shuteye, only to see a familiar figure from a little distance.

The candlelights on the halls define the highest points of the man’s face beautifully, and you identify him without a hitch, dull grey orbs meeting yours.

“Let her sleep, and get your rest,” he briefly says before making off. Your eyes slightly largen from the lack of interaction, as opposed to the reprimanding you expected. Was he supposed to say his regards to her as well?

In all fairness, he didn’t go for your neck this time. Well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Morning comes quickly, along with the falling into formation as sketched, the deployment of operation, and the arrays of discoveries you found in the progress. Everything happened quickly, and before you know it, the expedition is given an official beat to retreat.

You stand on the same branch as the Commander, waiting for his signal to flee after fighting off the wave of titans to defend the target. Three pair of your blades are blunted down to nubs from the excessive charges, and you think for a moment if you should replace them with new ones.

Catching your breath, you wipe dry your dampened skin and clothes. You watch as he idly chat with the Captain, instructing him to refill his gases. For what? I thought it’s over?

Levi listens to what he’s told, perceivably on his guard. Why is he even here? Where are the others? When you’re just about to call Levi’s attention, Erwin catches sight of you and the confusion resounding from your aura. He then permits you to break away from his flank and reunite with your own squad, and you gladly follow.

You first help clean up with the immobilizing equipment used on the spy, telling Hange to prepare for withdrawal. She passes the message onto the other soldiers, commanding them to bestride their horses to then get going.

You still don’t know where to find your teammates, so you stick with the higher-ups a little longer.

Since you’ll travel by horse from here on, you decide not to meddle with your gears anymore. You hop on the saddle and lightly yank the reigns to start moving, and with everyone else, you ride through the woods, thousands of questions ready inside your head.

A few moments later, you hear Erwin converse with Hange regarding the spy, about how they must still be alive and how they must’ve blended in by now. You feel the tension rising as you listen to his assumptions, trying to register everything he’s trying to come across with, and it all makes sense when you hear two consecutive thundering of little intervals.

You quickly turn around and swerve, shifting your weight to guide your horse back to where the booming sound came from. It’s the alleged sound intelligent titans make when they transform, and you know push has come to shove if you hear two of them.

As far as you remember, the key weapon was situated together with your squad, you being the only one left out, so you’ll find them where Eren is. You let your horse gallop in great speed, heart thumping loudly in your chest it’s almost deafening. Please, be safe.

It feels like decades have already gone by when you arrive at the terrorizing scene of carnage.

You put your horse to an abrupt halt and jump off, cold sweat breaking without control as you stumble upon corpses and corpses you achingly recognize, the life in their eyes strenuously extracted. Gunther, Eld, Oluo… Petra.

An immense vertigo hits your head, your field of vision blurring upon seeing them drained of consciousness. You refuse to accept the view, shaking your head like a child in utmost declination. It seems you’ve only followed behind the Captain, finding him looking at the same plight.

“Levi…” you helplessly call as if seeking for refuge and saving. But it horrifies you the most when you meet his dead gaze deprived of rest, almost exactly looking like theirs, striking violently at your heart. No, not you, too…

Streams of tears shed endlessly from the corners of your eyes, and Levi doesn’t know what to do. He’s beyond pained, watching the only comrade he has left on his team slowly break down due to the shambles. He can’t afford to be frozen by the fathomless torment he’s currently trying to overcome, nor does he have the luxury to stay by your side and console you.

He has no choice but to keep moving.

“Call the others for assistance and put their bodies on a carriage,” are the last words he gives you before taking his leave, wires zipping and clutching into the surfaces of the tree barks as he skillfully maneuvers with his gear.

You think for a second, is he that used to losing people? but you completely miss out on how he slashes the giant enemy in great anger, expertly cutting flesh like he’s never done before as if it’s his only chance to momentarily pour out his emotions, all the while trying to stay objective.

Your whole body weakens and you fall to your knees, getting a closer look at the dead woman before your sight. Your hand acts on its own, stretching out to painstakingly tuck Petra’s locks behind her ear like how she always styled it. Your lips tremble as you attempt to fight your threatening sobs back.

She has slipped out from both your reaches.

Since then, you limited your interactions to those that were only really necessary, because for the first time in a while, you feel utterly alone. Years of having the sweet girl by your side all gone into the dust, along with the overwhelming loss of your whole squad, everything is weighing you down.

Flashes of memories come at the most misplaced time every now and then, and you can’t handle it when it triggers in public, causing you to lock yourself up in your room, weeping in secret.

You can’t be any more thankful to your Captain for letting you wallow in your own way of coping. Most importantly, though a small part of you still doesn’t want to admit, you’re more than grateful he stayed alive all throughout the last of the mission, coming back home with you.

You still remember the hurt in his eyes that no matter how hard he attempted to conceal, still peers out. It was visible when you had no choice but to throw the bodies out of the carriages, bringing not a single fallen soldier back. It was visible when Petra’s father asked the Captain for his daughter, even going as far as spilling his plans of arranging a marriage between the two young pair.

It’s haunting you so much, you haven’t had an hour of sleep after arriving back even if there’s an upcoming operation. Despite it being against your will, you frequently wonder how he’s doing.

One night, you find yourself walking through the halls, unable to force your mind to just shut down and rest without stressing out for the uncountable time.

You don’t know why you’re fully decisive of where to go and who to find. You don’t know why you feel calmer every step further. You don’t know why you’re so eager as you push on the wooden doors of the mess hall. You don’t know why you already expected to see him there.

“Oh, look at the old geezer drinking his tea in the dark. Do you know what time it is? It’s past curfew,” you inform sarcastically, voice also forging a front to sound normal. It’s not yet past curfew, you just want to tick him off.

“You’re only four years younger, and it’s not,” Levi answers as he lets his eyes land on yours. It’s obvious you’re only trying to clown around, the exhaustion in your face giving away your crestfallen state.

“What? How do you know that?” you ask, scandalized.

“I recognize the time.”

“I meant my age?”

“Because I am your Captain, woman. Don’t push me,” he hisses and brings his teacup into his mouth, the hot beverage staining on his tongue just the way he likes it. Even more so that it’s the only thing he can rely on at the moment. That’s what he thinks.

You scowl and sigh. Fair enough.

You take a seat in front of him and he gives you an unreadable look, as usual. Does he feel intruded? All of a sudden, you feel shy, hoping you’re not bothering him.

“What? I won’t mess with you, I’m tired,” you argue upon seeing him stare you down like something’s off with you.

Levi studies your expression, finding your face a bit similar to his in a not so positive way. With a shallow sigh, he decides to let you be and do what you want.

You prop your cheek on your elbow and maintain eye contact. “How’s your leg?” you quiz, genuinely curious of his current condition. The bastard brought home an injury as souvenir, rendering him downright useless for the plans the Scouts had right ahead.

“Not good,” he says, earning him a hum in response. The longer he lets his glance stay on yours, the more he notices the little details in the way you presented yourself.

Tonight, you spared no effort in fixing your hair, still a bit messy from the tossing and turning earlier in desperate hopes to fall asleep. Your lips were dry and chapped, he notes to call you out for it later. For all he knows, you might be dehydrated already. Your eyes? Unquestionably racked with pain.

You rest your face on top of your overlapped arms and settle to find a comfortable position.

“Go to your room if you want to sleep,” he orders, which you only ignore. Does he seriously think you’ve been able to sleep these days? Because you’re sure as heck he can’t with those dark under eyes of him. “Your neck will only get stiff in that position,” he adds.

Something about the company he generously, though not obviously, offers makes your eyelids fall shut in ease, his baritone voice helping your nerves compose themselves.

“I said I’m tired, give me a break…” you gradually lose volume as you speak, slowly drifting off without knowing.

Levi clicks his tongue when you finally succumb to drowsiness.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any options left, but he couldn’t do anything as he stays all night to watch over you. Surprisingly enough, the company felt comforting that he can’t bring himself to leave.

Couple hours later, he’s still up and reading a book when he hears a soft whimper escape your lips. Levi takes a glimpse at you and is a bit baffled to catch sight of a lone driblet trickling from your lids.

Sighing, he feels inclined to wipe it away with his thumb in sympathy and does as his subconscious says. The moment his calloused finger touches your skin, he realizes that you were undeniably warm. So much for a brat like you.

When you wake up, you feel a heavy cloth wrapped around your soldiers. You check the surroundings and remember falling asleep in the dining, later seeing that the fabric is a tan jacket, a uniform. The familiar scent enters your nostrils, and you name its owner right away.

An involuntary wave of heat rises to your cheeks and you’re uncertain why. It’s Captain Levi’s.

It makes you contemplate out of nowhere, was it wrong to treat him like a competition?

Thinking about it, you kind of regret not being casual with him. Without question, you’re not really in best terms with him, having an eye for the same person for a long time, that should be understood. He’s an outstanding soldier, that you can admit, but you can’t exactly put up with his strict ways at times, some of it coming off as irrational.

Maybe you should really just accept the fact that he’s a great Captain nevertheless. Because even though you viewed him like that all this time, he’s still being considerate in some ways.

A small smile forms on your lips. You definitely should start warming up to him. He’s the only team you’ve got left.

—

Tray in hand, you enter the Captain’s room, not bothering with a knock. To hell with that, I’ve got a handful, if he complains about his privacy or some crap, I’ll shove this damn food to his face.

Yes, you decided to bring him his lunch after the successful-fail raid in Stohess District. Honestly, you’re damn tired to the bones, but you take it upon yourself to give Levi a short visit.

He gives you an annoyed stare, obviously not expecting your company, and you only roll your eyes. “What’s that?” he asks.

“Food. What, is your old age getting to you? Need some glasses?” you talk back, not up for his dumb question.

Things aren’t going so well for the Survey Corps, political stances going against your brigade, comrades dying one by one you’re not entirely sure if their death was in vain or not. It’s only a miracle the Commander found a way to nullify the consequences about to come your way. That’s why Levi better not raise your hackles bad or your brain will completely explode in front of him.

He ignores your sardonic jest and eyes the tray, primarily looking for the tea, if you brought one. You did. But he keeps his hands to himself for a while.

“It’s too early for dinner, and I could’ve gone to get my own food.” An exasperated sigh escapes your throat, hearing his argument.

“This is your late lunch, sir,” you inform candidly, taking him by surprise. True enough, you didn’t mean to be so observant, but you saw him skip lunch earlier before the raid. Heck, this isn’t even the first time he deliberately missed it. You know he’s still unwell and at a loss just as much as you are—maybe even worse, and that’s preventing him from taking care of himself.

Of course, he’s still your Captain whom you’re willing to serve, wholeheartedly, at that. Hence, you’re going to take care of him if he’s not doing it himself, whether he likes it or not. If even this guy leaves you, then you’ll probably arrive at the end of your wits.

With an exasperated sigh, you set his meal on top of the nightstand right beside his bed. “Are you enjoying being a useless Captain?” you cross your arms and quiz, having enough of his prideful attempts for rejection.

“Tch, you know full well I’m not,” he answers and averts his glance, looking outside the window and the dimming skies.

“Then eat your food and stop complaining,” you lastly command, real bossy and assertive that he’s on the brink of cocking a brow in question.

He falls silent. You were right, he won’t get any better if he continues to mistreat himself. Besides, it’s already you who went out of your way to prepare him food, he shouldn’t just let that go to waste. Finally giving in, Levi first grabs the teacup by its mouth and takes a sip, nose immediately scrunching in repulsion upon tasting the beverage. You might be trying to poison him, after all.

“This tea is shit.”

“I said stop complaining.”

—

A whole different wave of hurdles and complications just got overcome after the wall breach alarm got deemed false, and three new intelligent titans were revealed. Seeming as though those weren’t even enough, humanity’s key weapon got kidnapped as well. Naturally, a rescue operation was deployed to action, losing a ton more soldiers in the process.

Everything is starting to become overwhelming, you’re both physically and mentally exhausted, and emotionally. Everything is beginning to feel like a pain in the neck, as if the Scout Regiment didn’t have that way from the start.

It’s actually just as you guessed. When you went outside without a full functioning team and a Captain to follow orders from, you felt lost and misplaced. The novel experience was depressing, to say the least, moving forward without the ones you’ve fought side by side with through the years.

You can’t help but find yourself looking for a familiarity, a middle ground of the sort. Feeling like a storm is building up inside you for trying to suppress your problems all by yourself.

On the low spirited trip back, you eventually realize you needed someone. And who else is there aside from him?

You ride your horse back to the walls, aching for his presence. Anything that has to do with him, you want to see and feel.

It’s almost like vexing decades have passed when you arrive and return to the headquarters. You hop off your horse, movements slow and back hunched, aura visibly despondent.

Your half lidded eyes desperately scan the fields to search for that one person, comforting satisfaction taking over your entire body as you find him standing a few meters away from your form.

Funnily enough, he was waiting for you just the same.

Levi couldn’t decipher what shitty smile you tried to give him, it was only plain pitiful in his eyes that his guts are telling him to walk over to you and give you a welcome. He didn’t have to do it, though.

Because maybe you did the first step. Maybe you took big strides or maybe you eagerly ran to his figure to feel his warmth against your body. But nothing else matters when you reach out both your trembling arms to him, now wrapped around his sturdy body, locking him in an embrace you never thought you’d feel your whole life.

You slowly descend to a sobbing mess, completely abandoning the idea of you looking like a mere crybaby in his eyes. He’ll surely bring this up some other time, but damn that. All you know is that you needed this, badly.

It’s shameful, being fully aware that you’re slowly eating your words. Whenever you think of how you put the tiny distance between you and him, you just want to slap your palm across your face. In reality, he isn’t so bad.

You want to thank him for letting you free yourself and let it all out, but your awfully shaky sobs are hindering you from doing so.

Levi senses your exhaustion, and a whole other variety of intense emotions. You’ve been keeping some burden to yourself, too. It’s amusing to him in a way that you’re both similar in a lot of things. Especially in the bad habit of bottling oneself up, assuming it’d do any better.

Deep down, he’s glad you let loose and opened your walls to him. He cares for you, after all.

As you weep against his chest, lungs stuttering and eyes turning bloodshot, Levi allows his hand to pat your back, lightly stroking it to make you calm down.

It is, indeed, wordlessly reassuring, telling you that he was there. You never imagined that of all people, he had the ability to offer the exact solace you’re looking for, just with the simple gesture.

For once, he lets it slide that you’re all bloody, sweaty, dirty, filthy—name it—when making contact with him. He just doesn’t know that needed this as well. In fact, the entire time you were away, his foot mindlessly tapped in full expectancy of your arrival, waiting with bated breath. Not like he’ll admit that.

“Don’t you dare speak,” you threaten amidst your shaky hiccups, and he almost finds it amusing how you can still manage to act so tough in front of him when you’re already breaking down against him.

He secretly heaves out a sigh, the expression of relief escaping your ears, “Brat.”

Both of you stand there underneath the twilight to dusk horizon, ignoring how some of your subordinates watch you in shock, or how you’re not halfway the trouble yet, still utterly clueless of what lies ahead. Because right now, you were still together. You had each other, someone to lean on in this wretched mess.

Without the two of you knowing precisely why, both your hearts feel a tad bit alive.

[imaginejamesandsirius]

hello! can you write prongsfoot one where James is injured. Maybe after one of Snape's special hexes. Or maybe a potion which has bad influence on James and it takes a while to recognize it. He frays out day by day (hope i used the right word lol) and finally Sirius is the one who recognizes it more than anyone. so thanks in advance

If you don't that's cool too. and i hope you have a good day

"Are you okay?" Sirius asked, looking concerned. He didn't do that very often. He worried about James pretty damn often-- James knew that for a fact-- but he usually didn't show it. He nudged and teased, and he stared quite a bit, but that could be because they were dating, and not because he was worried. It was pretty even odds, he thought. Right now, Sirius looked out and out concerned for him, and that wasn't normal. It wasn't how they operated.

Even though James felt fine, Sirius looking at him like that made him feel as if there was something wrong with him. "I'm fine," he said, because he was.

"Are you sure?"

"Do I have a reason not to be?"

"You've seemed really tired, lately."

"Everyone's tired; it's last minute studying for NEWT's."

Sirius hesitated. Another uncharacteristic thing.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm worried about you," he said. Just like that, he said it. He didn't hide it behind false confidence or pretend that he was thinking about something else. "You've been off lately, and it's like you don't even know that something's going on with you."

"If you already think that something's wrong with me, then why'd you bother asking?"

"I was hoping you'd talk to me, but now I'm not convinced you noticed. I mean, really, studying? We're barely studying, and you're more exhausted than Moony the day after a full moon."

"That's not true," he replied, frowning. "We spend all our time outside of class getting ready."

"No, we spend all of our time thinking that we should be studying, but we end up fooling around and only working for like an hour."

James's frown deepened. What Sirius said was true, so why was he so tired? He knew that everyone was worried about exams, so he'd assumed that that's why he felt this way. But Sirius was right, and they weren't spending near as much time on that as everyone else was. "I dunno. Maybe I'm feeling stressed about it anyways. You know, Wormtail was talking about people can be effected by stress without realising it? That's gotta be what this is."

"Since when do you feel stressed?"

"It happens," James said defensively.

"When?"

"Sixth year comes to mind, a month before winter hols."

Sirius didn't flinch because he didn't do obvious tells like that, but he withdrew.

James chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling guilty. It was a low blow to bring that up, and he knew it. Unfortunately, it was the only example he could think of for a time when he was stressed, because Sirius was right: he didn't get stressed. That time had been unique, a single spike in an otherwise straight line.

"Nothing like that has happened recently. But fine, you want to wear yourself out because you don't trust me, then that's your business," he said, turning his attention back to his textbook.

"Sirius," James said, pleading.

Sirius didn't so much as twitch an eyelid. He was a lot better at this ignoring thing than James had ever been.

"You know I trust you, but I don't think there's anything wrong. There's nothing for me to be stressing over, so maybe I'm just tired. Nothing else going on."

"People don't get tired for no reason," Sirius said in his usual bored tone. His usual for other people, not James.

But James deserved it, so he wasn't going to get mad about it. Also because it took a hell of a lot to get him mad at Sirius. This didn't even come close to doing it, a fact Sirius was well aware of. "You got tired last year."

"Yeah, and that wasn't for no reason."

"You told me it was for no reason."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did. I'd remember if you told me that something was wrong."

"It was implied."

"You can't imply things to me. We've been over this. You have to say it flat out to my face, in as many words, or I'm not going to get it."

"At the time, I didn't want you to get it. Don't worry, I moved past it by the time we started snogging."

"Dating," James corrected.

"Whatever," he said flippantly, but it was the sort of flippant he usually was, so James figured that they were fine.

*

He'd thought that would be the end of it. After all, Sirius hadn't said anything more about it that day. Evidently, Sirius was biding his time, because two days later, he brought it up again.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a bit peaky."

"Wow thanks," James said flatly, but the truth was that he wasn't feeling great. Until Sirius had mentioned it initially, he hadn't noticed that anything was wrong. He'd felt tired, yes, but he hadn't noticed that it was every single day until it was brought to his attention. Once that happened though, he felt like he was getting worse. At first, he'd thought it was just a cold, but a cold had never hit him this hard.

Not to mention the nightmares. He hadn't connected them to his exhaustion before. It might seem obvious, but he didn't wake up in the middle of the night from them. Besides, they were less nightmares and more... odd dreams. They weren't frightening. They left him feeling uncomfortable, not necessarily scared. He didn't even remember them when he woke up. Honestly, if Sirius hadn't said that he noticed something was wrong, James wasn't sure he ever would have been aware of them. All the same, he didn't think they were related.

"I dunno. I think it's getting worse."

"What's getting worse?"

"Whatever's making me this tired. I barely got out of bed this morning."

"I noticed." Sirius looked at him, worry clear on his face. Evidently, he thought that if James was admitting something was wrong, it was horrible. Which was a little unfair, in his opinion. "I'll walk you to the Hospital Wing."

"I'm capable of walking there by myself."

"Please?" Sirius said, blinking over at him innocently.

He played so sodding dirty. He knew that James couldn't resist it when he did that.

"Fine, but you don't get to whinge if Madame Pomfrey tells you to leave without me."

"Request denied," he said, grabbing James's hand as they started to walk down the corridor. "I will most certainly whinge about it, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, maybe she'll just give you a Pepper-Up and then we can be on our way. Go for a quick fly about the pitch before we go to the library, yeah?"

"You're encouraging us going to the library?"

"Maybe I want to snog you in a dark corner," Sirius admitted with a grin.

"We could just snog in our room."

Sirius waved him off. "We always do that. We're graduating soon. Do you really want to look back on this time and realise that we didn't fool around in every possible place in this castle?"

"I don't think it would bother me as much as it bothers you," James teased.

Things continued in that vein as they walked. Teasing and shoving, then talking about what they'd do when they graduated. Most of the walk was spent arguing over what kind of couch they wanted in their flat. Sirius said they should have a yellow couch, James thought it should be red. They hadn't come to an agreement by the time they reached the Hospital Wing.

James explained his persistent exhaustion, and Madame Pomfrey said that it was probably nothing to worry about and blamed the same thing that he had: exams. All the same, she cast a diagnostic spell, "Just to be sure, dear."

Then she frowned.

And that was when James got worried. "What?"

"What is it? What's wrong?" Sirius asked. Since Madame Pomfrey thought it hadn't been anything, she'd let Sirius stay.

"It appears to be a curse, but it's not one that I've ever seen."

James's first thought was to blame Snape. Then he thought that might be unfair. After all, the two of them hadn't crossed wands in over a month; they both had better things to do with their time. Then he remembered that this had been going on for a while, long enough that Snape very well might be the cause.

"How long has this been effecting you?"

"I dunno," James said.

"Six weeks," Sirius answered.

James looked over at him, but he was still looking at Madame Pomfrey.

"You really should've come to me sooner," she said, bustling away to her potions cabinet.

"I was just a bit tired; I didn't think it meant anything," James protested. It's not like he was hopeless. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. If this had been a bigger problem, he would've noticed. It's not like he was bleeding from his eyes or summat; it was just a little sleep.

"Much longer of this, and you would've never woken up!"

He blinked at her, hand clenching around Sirius's reflexively.

"My word, you students throwing curses at each other without caring about the consequences! I swear," she said.

James thought it was probably for the best that he not correct her and say that they were thinking about the consequences, but they wouldn't be consequences she approved of them wanting. He kept it to himself, but he knew that Sirius was thinking along the same lines.

"Fortunately," Madame Pomfrey continued, "it seems fixable. Drink this." She pressed a white bottle into his hands. He'd never seen a potion in a white bottle, and he was suspicious to say the least. "Drink," she insisted.

James shot Sirius a look. "If this kills me, say something pleasant at my funeral, yeah?"

"Don't be so bloody dramatic," he said, which was rich, coming from him. "You'll be fine."

"Easy to say when you're not the one drinking a potion of questionable origin." Then, because he didn't want for Madame Pomfrey to glare at him or send Sirius out of the room, he drank it. It tasted like goat's milk. He hated it. "Am I fixed?" he asked her.

"I wouldn't count on it," she said. "That was to prevent it from getting worse. Come back and see me tomorrow after breakfast but before classes start. Curses aren't broken so easily by potions, a fact you should both be well aware of."

They were, but he'd been hopeful. Merlin, it's like she wanted to berate him for getting himself cursed. And, he wanted to add, this time hadn't even been his fault. He'd (mostly) behaved himself all this term, doing nothing to deserve this. Arguably, he deserved it as some sort of back payment for what he'd done over the years, but he'd rather thought that Snape was as tired of it as he was.

James promised to be back in the morning, and they left.

"I can't believe that tosser cursed you. Just wait until I get my hands on him. I'll-"

"You'll do absolutely nothing," James interrupted. "We're only in classes for two more weeks."

"It could've killed you!"

"Didn't, and then we'll never have to see him again. It's a pretty big country."

"Big country, small Wizarding World," Sirius argued. He was getting more upset the more time past, so James did what he usually did when he didn't know how to make him feel better: kissed him.

"I don't want revenge. Let's keep working on our final prank, our NEWT's, and enjoying the rest of our time at Hogwarts. That's all I want." He kissed him again for good measure.

"And getting into my pants doesn't factor into this at all?" Sirius asked, his mood already turning from bad to good.

"Hm? Me?" James said, feigning innocence. "I would never."

"Liar."

"Just be glad that I'm getting back to normal," James said with a grin. Already, he wasn't feeling as tired. He hadn't realised how much it was draining him until it started to alleviate.

"Yeah, you were so hard to deal with. Always lying around, not doing anything exccept looking at me adoringly. However did I survive?"

"It's a miracle, Padfoot, it really is."

[cherrybracelets]

We Fell In Love in October

dad!spencer x reader

a continuation of these blurbs. you do not need to read them to read this fic, but they all take place in the same universe

word count: 2.7k | warnings: pregnancy, hospitals, other than that all fluff

We fell in love in October, That’s why I love fall, Looking at the stars, Admiring from a far

There was nothing that broke your heart more than the fact that you were missing your daughters first time trick or treating. But, as Spencer reminded you every day, you were way too pregnant to be out walking around all night while she got candy. You were devastated, but you knew he was right. You were nearing your due date and felt like you were carrying a whale around at all times. There was absolutely no way you’d last longer than 20 minutes without whining about how your feet hurt.

So you and Spencer decided you’d stay home and hand out candy while he took Imogen to the fanciest neighborhood in your suburb so she could get the best candy. You remember trick or treating in the same neighborhood as a kid, and the houses always had full size candy bars and toys. There was one house that made a mini haunted house in their front yard every year, and it was your favorite thing as a kid. You felt sick thinking that Immy was going to experience it for the first time without you. 

“You promise me you will take a ton of pictures and videos? If there’s not at least 500, we are literally getting a divorce,” you pouted, helping Spencer get his costume on. 

“Babe, I promise you won’t miss a second of it. I know it sucks you can’t go, but you have to keep my little baby safe,” he smiled, kissing your swollen belly and then bringing his lips to yours, giving you a small peck. 

“I’m gonna go check on her, make sure she’s got her costume all set. Why don’t you go downstairs and relax, you seem a little high strung today,” he teased, walking out of your bedroom together and into your daughters room. 

“Of course I’m high strung, Spence. I’m a thousand months pregnant and you’re taking my daughter away from me to walk around alone in the dark.” You felt yourself tearing up, one again out of control of your emotions. Being pregnant fucking sucked. 

“Do you not trust me to keep Immy safe? Do you know what I do for a living?” Spencer laughed, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance as you walked down the stairs to go flop on your couch. 

You felt the baby kick, and you placed a hand on your belly. You both decided not to find out the gender, the same thing you did with your last pregnancy. Spencer loved not knowing, claiming you got ‘more gifts’ if you didn’t know. But it drove you crazy. Even though you didn't know for sure, Spencer was convinced it was a boy. He wanted a son so bad, so you played along with his fantasy, but you were pretty certain it was a girl. You felt the same as you did when you were pregnant with Imogen, even craving the same foods as before. You had a mother's instinct- you knew who she was. 

You leaned your head back on the couch, closing your eyes to rest for a moment. You seemed to be constantly exhausted, despite spending most of the day sleeping. You slowly rubbed your belly, always afraid that if you went too long without touching her she would forget you. 

“You ready, Mommy?” You heard Spencer’s voice say, from the top of the stairs. You smiled happily, keeping your eyes closed as the two of them came down to the living room in their costumes. 

“Let me see my loves!” You responded, giggling in anticipation as you awaited your daughters first Halloween costume. 

“Look at me, Mommy! I’m so pretty!” Imogen said, Spencer holding the girl in his arms. You opened your eyes to see her dressed as a fairy- exactly what she wanted. You felt yourself tearing up, which were a mix of happy and sad tears. 

“You both look so amazing!” You stuttered, trying to get your words out through muffled cries. 

“Don’t cry, Mommy!” Immy pouted, wriggling out of Spencer’s arms and onto the couch to give you a hug. 

“Oh, I’m not sad, Im. You’re just so pretty!” You kissed her on the top of the head, trying not to mess up her costume. 

“We should probably get going soon. I don’t want to be out too late,” Spencer frowned, checking his watch and looking outside to see if it was getting dark yet. 

“Right, of course. Please keep me updated, okay?” 

“Of course, my love.” 

“Have fun, you guys. Be safe!” 

Spencer and Imogen waved goodbye to you, blowing you a kiss as they walked out the door. You tried your best not to cry as they drove away, trying to focus on getting ready to hand candy out to other kids. You knew it was probably just your anxiety, and the fact that you and Spence had been watching scary movies every night for the past month- but you had a bad feeling about tonight. And it was only a short time later when you realized your feeling was right. 

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Spencer was one of the smartest men alive- that was indisputable. But where he excelled in book smarts, sometimes his common sense was lacking. Like how he was consistently forgetting to charge his phone. So when it died after only an hour of trick or treating- probably because he hadn’t stopped taking pictures since they left- he felt like a huge idiot. Especially considering how much you reminded him to plug it in every night before bed. 

But he tried not to panic, convincing himself he had recorded enough of the night to satisfy you. Plus, now he could really be in the moment with his daughter, which was what it was all about, right? 

“C'mon Daddy,” Imogen groaned, pulling Spencer by the arm up to another house. And as Spencer followed his daughter, he realized where they were. This was the house. The ‘haunted house’ house that you talked about every Halloween, that the both of you were so excited for Immy to experience herself. And Spencer had promised you a thousand times over that he would record the entire experience. 

‘Fuck,’ he thought to himself, shaking his head in disappointment, preparing for the inevitable fight when he had to tell you he didn’t record it. Unless, they just don’t go? That could work, right? He would just tell you that they didn’t do it this year, and next Halloween they could all go together. The plan was perfect. Except for one thing. 

“Please, Daddy. I really wanna go to this house,” his daughter frowned, crossing her arms in frustration. 

“Immy, please just listen to Dad, okay. Not this house.” His daughter was persistent and adorable, which made this incredibly difficult. 

“No. I want to go to this one.” 

“Imogen Josephine, when your Dad tells you no, you have to listen.” 

“No! I want to go!” She turned around quickly, running up the driveway to the house. Spencer rolled his eyes in annoyance, chasing after her. She was running quickly, not paying attention to her surroundings. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and Spencer knew it. But he couldn’t catch up to her before disaster struck. She tripped over one of the decorations, falling on the pavement and falling on her arm. 

“Ow!” She yelled, her eyes filling with tears as she sat on the ground. Spencer caught up with her, immediately getting on the ground and checking on her. 

“Imogen! This is why you listen to me when I tell you no!” He yelled in frustration, trying to see just how bad her scrapes and cuts were. 

“Don’t yell at me!” She responded, now fully crying and screaming. 

“I’m sorry, peanut. I didn’t mean to get mad,” Spencer responded, wiping the tears from her cheeks and picking her up. 

“My arm really hurts,” she wept, holding her now swollen wrist away from them. 

“Okay, peanut, I think we need to go to the hospital and get that checked out,” Spencer instructed, carrying his daughter down the street and back towards their car. He knew you were going to kill him when he got a call from the hospital. He felt sick to his stomach as he got Immy in the car and started driving. What an absolute nightmare. Maybe he couldn’t do it without you. Maybe his skills as a parent were only valid if you were around to watch him. 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

Seeing all of the cute kids in their costumes was definitely making you feel better. You knew you had to trust Spencer. He was an amazing Dad and husband, and he would always take care of your girl. You knew he would. 

But, everything seemed to fall apart in about five minutes. It all started when you went to check Spencer’s location, a bad habit that you knew wouldn’t solve anything. When it popped up that he couldn’t be located, you felt your stomach flip and your heart skip a beat. 

“Damnit Spence. Charge your fucking phone…” you whispered, shaking your head and digging your nails into your palms. It was okay, though. He was fine, they were fine. Right? 

And then the worst possible thing could’ve happened. You felt a weird pain in your abdomen, one that caused you to nearly double over and fall on the floor. Only a few seconds later, it made sense. Your water broke. 

You weren’t due for another two weeks. This could not be happening. There’s no way. But another contraction a few minutes later made it clear- you were having your baby, and Spencer had no phone. Holy shit. 

You reached for your phone and instinctively called JJ, telling yourself it was because she lived the closest but also knowing she was the only person who could handle being in the delivery room with you if you couldn’t find your husband. 

“I’m going to kill him,” you screamed into the phone, not even bothering to greet your friend or explain the situation. 

“Woah, okay kiddo. What’s going on?” 

“His phone is dead, and I am having this damn baby. I am going to kill him.” 

“Oh, Jesus (Y/N). Okay… um… we can figure this out. Do you know what neighborhood they're in?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay, I’ll send Will to go drive around and look for them. In the meantime, I am coming to pick you up and take you to the hospital. Just relax, take a few deep breaths. Everything will be fine.” 

You hung up the call and grabbed your hospital bag, patiently waiting by the door. JJ was only about ten minutes away, but it felt like you were waiting for hours. You tried calling Spencer’s phone a few times, but it went right to voicemail. This could not be happening. Holy shit, this could not be happening. 

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Spencer pulled into the emergency room parking lot, whipping his car through the lines as his daughter cried in the backseat. He finally found a spot, parking terribly and quickly grabbing Imogen. 

“We’re here now, peanut, everything’s gonna be okay,” he reassured her, not truly believing the words himself. His heart was racing, his breath shaky and his mind going a million miles a minute. He needed to talk to you as soon as possible- he needed you to tell him, and your daughter, everything would be okay. 

“Hi, um, my daughter fell and hurt her arm. I just need to get her checked in,” he spoke, his voice quick and panicky as he stood at the desk. 

“Of course. What’s her name and date of birth?” The woman asked, smiling kindly at the two of them. 

“Imogen Josephine Reid. She was born April 8th, 2017.”

“Oh, wonderful, I’ve got her file right here. Let’s get her admitted.” 

Spencer stood impatiently, holding his daughters hand as she stood next to him, watching the secretary take her sweet time to admit Imogen. Spencer was tapping his foot in frustration, which Imogen quickly noticed, placing her free hand on his knee and telling him to stop. Spencer just laughed at his daughter, who was always so unapologetic, always just telling people whatever thoughts came to her head. 

“Oh no, this is not good,” a familiar voice behind him said. He turned around quickly and saw JJ, a nauseated look on her face. 

“What are you doing here…” Spencer asked, furrowing his brows in confusion. She appeared just fine, and she wasn’t with anyone else. 

“Spencer, don’t freak out, but-” 

“SPENCER REID!” You yelled, your face red and voice fuming. 

“Wait, what is going on?” Spencer looked at you, confused, as you were being wheeled into the emergency room by a nurse.  

“Why are you at the emergency room, Spencer? What happened to Imogen?” 

“Hi Mommy! I fell and hurt my arm!” Imogen responded, her face stained with tears and her costume ripped from the fall. 

“What?” You were seething, staring at Spencer with wide eyes. You were about to yell again, but your whole body seized and pain shot through your body. Another contraction. They were getting closer, and you knew it was only a matter of time before this baby came out. You whined loudly, gripping onto the arm of the chair and closing your eyes in pain. 

“We need to get you in a room now, Mrs. Reid,” the nurse instructed, looking at JJ and Spencer. 

“Wait… are you… are we having a baby?” Spencer’s eyes got wide, excitement filling his face as he realized what was going on. 

“Yes, Spencer. Maybe you could try to not let this one break their arm,” you yelled, immediately noticing Spencer’s shit in tone as you yelled at him. 

“Okay, okay, everyone. I’m sure what happened with Immy was an accident, right Spence?” 

“Yes, yes I promise. She was running and tripped…” 

“See, (Y/N)! Just an accident. So why don’t I take her to go see the Doctor and you guys can go… have your baby,” JJ smiled, doing her best to handle the situation. She was used to dealing with yours and Spencer's chaos. She was also Imogen’s godmother, and she did not take that role lightly. 

“Okay… okay… let’s go have our baby.” 

“Let’s go have our baby!” 

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥♥

On November 1st, 2020, at 1:17 AM, your second daughter was born. You weren’t shocked at all when the doctors told you it was a girl, but Spencer was at a loss for words. They wrapped your small newborn in a blanket and handed her back to you. You were even more in love with her than you thought possible, and so was your husband. 

JJ and Imogen were in the waiting room, along with Will and the rest of the team. Immy’s arm was fine- nothing more than a bad bruise. They had given her a halloween ice pack and a bag full of candy, to which JJ allowed her to have a little too much, and she crashed from the sugar rush pretty hard. She was passed out in Uncle Rossi’s arms, drooling chocolate all over his pajamas. 

“Guys… she’s here.” Spencer smiled, walking out of the delivery room to share the news with his family. 

“She? Another girl? I knew it. You owe me twenty bucks, Derek,” Garcia giggled, Derek rolling his eyes in response. 

“Can we meet her?” JJ asked, happy to have another little girl to spoil. 

“Of course. Come on!” 

Rossi woke Imogen up, who was thrilled to meet her baby sister. Everyone walked quietly into the room, where you were holding your sleeping daughter in your arms. You were overjoyed to see all of them, knowing they would always be your family, and the first to meet your baby, because they were her family, too. 

“Mommy!” Immy yelled, running towards you. 

“Shh, be quiet, peanut. She’s sleeping!” 

“Got it. Quiet.” Immy whispered, giggly as she looked down on her little sister. 

“She looks like you, Spence,” Emily laughed, lightly grabbing Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Do you remember how much Imogen looked like (Y/N) when she was born?” JJ asked, smiling down at the two girls. 

“We now have a clone of each of us. It’s only a matter of time before we take over the world,” Spencer laughed, his arm wrapped around you and the baby. 

“What’s her name?” Hotch asked.

“Lola. Lola Danielle Reid.” 

“Welcome to the BAU, Lola.” 

[tsarisfanfiction]

Extremely Exhausted prompt:

‘You were almost dead from pushing it too far!’

Military Bros please!

Last Straw

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Family Characters: Gordon, Scott

Ah, my favourite!  Military bros yes, I can certainly do something with them, and it’s going to be no surprise at all who pushed too hard because I’m predictable.  Beyond that, I have no idea where this is going to go, so... let’s see what happens, shall we?

Extremely Exhausted Starters

Frustration was not an unfamiliar emotion.  Gordon had been in more than enough situations where it was an applicable response, many of them including his own beloved yet idiotic brothers (although, if he was feeling fair, he’d acknowledge that they’d say the same about him, too).  This, however?

This took the cake.

Normally, if there was a brother unconscious, the correct response was a lot of fretting and worry.  Reassuring words, attempts at coaxing them back towards consciousness or even just telling them what they were missing out on.

People generally frowned upon the idea of glaring daggers at an unconscious brother - that normally came once they were coherent enough to acknowledge and appreciate it - but this time, all the panic, all the worry, all the fear had amalgamated into frustration and it was a glare bordering on anger he had levelled at his eldest brother.

It was the third day.  Three days since they’d returned from a rescue to find Scott crumpled on the floor of Thunderbird One’s hangar.  For the longest moment, they’d feared the worst, especially when it became apparent that he’d fallen from the loading gantry while leaving his Thunderbird.

How he hadn’t died, they still weren’t entirely sure.  Security footage scraped up by John showed Scott attempting to halt his fall with his grapple, but at some point the grapple had failed and he’d fallen regardless.

Brains and Virgil were working on installing the same handrails Scott had refused many times.  As far as they were concerned - all of them were concerned - Scott had lost the right to say no now.

Scott’s stubbornness about the handrail was not, however, the reason Gordon was glowering at his too-white, unconscious face.  No, that honour went to the reason Scott fell in the first place.

It wasn’t unusual for Scott to push himself past his limits.  Gordon knew for a fact that his eldest brother often considered sleep a luxury rather than a necessity, and that he drove himself into the ground more often than should be feasibly possible.

Normally, however, it came to a head in the safety of home, big brother passing out on a sofa or at the desk and being quietly and gently relocated into a bed, where he was forcibly detained until the rest of them - most notably Grandma and Virgil - decided he was fit to return to work.

Back to back callouts on multiple different rescues and not actually seeing Scott for the two days leading up the incident because their brief moments of respite had never intersected, however, and no-one had been there to tell him to stop.  No-one had been there to make him stop, and his body had finally had enough just as he stepped out of Thunderbird One for the latest time.

Something needed to be done.  Scott could have died.  By all the laws of physics, he should have died, and they ironically had his tenacity and ingrained instincts to thank for the fact that he hadn’t.

Enough was enough.  Gordon wasn’t going to take it any longer.  As soon as Scott woke-

“What’s wrong?”

He blinked, and blue eyes blinked back at him.

Gordon snarled and the startled flinch from a big brother who clearly hadn’t been expecting that was uncomfortably satisfying.

“You,” he ground out, vaguely aware that Scott had only just regained consciousness and would be somewhat disorientated and confused, not to mention unlikely to be fully coherent.  It didn’t matter.  In some ways, it made it easier.  “You, Scott.  You and your damned determination to kill yourself.”

“Gord-”

“No,” Gordon snapped at him.  “No, you do not get to talk.  You do not get to try and explain yourself.  You do not get to make excuses.  You do not get to do anything except never, ever, push yourself too far again.”

Blue eyes were still blinking slowly, brow starting to furrow as Scott regained enough cognitive ability to start trying to work out what was going on.  Gordon knew he should give him a chance; if Scott understood, then Scott might try and do something.  But Gordon didn’t expect him to understand, let alone try and hold himself back, and the emotions had been building for the past three days with nowhere to go.  Until now.

“You almost died,” he hissed.  “You were almost dead from pushing too far.  Are you really that determined to leave us and go running to Mom and Dad again?  Does your own life mean nothing to you?  Do we mean nothing to you?”  His chest heaved, and he could see Scott’s lips moving as he tried to summon words, but he carried on.  Nothing Scott was trying to say would be anything he wanted to hear.  “I thought you’d understand!  You don’t make a secret of how terrified you were when I crashed!  Whenever you think any of us are going to die!  So why are you different?  Why do you think we don’t feel the same goddamn fear?  Or do you think it doesn’t matter what we feel?  Are our feelings an inconvenience to you?  A joke?”

“I-”

He could feel tears building in his eyes, the tight and unmistakable pressure of liquid bubbling up ready to breach the dam.  Scott’s own eyes were wide as he tried to speak.

Gordon didn’t want to hear it.  Couldn’t hear it.  Couldn’t listen to empty words and platitudes that sounded pretty and reassuring but would twist into ugly lies the very next time Scott disregarded his own life.  And there would be a next time.

There was always a next time.

“No,” he said again, standing up.  He should be glad Scott was awake, should be fussing like any of them did whenever a brother finally rejoined them, and he was, but it was buried by the ugliness of the frustration, the betrayal, the knot of emotions resting heavily right over his sternum and making it hard to breathe.  “No, Scott.”

He couldn’t be there any more.  Scott was awake.  Someone else could handle him, smother-hen him like he did them until he was all better and they could have the conversation as a family.  Again.  Gordon’s emotions were too wild, too chaotic and hurt, to stay any longer.

He left.

“Gordon!”

Scott’s strangled call dragged him to a halt just outside the room and he balled his hands into a fist, teeth grinding against each other.

He knew what was coming.

Thud.

Gordon wanted to scream.  He wanted to walk away.  He wanted to leave his stupid, selfish, irresponsible brother.

He couldn’t.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he spat, slamming the door open and storming back inside.  Scott was on the floor, trembling limbs trying to push himself back up to his feet.

“Gordon,” his brother repeated as he stalked to his side.  Blue eyes were looking at him, and there was a little bit of confusion, a little bit of uncertainty, but the overwhelming emotion in there was worry.

Typical, stupid, Scott.  Too freshly woken to understand what was going on, but ever aware enough to understand he had a brother in distress.

A microscopic part of Gordon snarled that he could just stay down there, but no matter how furious he was, there were some things he just couldn’t do.  His feet connected with the floor with more force than necessary as he came to a stop towering above his brother.  Scott didn’t cease his attempts to drag himself upright until Gordon stooped down.

“This,” he hissed furiously, “is exactly what I was talking about.”  Mindful of Scott’s weakened state - mostly exhaustion, but while the grapple had saved him from being smashed to pieces, it hadn’t stopped some nasty bruises and a couple of cracked bones - he grabbed hold of him and hauled him up.

Scott didn’t fight him as he was deposited back to sit on the bed, although Gordon was well aware that had nothing to do with his words and everything to do with the fact that he was right next to him.  Scott didn’t need to chase after him if he was right there.

“You are going to stay in that bed until we say otherwise,” he growled.  Scott did resist as he forced him to lay back down, but Gordon had frustration and anger fuelling him, and Scott was nowhere near full strength.

He didn’t let go of his shoulders even once he had him laid on the bed again, keeping him pinned in place with his body weight as he loomed over him.

“What-”

Gordon still didn’t want to hear a word from his brother.

“Stay.  In.  That.  Bed.”  His hands were trembling, too much emotion to be contained.  His voice wasn’t steady, either.  “You want to know why I’m upset?  You want to know why?”  He glared straight into blue eyes.  “You.  You are why.  You and your stupid need to work yourself straight into a grave.  So what you can do about it is stay in that bed.  No escape attempts.  No moving unless we say you can.  Do you understand, Scott?”

“I-”

“Do.  You.  Understand?”

Scott’s eyes were a little clearer now.  A little more awake, a little more comprehending.

Gordon hadn’t planned to stay in the room long enough for him to reach that stage, but of course Scott hadn’t left him with a choice.

His brother softened.  He felt him relax under his hands, just a fraction, and there was something gentler in his eyes.  A level of understanding.  Far from perfect, but a start.

“Yes.”

Gordon relaxed minutely himself.  He knew it wouldn’t last long.  It never did.  Scott just couldn’t help himself.  But for the moment, it was enough.

“I’m getting the others,” he said, stepping back and releasing his hold on his brother.  “If you even think about moving while I’m gone, I am going to find every single strap, rope and cord on the island and tie you down so firmly you won’t be able to even twitch.”

It was a promise as much as a threat.  He turned to leave.

“Gordon.”

Once again his brother’s voice stopped him, although he didn’t turn back around again.

“I’m sorry.”

He sighed.  “Words aren’t good enough anymore, Scott.  Prove it with your actions.”

If Scott had a reply, he didn’t wait to hear it.

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Royal AU. Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince!Louis x Canine!Dog!Reader

AN: I’ve been writing this for like ever and I finally started on chapter 2 so I feel it’s time to go ahead and post this. This will be a multichapter series 💕

///////////

You were fired. You were so fired.

You knew damn well you weren’t allowed in the kitchen at this time. Your kind wasn’t allowed to use the kitchen until nightfall. It was the agreement the Royal court made over half a century ago when they first began to let Carnivores staff stay within palace grounds. They were allowed free range of the kitchen before sunrise and after nightfall but never in between. During the day, the kitchen was nearly entirely ran by a staff of Gazelles. They cooked and served the royal family exclusively as it had been for years and they had quite the aversion to all Carnivores. Canines especially.

You knew you were risking one of the best gigs you’d ever happened across going into the kitchen during the day but you were sure the Gazelles were on break and assumed it was a calculated risk. Boy were you bad at math.

You had snuck into the kitchen countless times when the Gazelles took their routine hour break right after serving the royal court lunch. There was a group of younger carnivores (badgers who tended the gardens) who came to you with gripes of hunger, knowing you were easily the best cook amongst the Carnivore staff. You agreed as always and set off to the kitchen to make a quick stew that would hold them over until nightfall as well be simple enough to prepare and clean up before the Gazelles returned from their break.

You had finished the stew and prepared to package it up to sneak out when two Gazelles returned to the kitchen unexpectedly. It hadn’t been the first time someone had come back early but you usually used your keen hearing to get out of dodge before hand. This time you weren’t so lucky.

You hightailed it out of there but not before they saw your face. It was over for you.

As expected you were called into the head of the kitchen’s office. An older, especially rigid Gazelle named Mrs. Stallworth. She was as mean and particular as they come, her disgust towards Carnivores not concealed in the slightest. In her office she was accompanied by an even older alpaca, Madam Peak, the head mistress of all royal staff regardless of division.

“Come in girl and stop loitering by the door!” Mrs. Stallworth snapped. You immediately approached her desk, sitting once she motioned to the chair in front of her.

“Look, I am going to ask you this one time and one time only, Dog, and if you lie to me, you won’t live to tell another,” the Gazelle sneered and you felt your heart drop.

“Were you in the kitchens today while the staff grazed?”

“Y-Yes ma’am,”

“Were you cooking using unauthorized food items not rationed for Carnivores’ consumption?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“Are you aware this is a volatile offense punishable by execution?”

“I- um, execution?”

“Enough of the dramatics, Marta,” The alpaca said gently, placing a hand on Mrs. Stallworth’s shoulder.

“Fine. Did you or did you not make this?” Stallworth produced a jar from behind her desk containing your stew. You nodded hesitantly.

“Thought so. What the hell did you put in this? Be specific,” You listed off the ingredients automatically, the recipe ingrained in your memory.

Once you were finished, Stallworth looked to her left, coming to a silent agreement with Madam Peak.

“You scrub the cobblestones with the rest of the domestic canine, right?” You nodded hastily.

“That’s grueling work, hard on the back and worse on the joints. Murder on the hands and knees as well, yeah?” She didn’t wait for an response.

“Look, you’re lucky you’re a small dog. Domesticated too. Anyone else would have been on the streets by now but I don’t believe in wasting talent when there’s far too little to be found in this world.” Stallworth said, her eyes boring into yours. You began to squirm in your seat under her gaze.

“There’s a position for you in the kitchen, if you want it. It won’t be an easy job, you’ll do all of the grunt work and you will not be treated as an equal. But you will be the first Carnivore to ever hold such a position. What do you say?” She looked at you expectedly and you realized she actually wanted you to speak this time.

“D-do I have a choice?”

“No, your only other option is termination and banishment from the palace. Report to the kitchens in the morning 20 minutes before dawn. You start tomorrow.” Stallworth sneered.

“T-thank-”

“You’re dismissed.”

////////

“Another day in paradise, huh Y/N?” Two Gazelles giggled as you reentered th kitchen in utter exhaustion. You had just been tasked with moving bag after bag of heavy flour from the stock room to the kitchen and you could feel every muscle throb in protest.

It’s effectively been about 2 months since you began your position in the kitchen and it was everything Mrs. Stallworth had warned and more. The work was seemingly never ending and you almost always got stuck transporting ingredients from the storage pantry to the kitchen. When you weren’t doing that, you were doing prep work or being used as a taste tester.

“You canines are pure muscle, it’ll go straight through you. Us Gazelles have to watch our figures or we’ll blow right up,” they’d whine before stuffing whatever dish they were making down your throat.

The job wouldn’t be so exhausting if it weren’t for the fact that after slaving endlessly for the Gazelles all day, you had to turn around and cook for the Carnivores as well. Though you hate to admit it, you had gained quite a bit of knowledge about nutrition during your time in the kitchen and tried to pass it on to your Carnivore brethren. They were less concerned about the actual nutritional aspect and were content with that fact that your food taste good.

“I’m not taking that to him! Find someone else!” One of the Gazelles screeched, pushing a tray of food away from her.

“Well I’m surely not taking it to him! Besides, it’s your own fault for sleeping with him!” Her friend retorted pushing the tray near her and walking off. This kitchen was never short of drama, that was for sure.

“Dog!” The Gazelle turned around to face you.

“My name’s not Dog,”

“Do you know my name?” She prompted. Shit, she had you there.

“Thought so. Now I need you to take the Prince his dinner. He’s under the weather and the food contains his medicine so he’ll probably refuse it. If that happens just show your fangs and threaten to eat him,” she said shoving the tray into your arms.

“I don’t have fan-”

“Better be off before the food gets cold,” She chirped, rushing off. You sighed and began your hike up to the royal chambers.

It took what seemed like an eternity to climb the countless flights of stairs until you reached the Prince’s bedroom, the royal chambers located impossibly far from the Kitchen headquarters. You began to knock on the door when you realized you had never interacted with a royal before. Had never really seen one in person. The Canines were given strict orders to stay out the way of anyone important and the Royals definitely could be considered important.

“Come in,” a raspy voice called. You proceeded to enter what was nothing less than the most extravagant room you’d ever seen in your life. In the middle of an enormous canopy bed was a stag. He looked increadibly small surround by the lush bedding.

“A Carnivore? And to what do I owe this visit? Heard the crowned Prince had fallen ill so they sent you to finish me off? They could have at least sent one of a formidable size, this is just insulting,” he sneered, his voice nasally with congestion.

“I-I’m from the kitchens, here to give you your lunch, my- um- liege?” You didn’t really know how to address a royal since no one ever thought it’d be worth the proper training for Carnivores.

“Dogs don’t work in the kitchen,”

“This one does. I’m.... new,” you said stepping forward.

“Clearly. Leave the tray by the door.” He snarled, turning on his side. You assumed you were supposed to take that as a sign of dismissal.

“I have to make sure that you eat, sire,” you began to walk towards his bed slowly as to not frighten him.

“Can’t you even follow simple instructions?” He glared at you. You remained silent, still holding the tray. Seeing you weren’t going away that easily, the Prince began to examine you.

“Judging by the way you look like death warmed over, I’m assuming they work you to the bone in the kitchens,” he sneered through his congestion. Again, you remained silent.

“Well however bad you think it is now, I guarantee I can make it a million times worse for you. Now get out of my sight,” after his little rant he expected you to flee, which made it that much more awkward when you simply stared back at him completely aloof.

“So be it then,” he huffed, snatching the tray from you.

///////////

You had expected the Prince’s threat to merely be the defiant ramblings of sick, unwilling patient and it seemed to be just that in the weeks that followed your quick interaction.

You avoided being forced to take him his lunch again and things continued as normal. You could even say that you were adjusting to life in the kitchens and the strain it put on you felt as if it began to lessen. Then it all came to a screeching halt one morning.

“Y/N! Stallworth wants ya” One of the Gazelle’s yelled entering the room. You put down the knife you were using to cut vegetables and wiped your hands on your apron as you trudged to her office. A feeling of dread began to creep into you as you felt trouble loom. If Stallworth ignored you that meant that you were doing everything right, so this had to mean something was wrong.

“Yes ma’am,” you said entering the already open door.

“The prince requested you. Said he wanted you to take his meal orders from now on and to bring them to him. I see no reason not to comply,” Stallworth said sharply. You didn’t know if she expected you to speak or not so you remained silent.

“Well what are you waiting for?! Go tend to the Prince,” she snapped and you were gone in a minute. You had no idea where the Prince was at this time so you decided the best place to find him would be where you last saw him, his bed chambers.

Just as you arrived, the Prince was exiting his room looking healthier than ever.

“My liege, the kitchen staff informed me that I was to bring you your meals from now on,” you panted from the sprint to his room.

“Indeed,” Prince Louis confirmed which led to a prominent silence.

“So where is it?” He snapped suddenly causing your ears to shoot up in shock.

“I have to know what you want first, you have to put in the request to the kitchen staff,” you said cautiously. It seemed the Prince was even more volatile in his robust state.

“My dietary schedule has not changed in years. Stop wasting my time and go fetch it, Dog.” He said as if your species was something filthy and detestable.

“My name’s not Dog,” you said in a quiet voice as you turned to leave.

“I’ll call you whatever I like, you pathetic excuse for a maid. It will do you well to learn your place.” Louis snarled. You bowed awkwardly and left to fetch his lunch.

You felt small, oh so small. And worthless. You had never been one of those Carnivores to resent the royal family (or Herbivores in general) for placing Carnivores so lowly in society, but then again you had never came into contact with such an openly contemptuous Herbivore before. The Gazelles ostracized you for the most part and Stallworth was a real piece of work but they never left you feeling so... ashamed. Ashamed of yourself and ashamed of your species.

This was to be the future leader of the Kingdom? A Herbivore who hated Carnivores? The thought was overwhelmingly depressing. Carnivores were barely getting by in society as it was, who knew what things would be like for them once a petty, egotistical asshole like him were to take the throne.

////////

All those months ago when Prince Louis had threatened to make life as hard as possible for you, out of all things you would not have expected to underestimate about him, his dedication was definitely at the top of the list.

He was relentless day in and day out, running you ragged around the palace for obscenely trivial matters, while also putting the burden of his meals solely onto you. He forbade anyone else to touch even a single ingredient of his meals, making you the only one to prep the meals, cook the meals, deliver the meals, etc. even if the exact entree was being cooked in the kitchen already.

He also made sure someone (usually one of his guards) was watching you at all times in case you tried to tamper with his food. It was embarrassing and insulting to have a guard breathing down your shoulder at every possible moment and yet that was something you were simply forced to deal with.

On days he felt like you were a little to compliant and agreeable, he’d make you eat whatever was on his plate with him, even if it was against your own nutritional chart.

“I’m afraid I can’t, my liege. Canine such as myself aren’t supposed to eat [insert food],” you said bowing slightly.

“Will it kill you?” He asked bored as always.

“Well, um, no but we get incredibly sic-”

“Then stop your incessant whining and get over here, Dog! I don’t have all day and this food’s not going to poison check itself!”

Prince Louis was a vile man. You’d even say you hated him and you had never hated anyone before. Every minute you spent in his presence, you felt lower than dirt and he had to know that. Which was why he made sure you saw him more than anyone in the entire palace. He even made you stand by his side and watch him eat, even if some days you were near starving from not having enough time to feed yourself in a rush to tend to him. All this and you still had to do your regular kitchen duties to the best of your abilities and help cook for the Carnivores at night after the kitchens were cleared.

You were beginning to be run to the bone and it was taking a negative effect in your health. Your heart would pulsate at unhealthy, sporadic rates; you found it harder and harder to digest food even when you were hungry; and your eyelids and limbs constantly felt like cement. After months of running you into the ground, you began to see that realistically, as badly as you needed this job, you just couldn’t keep this up if it sent you to an early grave.

The final straw happened in the Prince’s Study. He was taking his lunch there as he usually did. You stood at his side (he would never allow you to sit down) as he languidly ate his soup. He’d sent you back twice now for corrections to the dish but after the last time taking you so long to return (as you had to force your body to take every step), he decided to just begrudgingly eat it as is.

You barely remember what happened. One moment you were willing yourself to keep standing and ward off exhaustion and the next you were on the ground, unable to move. You heard a slight shuffle and then everything went black. The last thing you remembered was trying to get your limbs to move but they refused.

When you began to regain consciousness, the events of falling slowly began to come back to you. It looked like this was the end of the line for you. If you couldn’t do your job properly, you were fired, it was as simple as that.

You sat up slowly, ready to face the music when you opened your eyes to an all too familiar setting. You were in the Prince’s chambers. Even worse, you were in the Prince’s bed. You looked around frantically and saw him sitting in a plush chair in the corner, a book in hand as he languidly turned the pages. Upon seeing your eyes staring at his, he closed the book but made no move to stand up.

“You’re awake I see. Feeling better?” The Prince asked as bored as ever. Somehow you got the feeling that this was somehow worse than being fired, much much worse.

“M-my liege, I-, what am I-, how?”

“You passed out in my study, I carried you to my chambers.” He said standing up. He moved towards you like a predator.

“You’re basically a walking corpse. I doubt you’re even registering what I’m saying right now,” He leaned over you and before you could stop him he tore your blouse open.

“Just as I suspected. Your fur quality’s deteriorating as well,” he shook his head in slight disgust. You scrambled out of the bed and tried to cover yourself with what was left from your ruined maid’s uniform.

“I’ve had quite enough of this your highness. I- I- I quit!” you said in a fit of rage which only managed to come off as quiet frustration due to your exhaustion.

Louis rounded the room and stalked towards you. He raised his arms and you thought he was going to strike you, however his hands dipped lower to your waist to throw you over his shoulder. He marched you back to his bed and gently set you down in the center.

“Request of resignation denied. Now go back to sleep, Y/N. You’re not thinking clearly.” He said while he performed a half-attempt at tucking you in. You tried to struggle against him but your flails were weak. He grabbed you by the shoulders and languidly pinned you down until you tired yourself out.

“Finished?” Louis asked. You nodded slowly and he released you.

“Good. Now get some rest, I won’t ask again,” Louis ordered and you felt your heavy lids close as you drifted back to unconsciousness.

////////////

Louis made sure you were actually sleep before grabbing the book he wasn’t actually reading and slinking back into his armchair across from his bed. Okay it wasn’t actually supposed to be in front of his bed, it was supposed to be in his study but he had dragged it in here so he could watch you.

He told himself it was only as a form of protection, that he needed to be alert in case you woke up as an angry Carnivore. In reality, he could easily overpower you in any instance and he had just been watching you for the past few hours for his own reasons. He couldn’t help it, seeing you like this was an enigma to him.

Every time you were in his presence, your guard was up. You were painfully ignorant to the proper ways to address Royals and you knew it, so you constantly held your tongue in fear of offending him and making your situation worse. That only ever served to anger him more, how careful you were around him as if saying the smallest incorrect thing to him would hurt his feelings.

Well, he could kind of see where you got that impression. He had launched a full on personal vendetta against you and you had only been doing your job.

Okay maybe that was what started this but it certainly wasn’t what kept him going for this long. He hated to admit it but he’d hadn’t stopped this little onslaught yet because he wasn’t ready to stop seeing you. He had grown accustomed to being around you constantly, day in and day out, even if you were there slightly against your will.

The fact he found you to be the single most gorgeous creature he’d ever had laid eyes on definitely wasn’t a factor here, or at least that’s the lie he told himself.

He knew he shouldn’t think such things, he was betrothed for goodness sake. But he still couldn’t leave you alone, couldn’t let you out of his grasp just yet. He knew nothing would come of it and he was fine with that, had accepted it even. You were a Carnivore, a commoner, and he was a Prince. He was just occupying his time, nothing more.

Louis, to his own shame, had slept with numerous maids prior, of all walks of life. He was never stupid enough to sleep with a Carnivore, of course, yet he’d never really had the desire to until he met you. With you everything was different. It wasn’t just the urge to get into your pants that drove him, it was actually quite the opposite. Just being in your presence was all he craved, the thought of defiling you not even a factor here.

Whatever incessant crush he harbored on you would simply have to wear itself out but not if he wore you out first. He knew his torment of you to disguise his own feelings was childish to say the least but none of that mattered if you quit. Not that he would actually allow you to quit in the first place.

No, Louis wasn’t ready to go back to being alone just yet. He had decades of loneliness that await him during his Kingship. He would take his fleeting moments of happiness now where he could, before his time ran out.

/////////////

[pixie-mage]

4,5, O (both + and -) and V -

From this NatM Writing Prompt: [ x ]

(Sorry it took so long, but I had a lot of fun writing this one! It gets a bit emotional in the middle, but I promise there's fluff there too!)

Characters: Jedediah x Octavius Adjectives: Overprotective, Overworked, Vulnerable

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Jedediah really should have noticed it sooner. They had returned from the Smithsonian and been on display for almost a month by now, and the new Night Program was in full swing...so perhaps there were more than a few reasons it had slipped under his radar. But still, he should have noticed it sooner.

It was approaching midnight now. There had been no guests in the museum for a few hours or so, just Larry and the exhibits, and most of them were taking the time off to enjoy the night like they normally did. Emphasis on ‘most’.

Jedediah leaned sideways against the wall of the Roman diorama, his arms folded across his chest and one boot tucked across the ankle of the other. He watched with a subtle frown as Octavius discussed something quietly with Marcus, his second in command, at the edge of the courtyard that marked the center of the display. Octavius’ brow was furrowed, his hands moving with his words, whatever he was saying clearly of some level of importance. Or at the very least, Octavius seemed to think so. But Jedediah could see the dark shadows under the general’s eyes, the tension in his armor-clad shoulders, the odd little eye movements that flickered off to the side at odd intervals...as if he felt like he was being watched, or was waiting for something to jump him.

Octavius looked stressed and worn out, and it was a wonder Jedediah hadn’t caught on sooner. Come to think of it, since they had returned from Washington DC, Jed couldn’t remember more than a few brief, fleeting moments that Octavius wasn’t hard at work doing...something. Anything. Running drills with the Roman army, rehearsing dialogue for the Night Program, discussing some kind of political or military issue with Marcus (or Cyrus...Jed shuddered; that slimy kiss-ass of a senator could take a damn hike in his opinion). And on the rare occasions that Octavius took time aside to spend with Jedediah for fun, he was constantly on edge. He consistently offered alternate choices for their museum adventures that (Jedediah now realized) were less ‘dangerous’ or ‘risky’. He casually (slyly) veered Jedediah away from ideas that involved something less-than-wise. He was being–

...well, protective, almost, Jedediah landed on. Or maybe paranoid.

All in all, it was obvious that something was up with the Roman general...and perhaps it was high time Jedediah did something about it.

Jed pushed away from the wall and moseyed over to the town square, tossing his arm around Octavius’ shoulders with a grin.

“Howdy Marcus!” he greeted the other soldier, who smiled politely at him. “I’m gonna steal Octavius from ya for a while. Hope ya don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Marcus inclined his head. Octavius let out a disgruntled noise of protest.

“Jedediah, please, I have to–”

“Nope,” Jed cut off his protests and steered him about, marching off towards the Roman border with Octavius held tight against his side. “No can do, amigo. We’re goin’ for a drive.”

“Jedediah–”

“Ockie, hush up. You look like you could use a break, so I’m makin’ sure you get one.”

“But Rome–”

“Can last one night without you there,” Jed said. “Your soldiers have been workin’ their tails off for more ‘n two weeks straight. Hell, Billy’s been all mopey over on our side of the wall because he ain’t seen his Roman friends in days. Let ‘em have a night off.”

As if to cement this fact, Octavius caught sight of a familiar pair of archers chattering excitedly near the diorama’s edge, clearly on their way out of the city - much like Jedediah and himself. Octavius sighed, finally giving in to Jedediah’s impulsive adventure.

“Very well,” he said. “I suppose you may have a point.”

“Dang right I do,” Jed grinned, shaking Octavius slightly with the arm still slung around the man’s shoulders. “Get yer Roman ass down that climbin’ rope and I’ll fetch the car.”

Jed left Octavius behind to grab up the rope hanging over the edge of Rome’s border, gripping it in both gloved hands and leaping out of the diorama with expert ease. He didn’t have to look behind him to know Octavius would be following after him.

~

Tonight’s drive was about the same as every other time in the past few weeks that they had taken the car out for a spin. Jedediah drove a little too fast and a little too recklessly, Octavius tried to enjoy himself while murmuring quiet cautions to be more careful, and once or twice Octavius gripped the door handle with such intensity at Jedediah’s more reckless turns that his knuckles were white from the strain.

It was almost the same as when they would drive around before the Smithsonian...but only almost.

Now that he was looking for it, Jedediah was kicking himself for not noticing the difference sooner. Before, Octavius was normally just about as invested in the thrill of their adventures as Jedediah...but much of his enthusiasm was missing right now. Without a second thought, Jed took a sharp right and headed for a familiar exhibit, ignoring the tense expression that flitted across Octavius’ face at his sudden change of direction. He steered the car swiftly into the dimly lit room and parked off to the side, and the moment the car came to a stop he kicked open the door and ducked out of the miniature vehicle.

The room was quiet and empty. Ahkmenrah was almost never in his own exhibit after hours, making this one of the only places in the museum that was relatively still at this time of night. Though Jedediah himself had never asked the pharaoh about it in person, he had a sneaking suspicion that the young ruler wasn’t too fond of his tomb and sarcophagus. Jed imagined being trapped in one place for decades could do that to a person.

The sound of the passenger door opening and closing came from behind him but Jedediah didn’t turn around. Instead, he took a few strides away from the car to lean against one of the massive stone pillars that decorated the exhibit, only turning to look at Octavius once he had his back pressed against the cool stone. He folded his arms over his chest and eyed the other miniature from beneath the brim of his hat.

“What’s goin’ on with you Octavius?”

Octavius, who had been in the process of following Jedediah away from the car, paused mid-step. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then his brow furrowed as he said:

“In...what regard?”

“You look exhausted, Ockie,” Jed said softly, a pained sympathy lacing his words. “You’re workin’ yourself to pieces and you’re jumpin’ at shadows. Now I know you keep sayin’ you’re just busy because we’re still settlin’ into the new Night Program and whatnot, but I’m not so sure I believe you.”

A brief, startled look passed over Octavius’ face like a fleeting shadow, there and gone again in less than a breath.

“I admit, I may be keeping myself a little too busy as of late,” he conceded. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, his fingers tense. “But - Jedediah, I assure you, I am perfectly fine.”

“Mind tryin’ that again?” Jed quirked an eyebrow at Octavius, who swallowed thickly and looked away.

Jedediah shook his head with a sigh and pushed away from the pillar behind him. His footsteps echoed quietly in the cavernous room until he came to a stop right in front of his - now oddly tense - partner. He tried to catch Octavius’ eye.

“Look, I’m not tryin’ to call you a liar, but you’ve got shadows under your eyes and you’re about as jittery as a cornered cat. Somethin’s up, and I just wanna help.” When Octavius didn’t reply, Jedediah ducked into Octavius’ line of vision to finally meet his gaze. He gave the other miniature a lazy, lopsided smile. “There ya are. C’mon, talk to me sweetheart.”

Despite himself, Octavius smiled wearily and chuckled, shaking his head ever-so-slightly at Jedediah’s antics. Then his smile faded again and he let out a long breath, his eyes becoming closed off just as they had been before. He ran his fingers through his hair once or twice, having left his helmet in the car.

“Yes, alright, so I may be under some stress at the moment...but I’ll be fine. I swear it. I don’t wish to bother you with my trivial worries.”

“Hey now, that’s now how this works,” Jed protested immediately. He planted his hands on his hips. “We’re partners. We trust each other. Right?”

“Completely,” Octavius breathed. “I do trust you, my love. Always.”

“Then I don’t care how trivial you might think it is. If it’s worryin’ you then I wanna hear about it. Comprende?”

A brief moment of silence settled between them. Octavius looked as though he wanted to say something, but the words never left him. As he stood there, conflicted, unsure what to say, his expression slowly melted from the closed off facade he had been wearing for days into something softer…something fragile. A strained and emotional sort of exhaustion settled in his posture, his shoulders sagging, and Jedediah could see the very moment that something behind his eyes began to break. When Octavius finally spoke, it was on a quiet and wavering breath.

“...the hourglass.”

Understanding began to dawn in the back of Jedediah’s mind and his chest tightened. He had a feeling he knew exactly where this was going.

“After we attempted to escape the shipping container, you were trapped in the hands of a monster who held no qualms about harming anyone who stood in his way,” Octavius went on, speaking softly. Remembering. “And though it does not often bother me, our smaller stature was...a disadvantage. You could do nothing to fight against him, and on my own I could have done nothing to prevent your harm. I watched him lock you in that hourglass with no way of stopping it.”

“Wait, hold on – you were there?” Jedediah asked, eyes bugging out in surprise. He gripped Octavius’ shoulders in both hands. “You didn’t mention that before. I told ya to run! I told you to get away from there!”

“And leave you behind?” Octavius shot back. He pressed his palm to Jedediah’s chest as if to push him away...but he didn’t. “I had to be sure you were alright! I had to know where you were so that I could save you.” His eyes were shining as he searched Jedediah’s face for something that couldn’t be named. “That monster gave you all of an hour to live. It was at once the longest and the most quickly-passing hour of my entire life. Had I not been able to get to you in time–”

Octavius couldn’t finish the sentence. His breath caught, shuddering, and he clenched his eyes shut as if to block out the thought.

Jedediah felt as though the wind had been knocked from him. He had almost never seen Octavius so distraught. Octavius was a strong and proud man, a Roman general, and he rarely showed signs of true fear. It didn’t feel right to see him looking so terrified of something that could have been, that never was.

“Ockie, look at me,” Jedediah murmured. He waited until Octavius opened his eyes before cupping his face in one hand. He ran his thumb over Octavius’ cheek gently, a lopsided smile slipping onto his face. “I’m right here. Nothin’ happened to me. You got that? That crazy Egyptian couldn’t’ve done anythin’ to me even if he tried.”

A watery chuckle bubbled up past Octavius’ lips. The hand he still had pressed to Jedediah’s chest clenched slightly, his fingers fisting against the blue fabric of the cowboy’s shirt.

“No, I imagine he couldn’t have,” Octavius agreed shakily.

“That’s what’s been eatin’ at ya since we got back?” Jedediah asked, worry creasing his brow.

“For many reasons.” Octavius let his eyes close again and he leaned into the comforting hand at his cheek. “It seems silly, perhaps, to be so affected by it...but I keep having nightmares in which I am...I am unable to save you.” He shivered. “Often I am either too late, or I cannot break the glass, or Kahmunrah grows impatient and–” He shivered again, a pained look crossing his face, and he pressed his lips together tightly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Jed murmured, pressing their foreheads together, the brim of his hat tilting upwards because of it. “I’m fine. You saved me. Everything turned out alright, remember? Look–” He brought his other hand to grip Octavius’ fist where he was still clutching Jedediah’s shirt. “–feel that? My heart’s still beatin’ as strong as ever. Might be ‘cause of a magic tablet, but it’s there.”

Octavius nodded. He opened his eyes to meet Jedediah’s blue ones, so very close to his. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. Too many emotions were swirling in the depths of his eyes, tears glistening there that had yet to fall. He swallowed, licked his lips. He breathed. Jedediah pulled on a soft, crooked smile.

“Are you with me, Ockie?”

Not quite sure what else to do, Octavius moved in Jedediah’s hold until he was clinging to him tightly, holding him close, his face buried in the crook of the cowboy’s neck. His nose brushed against the blue and red of Jedediah’s shirt and neckerchief, taking in the familiar scent of sand and hard work and the hot sun and something so distinctly Jed that he could not put a name to it even if he tried. He closed his eyes and choked back a sob and clutched at the man in his arms as if he might never see him again. Tears slowly soaked into the shoulder of Jedediah’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care as he hugged his partner back with every ounce of love he could give and let Octavius revel in the sheer solid proof that he was alive.

Eons seemed to pass before they finally parted (though not completely, as Octavius still had a hand on Jedediah’s waist and Jed was still lightly gripping Octavius’ arm, neither of them quite ready to let go). Octavius sucked in a deep, shaking breath, and when he smiled - almost embarrassed - Jedediah couldn’t help but notice that the shadows beneath his eyes seemed less prominent and some of the visible weight on his shoulders had lifted.

“Feelin’ better sweetheart?” Jedediah asked with a gentle smile. Octavius let out a huffed laugh and nodded.

“Much,” he said. “Perhaps I should have tried to speak about my troubles sooner.”

“Oh ya think so, huh?” Jed teased lightly, a sparkle in his eyes. He tugged at the brim of his hat, straightening it. “I reckon next time you’ve got a bunch o’ ‘What-If’s’ and ‘If-Only’s’ bouncing around in that head o’ yours, you won’t keep it to yourself. Right?”

“Of course,” Octavius smiled sheepishly. “I apologize for not speaking up before now. Nightmares didn’t seem like an important enough subject to bother you with.”

“I don’t care if your complaint of the day is that you’ve got a cramp in your left foot! If it’s botherin’ you, I’ll listen.”

Octavius giggled quietly and brought up a hand to hide his grin.

“Whatever did I do to earn such a caring lover?” he queried, and Jed winked.

“Punched him in the face a few times, I reckon.”

Laughter rang out quietly from the secluded corner of the Egyptian exhibit, unheard by anyone but the twin Anubis statues standing guard. The air was calm.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

“Do you think General Octavius will allow us another night off this week?”

“Fabian, if you’re trying to be subtle, it isn’t working.”

“It was a simple question, that’s all!”

“Oh yes, of course it was. The implied ‘to see Billy’ after ‘another night off’ definitely didn’t exist.”

“MARIUS!”

A pair of archers were making their way back into Rome at the end of a night that had been much more relaxing than any they had spent lately. After a few weeks of enduring Octavius’ much more vigorous training regiments it was a welcome relief to be given even one night of freedom...and they weren’t the only ones hoping that their next night off would come sooner rather than later.

“You are much too easy to rile up, my friend,” the archer named Marius chortled, elbowing Fabian. “But to answer your question, it depends on that cowboy Jedediah. You saw him escorting the general out of Rome earlier, did you not?”

“Of course I did,” Fabian grumbled, still flushed from Marius’ earlier teasing. “General Octavius didn’t seem very willing to leave.”

“Ah, but he still left,” Marius pointed out. “Hopefully Jedediah will be able to pull our dear general out of the sour state he has been in lately. With any luck, he’ll be–”

It was at this point that the pair reached the square, and Marius didn’t need to say anything more because Octavius and Jedediah were both in sight. Octavius was smiling brightly, looking more like his usual self than he had in weeks, and he was saying something to the cowboy beside him that neither archer could hear. Whatever it was, Jedediah’s grin turned into a gobsmacked expression in an instant and within the next moment he was bright red and fuming, blustering and spluttering indignantly beside a now-slyly-smirking Octavius.

“OCKIE, YOU CAN’T JUST – THAT’S NOT – WE’RE IN PUBLIC!”

“...I get the feeling you’ll be able to see Billy fairly soon, actually,” Marius muttered with raised eyebrows. Fabian only nodded, as Jedediah stammered something about:

“Crazy flirty Romans…”

~

Octavius bit his lip to stop himself from laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth while he watched Jedediah teeter on the edge of an explosion. One might think he had already blown up with how loudly he was ranting on...but Octavius knew from experience that the things that actually put Jedediah over the edge left him unable to even form words, so absolutely dumbfounded and reeling that all he could manage was spluttering angry noises, enraged shouts, and pinwheeling limbs that made it look as though he was fighting with the air itself. While it was a guilty pleasure of his to push his beloved to that point, Octavius supposed that it wouldn’t be a very nice ‘thank you’ to do so right after Jedediah had so worriedly and dotingly helped him through some of his recent fears.

With a soft sigh, Octavius caught Jedediah by the arm and pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to the raving cowboy’s cheek.

“Forgive me cara, I’ve never been very good at holding my tongue around you,” he chuckled. “I was only teasing. I apologize.”

Jedediah stilled, as red as a tomato, but his temper slowly fizzled out. He grumbled quietly and hunched his shoulders with his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“...yeah, yeah, keep yer apology,” he rolled his eyes. “Just - quit sayin’ stuff like that in public. It’s not for other people to hear.”

“I shall endeavour to do better.”

Octavius was still grinning softly when Jedediah turned to look at him, the flush of his face lessening and his expression turning affectionate and a little concerned.

“...are you alright?” Jed asked him in an undertone, aware of the people of Rome lingering around the square. “For now anyway?”

Octavius’ grin softened into a tired smile.

“For the most part, yes,” he nodded. His fingers tightened against Jedediah’s arm. “...I doubt the nightmares themselves will vanish overnight - after all, the thought of losing you isn’t one so easily swept aside...” Jedediah winced sympathetically. “...but it doesn’t feel nearly so real of a concept anymore.”

Jedediah was quiet for a few seconds, searching Octavius’ expression for what he could only assume were signs of falsehood. (Octavius knew it was not for a lack of trust either.)

“D’you want me to stay?” Jedediah asked quietly.

“Stay–?”

“Stay durin’ the daylight hours,” Jed specified. “You can try and get some decent sleep and I’ll fight off your nightmares. And if Larry says anything about it, I’ll handle it. You’ve been through enough.”

A warmth, a fondness, swelled in Octavius’ chest, and he found himself gazing adoringly at the man before him. He had asked himself this question almost a million times by now, but...how did he ever get so lucky?

“I love you,” he whispered, before he could stop himself. Jedediah cleared his throat, his cheeks pink.

“Well...w-well that’s nice an’ all, but...er...is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” Octavius amended quickly. “Yes, please. I - I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Alrighty then.” Jed nodded and tugged the brim of his hat down to hide his face, looking thoroughly flustered. He took a few steps in the direction of Octavius’ home, paused, and turned back long enough to add: “...I love you too, ‘Tavius.” Then he was marching off through the crowds of Roman citizens, his fists in his pockets and his hat pulled low. Octavius only smiled.

He would be okay.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[A/N - Hope you enjoyed this one! Sorry again that it took so long to finish it! This time, I wrote them as having an established relationship, mostly because the discord server I'm on voted for that one over (A) mutual pining and (B) Octavius confessing his feelings. Seeing as I don't often write them this way, it was nice to change things up! Plus I feel like it makes Octavius racing against the clock to save Jedediah that much more meaningful. I ALSO GOT TO WRITE SOFT!JEDEDIAH TOO! I've never gotten the chance to write that side of him, so thank you for the inspiration!]

[jimlingss]

The Devil’s Advocate

➜ Words: 11.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Smut, Devil!AU

➜ Summary: The devil is a lazy. selfish. bastard. He never shows up for work and forces you to take his place at the gates of Hell. But when he follows you on your vacation — you have an inkling of his intentions. After all, you are his advocate.

➜ Warnings: Implied smut, violence, killing, etc.

There’s a proverb out there that says: talk of the devil and he is sure to appear.   But no matter how much you talk, curse, and wish for him to show up to his damned job — he never does. So because of him, every single day in this burning inferno eternity, you're always running.   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"   The guards step swiftly away as you sprint past with fire on your heels — they're not unfamiliar with this sort of sight. After all, the same thing happens day in and day out.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. “You're late.”   “I know.” You’re heaving for air while balancing the pile of file folders and paperwork that goes over your head. You drop it on your desk with a massive thump that teeters the desk’s legs from the sheer force and has the people wincing.   He would make another snarky comment but your deep eye bags and trembling hands are pitiful enough.   “Alright.” The angel stands onto his feet again. “First person, please.”   One of Yoongi's assistance in her white robes looks down at the clipboard and calls the next dead soul that's been in line. “Kim Namjoon.”   Immediately, you shuffle your files to find the right one, struggling in the mess of yet another late night. In the meanwhile, the man steps up with a nervous posture, reverent with his hands folded in front of him and Yoongi reads from his own papers.   “Alright. Looks like you were an academic most of your life. A very quiet existence, huh? Never married or any kids. Let's see here. Oh. You dedicated your life to research of koala birth control. A very good contribution to society. You volunteered at soup kitchens a lot too — even on the day of your death.”   “I like to help people,” the man pipes up in a timid mutter.   Yoongi's cat-like eyes flicker to the top of his paper, having never asked him to speak. And the glare from the angel has the man tight-lipped again. “Your history shows you were very altruistic. Looks like you can head to heaven.”   “Wait!” You stand up once you finally find the right file, stopping the soul before it can take a step closer towards the glowy gates.    At your rebuttal, Yoongi rolls his eyes and plops back down into his swivel chair.   “Here we go again....”   You hold the file up. “Kim Namjoon, you were at Imlings Street on October twenty fifth, twenty nineteen, correct?”   “Y-Yes?” The deceased human swallows hard, not sure where you're going with this. But he’s undoubtedly nervous that you're speaking, after all you’re the woman in bright carmine. Namjoon looks at the angel for help but Yoongi doesn't even blink. “I worked near there.”   “And you were there that night at ten?”   “I-I don't remember.”   “Well, you were celebrating your friend's birthday that night, right?”   “Oh yeah…” His brows furrow as it slowly comes back to him.   “And at some point, you were standing near the corner street near Fifth avenue, correct?”   “Yes...? I suppose.”   “Is it true you could see down the alleyway the restaurant called Dog World?”   Namjoon pales. “Umm....”   The deceased human obviously recalls why this night was significant in particular — and it seems to be a memory that he’s attempted to suppress through his entire lifetime.   “Answer the question, human,” Yoongi sighs, fiddling with a pen in his cup holder.   “Yes.”   “And you witnessed a woman being murdered, correct?”   The man nearly starts sobbing. He whimpers, and manages a slight nod.   “We need you to speak, Mr. Kim.”   “Yes!” he shouts, distressed.    “You did nothing to stop it, right?”   “I...I couldn’t!”   “Well, you didn't call the police?”   “I didn't.”   “You just left while the woman was being murdered.” As you speak, the man starts wailing hysterically, aware of where this is going. He attempts to beg for forgiveness, but neither you nor Yoongi pay any mind. It’s always the last moments that humans are filled with regret — the moments when it matters, not the moments when it didn’t. “Are you aware that the omission to act when you have a moral duty to is a grave sin?”   He hiccups, sobbing.   “It is equally as bad to be a bystander as a perpetrator,” you continue. “You could've saved her.”   Yoongi waves his hand. “Alright, alright. You've convinced us.” The angel spares the man from being berated and grilled, granting him at least a bit of mercy. “You're going to hell.”   “No! No!”    He howls at the top of his lungs, but the two guards grab each side of him and begin dragging him past you. The barbed, black gates open wide to welcome him in, creaking on their hinges, and his scream is heard echoing as he’s thrown down the red-glowing, inferno pit.   You don’t know why they’re always crying — it’s kind of insulting to your home.   Hell’s not that bad.   “Next person!” Yoongi calls.   When humans die, most of their souls rise to purgatory — an empty void of nothingness — where they stand in a single-file line waiting to get to the gates. There, the devil and an angel representative come to judge where the soul shall reside as each come up one by one.    But the devil never shows up to do his job, to serve judgment to human souls.   You’re his substitute.    You’re the devil’s advocate.   “Am I going to see you tomorrow?”   It’s been a long day and you feel your eyeballs burning as you pack up the mess of your files. You’ll have to sort them again, but for now, you stuff whatever you can back into your briefcase.   “No, it's my day off. Jimin'll probably be here instead.” Yoongi sips the glittering golden liquid in his chalice. Angels — always so pretentious. “Let me guess, you’ll still be here.”   “Hopefully not.” There’s a small smile gracing your lips, but it’s futile. Everyone knows you’ll have to show up. The lazy devil never shows up and does his own bidding.   “You’re overworking yourself, Y/N,” Yoongi mumbles in disgust as he watches you try to pile your stack of papers that’s practically teetering from side to side. “Haven’t you thought about going on vacation or something?”   “Vacation?” you exhale, arms straining under the weight.   His eyes light up as he remembers something. “Have you ever heard about that famous cruise? What was it again?” Yoongi looks over at his assistant and her eyes flicker up.   “Sins Cruise Line,” she deadpans.   He snaps his fingers. “Right. I heard it was amazing. Each day is dedicated to a deadly sin or something. Too bad they only have it in hell — makes me want to visit some time. But does the publicity live up to the name?”   “How am I supposed to know?”   Yoongi’s eyes dim. His excitement dies on the spot. “Of course you wouldn’t.” The angel grabs his briefcase. “Well see you some time, Y/N. I’m going to my vacation home over the long weekend.”   “Goodbye, Yoongi.”   He enters the gates of Heaven and disappears from sight. You go on your own way, bringing your tall files back. But his words stick to you. They’re devilishly tempting.   //   You’re writing away on parchment with your quill dipped with black ink, preparing more documents and affidavits. But you stop momentarily to roll your neck and ease your tense muscles. You lean back in your chair, staring around at the red room you’re in, and the tiny desk that you occupy. Across the room is the devil’s desk, large and imposing, with an uncomfortable chair across his velvet one. Though the surface has collected a thick layer of dust on the surface.   “Debra!” you shout her name and the sluggish secretary comes in. She has gray hair, kitten heels clicking on the scarlet carpet, skirt past her knees. The demon woman reminds you of church-goer humans who often shout profanities at you as if they’re attempting to exorcise you while you’re just trying to make a legal case — they frequently run into Yoongi’s arms too, impressing neither you nor him.   “Yes?”   You set your quill down. “Have you ever heard of Sins Cruise Line?”   She exhales in exhaustion. “Can’t say I have…”   “Well...then. Umm, can you find me a pamphlet of theirs?”   She stares and then slowly turns away from the room without acknowledgment.   But the secretary eventually comes back half an hour later and slaps the rectangular papers to your desk. She turns away, returning to her front desk, and while you try to focus on your work until the next break, the temptation of the pamphlet sitting at the corner becomes too strong.   You put down your quill to open it.   At once, your pupils dilate. There’s a picture of the glorious red sea, the colour of crimson and a white pristine ship on it. Your indulgence is ours. How fancy. It looks like there’s a variety of facilities and lots of activities to do. It looks fantastic and your muscles are already relaxing as you look at the pictures.   But you can’t….   You can’t just leave your job….   Can you?

Turns out you can — that it is in fact possible.   It’s so surreal, you can’t believe that you’ve somehow managed to actually get time off, that the infamously lazy devil actually agreed to it and will come back to work so you can take a break.   Now you’re standing on the harbour with your suitcase in hand, staring at the white ship in front of you. Yoongi would be proud.   “Cocktail?”   The worker hands one to you on his platter, and you hesitate. “Can I really?”   “Of course.” He grins. “Your indulgence is our pleasure.”   You hold the cool glass while stepping onto the incline to get on the ship’s deck. The chilling wind entwines into your hair and you sip the liquid, your feet afloat already. “Welcome aboard to Sins Cruise Line! Your indulgence is our pleasure!”   The workers wave, giving a warm welcome with perfect smiles. You might be in Heaven.   “We can show you the way to your room. What is your name?”   “Y/N L/N.” One of the demon women takes a look at your ticket and smiles. “Right this way.”   After a millennium of working, this is what you deserve.   You’re given a short, brief tour of the massive cruise ship. “—week-long, each day to indulge in a deadly sin—” And not long after are you brought to your modest-sized ocean view room. “—canal surrounds hell. It’s quite lovely during the night when the water glows red. Have you ever seen it before?”   “No, I can’t say that I have,” your voice trails off and you look at towels shaped into animals on your bed as well as the edible arrangement on your coffee table. “Wow….”   “I’m glad you like it. It’s all complimentary,” the girl giggles. “I should also tell you that today is dedicated to greed. We’ll be having a gambling night down at the casino floor starting in the evening. Other than that, feel free to ask anything whatsoever. We’ll always be around.”   “Thank you.”   And you’re sincere about your gratitude. You’ve never experienced something like this before.   You flop down onto the soft bed before getting up after a moment. There’s too much to explore, too much to see than to stay in a small space between four walls. You’ve done that enough and you find yourself quickly slipping away from your room.   As you pace the area, you muse that you could potentially spend the rest of your existence on this ship, indulging like you should be, giving into temptation, living in a daze, high on bliss—   “Where’s my refill?! I’ve been waiting for five minutes!”   Your smile falls. Goosebumps raise all over your body. The barking voice is so familiar that it sends chills down your spine. It’s an automatic response, like a dog made on alert, and your head swivels over.   Instantaneously, your eyes connect to darker ones. They’re pools of deep brown nearing black. And the corner of their plump lip tugs into a sly smirk.   What the hell was the devil doing here?   “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He abandons his drink on the tray of the server that just rushed over and ignores him in favour of you. The devil makes long strides across the deck towards you and when you stumble back, his smile widens into a friendlier one. Had you blinked, you would’ve missed the sparkle of dangerous mischief in his eyes. “What a coincidence.”   “A coincidence?!”   You’re unintentionally cowering lower than him, posture bending to his imposing aura. He looms over you with his tall height, covering you with his shadows that seems to snicker.   “Course it would be. What? You think I followed you here?”   That’s exactly it — you put in a note requesting time off, and when he asked where you were going via letter, you wrote it down. There’s no way that this was a mere coincidence.   But you don’t dare say it out loud.   “Who’s….who’s working?”   He grins. Of course the first question you would ask him is about work.   “I put Taehyung in charge.”   “He’s not trained!” you hiss in distress, just considering the wrong things he’ll do, the trouble he’ll cause and mess he’ll make for you to clean up.   But the devil man shrugs. “He’ll be fine. So what are you doing now? This is one hell of a ship, huh?”   You’re in hell.    You’re stuck in the middle of a canal, on a cruise ship, with no escape from Kim Seokjin.   //   What was supposed to be an easy vacation has turned into a nightmare.    Every corner you turn, you peek from it. You slink behind pillars to scan the premise. You crawl in the shadows to—   “Are you lost?”   You jump from your spot, turning to find a short worker, an attendant wearing the cruise uniform while adorning a warm smile.    “You scared the living daylights out of me!” you harshly whisper, holding your hand over your unbeating heart.   “My apologies, ma’am. I was just asking if you’re lost. Or are you looking for the way to the casino for our gambling night?”   That’s right. You’ve lost sight as to why you came here.   It’s supposed to be a break, a break from your job, from your stress, from your intimidating boss that never appears at work anyways. You shouldn’t have lost focus on it. You paid a lot of gold coins to be here.   “Where is it again?”   “Oh, turn to your left, walk down the hall and just take the elevator to the third floor. You’ll be right there! Hard to miss.”   “Thanks…”   You shouldn’t waste such a good trip.   Once you arrive at the floor, the intoxicating air overwhelms your senses. It’s hard to think, and the many lights blind your vision, a mosaic of colours that makes the surroundings a whirlwind. There’s the crisp sound of cards divided up, tables and roulette boards spinning, machines being pulled and coins falling out the slots.   Someone hands you a drink and you grasp onto it to stay grounded. But sipping the liquid only intensifies the experience.   You stand back to watch the demons play, gambling the lives of humans souls indebted to them.   “I was looking for you.” A voice pipes up beside you, and you’re genuinely scared this time.   The entity manifested beside you, looking straight ahead. You wonder why you even tried to run today. There’s no point. He’s the devil.   “Why?”   “Just cause.” Seokjin grins, turning his head to stare at you. He’s dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, black trousers tight around his thighs — he’s missing the traditional, black cape that calls attention whenever he steps into the room. “You’re my favourite little worker. So it’s nice to see you in a different setting.”   You aren’t particularly amused. “Where have you been?”   Seokjin shrugs. “Around.”   You thought because he’d be busy with other affairs which would be understandable considering his status in this realm. But to hear such a nonchalant answer brings forth more questions to your mind. “Why haven’t you been to work?”   “I don’t like work much, but you already knew that.” His eyes twinkle with playfulness and plump lips pull into yet another sly smirk. Jin’s voice moves down a pitch into a rumbling timbre. “Plus, how could I ever replace you? You’re the best at my job.”   You don’t know what to say to that, so you take a sip of your drink. There’s too many questions still left unanswered, but you don’t bother asking.   This is all a game to him anyways. He followed you here to pester you on your break, to ruin your chances of rest.   Seokjin is truly the devil.   “Let’s play a game, Y/N,” he sing-songs. “Should we bet?”   “Bet what?” you ask, hesitating. It was never good to make deals with the devil.   He leans in closer, overwhelming you with his aroma and blocking out the intoxicating air manufactured to create a greedy atmosphere. “If I win, I get to kiss you.”   Seokjin laughs at your disgusted expression. He’s a sadist through and through. The damned devil loves seeing pain on your face.   “And if you win, I’ll come back to work. How about that?”   You don’t get a chance to answer before you’re brought over to the poker table. The two of you play a long game, lifting your cards for only your eyes, pupils flickering up to meet his and trying to read his expression. But you should’ve known. He’s too good at bluffing. He’s the devil after all.   And he always wins.   “A deal’s a deal and you made a deal with the devil.”   Seokjin wolfishly smiles when the pair of you join together again and he taps his pink, plush lips with a single finger. Everything about him is made to tempt others — from his clear skin to his eyes shining with endless greed. There’s a gravitational pull that comes from his perfect exterior. He’s a marble sculpture made from the gods’ temptations.   But you don’t feel seduced as you do feel burdened.   “I never agreed to it, did I?”   The devil’s brow quirks and he bursts out laughing. “Now that’s not fair.”   “No, but it is true.”   You walk away before he can put his mouth on you and above the coins clicking, the machines being pulled, you hear the smirk in his voice. “What a sore loser.”   Seokjin is good at reminding you that you’re in hell.   //   The next morning, there’s a loud knock at your door.   “Room service! Good morning, Miss Y/N.” The worker wheels the whole cart in, and your eyes are wide with what he presents you. There’s more edible arrangements, platter of fruits and vegetables and a whole stack of pancakes. “I hope I didn’t awake you from any sleep.”   “Oh no, it’s fine.”   The girl beside him clasps her hands together and presents you with a paper package, including advertisements, directory maps, and all the things you need for the day. “Today is wrath day. There will be an anger room where you can beat and smash things until you’re content. Also at noon, there will be human souls up on the top deck that you can freely torture. We collected the scum of the pit and don’t worry, they’ll be disposed there as well.”   “There’s also a complimentary hate letter you can write to the person you most despise,” the demon boy exclaims with a happy grin.   “We won’t send them,” the girl clarifies. “Don’t worry. We burn them in a pit of fire, but hopefully it can ease some of your anger.”   You thank them for their services and they bow their heads, taking their leave. For the first little while, you chew on some breakfast and go through the package. None of the activities seem particularly appealing to you, but you keep an open mind, deciding to head up to the main deck afterwards.   And of course, Seokjin is taking full advantage of the activities.   There’s a blood-curdling scream.   “Arrow, please.” His palm is out and the worker places another arrow in the devil’s hands. Seokjin positions and fires again, piercing the human in the shoulder, pinning him against the wooden wall. There’s another scream that makes you wince from the sheer volume.    It’s like he’s playing darts.   There are screeches everywhere, pain felt but the humans unable to die.   Seokjin catches sight of you as you’re looking around.   “Y/N!” He waves over with an enormous grin. “Come join me.”   “Thank you, but I’d rather not,” you politely decline.   He shakes his head in feigned disapproval, yet continues to draw his bow when another arrow is handed to him. “You’re too uptight. You’re always dealing with souls, don’t you want to play with one?”   “I work with so many souls, I’d rather not have to deal with them on my down time.”   “You always have rebuttals, don’t you?” Seokjin muses, mostly to himself, and then smiles. “But fair enough.”   You step by his side, watching him fire yet another arrow to the human that’s already died.   You must admit, the screams are kind of delightful.    You turn to watch a demon rip apart someone’s limbs and dangle it in front of them, another throwing someone off the ship into the red canal. And you overlook one of the humans in their pen glaring right at you.    He recognizes you.    You’re the one who dragged him here, who judged his soul and deemed him evil enough for hell. He screams and jumps from his pen, escaping the railings with the vigour of a vengeance boiling for an eternity. He swipes a knife from the table of weapons.   There are gasps of workers. Demons that turn. Seokjin’s eyes harden. His arm drops, bow by his side. You look down. The blade of the knife is poking through your abdomen, the tip of it exposed on the other side and shining from the little light of the overcasted red sky.    “You brought me here! Demon! Witch! You—”   “You know I can’t die, right?” you interrupt with half a glare, more annoyed than anything.   You pull the blade out of you and the metal clangs on the wooden deck. The workers rush over and five of them apprehend the screaming human to chuck him overboard. There’s a loud splash in the canal and others rush to your side, fussing about and apologizing.   “Were you not watching them?!” Seokjin shouts with the true wrath of the devil.   “We are so sorry, we sincerely apologize for any inconvenience.”   “I’ve never seen such an unprofessional group in my entire existence!” he barks back at them.   You watch him and sigh.   Seokjin is baffled beyond belief, berating the workers for not being careful enough, for not securing the pen. He yells at them to clean up the mess, making an absolute ruckus. When his anger simmers down, he turns around, about to ask if you’re alright.   But unfortunately you’re gone. You’ve escaped, vanished out of thin air.   //   Angry?   You used to be angry a lot but then the futile emotion became crushed by the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. After a millennium, you’re too stressed and tired to be angry. Being angry took too much energy.   You retire to your room early, just before dinner, and while you’re wondering if you should rest, your eyes catch the open letter on the vanity. You contemplate for a while before you finally decide to sit down. You grab the quill and dip the tip into the pot of ink. Never has it been easier to write a letter. A letter of hatred towards the devil, Kim Seokjin.   It’s been known that the lazy devil makes your life harder than need be. He draws attention in ways you don’t want it to be drawn. He’s never there when you need him and there when you don’t.   He’s a lazy bastard who never gets work done. Who always pours endless tasks on your shoulders for you to bear. Who never shows up to work. Who never appreciates anything you have to do. He’s sick and sadistic, ego bigger than his own head.   Seokjin is a pathetic leader.   It feels good to write it out, to put your thoughts onto paper. The ink stains the parchment quickly, curves and loops of your letters smooth. You breathe a sigh of relief as you finish and lick the envelope closed, wrapping it up.   He’ll never see it, but it was pleasant to put your anger on tangible material. It’s liberating. And for a brief period, you feel less stressed.   You toss the hate letter aside for pickup.

The worker hums to himself, sack in hand that’s heavy and filled with letters ready to be tossed and burned. He’s had a long day of working and this was his last job before he can rest. But once he exits your room, he’s suddenly stopped in the hallway.   “Mr. Kim.” He recognizes him like everyone else. Once they heard the devil was arriving, they made sure to iron their dark blue uniforms and ensure things were in tip-top shape.   The devil beckons him over once with his hand. “I’d like to see Miss Y/N’s letter.”   “I...I’m sorry, I can’t do that. That’s against policy. We assured all guests that they are entitled to their own privacy and, uh, that would be going against the rules.”   “Rules?” His gaze darkens, becoming cold. Seokjin reminds him, “I’m the devil.”

When you open the door to your room, shivers crawl up your skin, traveling down your spine. You flicker on the light to discover someone seated in the armchair in the corner of the room. Their broad backside faces you.   “I wish you would know how much you stress me out.” He pauses and exhales thoughtfully. “When you’re around me, you stress me out. When you’re not around, you stress me out. I think you truly make hell hell, so congratulations for at least doing one job correctly.”   Mortified is an understatement.   You’re frozen in your spot. The door closes behind you from the momentum. You’re trapped in a room with him, and the devil turns his head to greet you with a smile. Your letter is open in his hand. “I’m surprised, Y/N. I knew you didn’t like me, but I didn’t know you hated me so much.”   He puts it down, slowly rises to his feet and closes the distance between your physical bodies within three strides. “But if you felt so strongly about me, you should’ve said something.”   Seokjin corners you in your small room until your back is pressed against the surface of the door.    “If I felt strongly or not, why should I tell you?” you ask, voice unintentionally shaking.   Even in such a moment, you’re still playing devil’s advocate. It makes him smirk. “Because I’d like to know.”   He’s close to you, aura heavy and imposing. Seokjin doesn’t touch you but you can feel him.   And strangely enough, he doesn’t punish you in the way you think he would for thinking such ill thoughts of him.   “You still owe me that kiss. You can kiss me hard if you want — to try to relent your anger and what was it again? Oh yeah, tell me what a pathetic leader I am.”   Your eyes meet his — yours stern, but his softened. Despite Seokjin’s greased words, he steps back and you move out of the way. He reaches for the door knob.   “You weren’t supposed to read it,” you mutter before he can leave. “Are you…”   “Angry?” There’s a ghost of a tender smile on his features. He doesn’t look at you. He simply sighs. “No, I’m not.”   The male opens the door, but lingers. He decides to grace you with the profile of his beautiful visage. “Earlier. When you stabbed. Are you okay?”   “I, uh, I’m fine.”   “Good.”   //   The following day is dedicated to gluttony. All over the cruise ship are demons feasting, eating, drinking, consumption galore. The banquet hall is vast with a table stretching across the space — every inch of the surface covered in luxurious dishes. The floor is also soaked with wine, the liquid that haphazardly splashed over the rim of demons’ glasses.   It’s hard to resist eating and drinking copious amounts when the gravity quite literally pulls you in. And Seokjin finds you there, leaning on the wall, hand glued to your glass, intoxicated enough not to jump when you see him.   “I never took you for a drinker.” He wears an amused smile as he takes your sloppy form in.   “On the contrary.” You wave a finger in the air. “Why didn't you take me as a drinker?”   “That doesn't make any sense.”   You eye him with a slight pout. “Why aren't you drinking?”   Seokjin shrugs and looks around. “These childish spells don't affect me.”   “Psh. Don't act like you're better 'cause you're the devil.”   “But I am better because I'm the devil.” He smirks. “Stronger. Resistant. Handsomer.”   “Handsomer's not a word. ‘t's more handsome.”   “You're fun at parties.”   “Hey, it's my job.” You sigh, trying to reason with him. “My job that you gave me. I just gotta play the devil's advocate.”   Seokjin smiles, a puff of air leaving his nose. He leans on the wall beside you, looking out and you take the chance to blatantly stare at him, openly ogling. You muse that he almost looks...normal like this. Well, as normal as demons can get. He’s not so imposing.   “Are you sad?”   “What?”   “I wanted to ask if you were sad, not mad. Over my letter.”   “Pft. Sad? I don't get sad. I'm the devil,” he declares as if you need to be reminded.   “Doesn’t mean you can’t be sad,” you huff, “Then you're not hurt?”   “Not really.” The devil lolls his head to the side, peeking at you when you keep staring at him. “I'm already hated by many in every realm. I thrive off the hatred.”   His eyes glimmer with mischief and he leans down to connect his eyes with you at the same level. His breath is on your skin, so close that you can see his lashes one by one. But you don’t move away or lean back as you usually would. Your interest is piqued.   The corners of Seokjin’s plump lips pull.   In the chaos of the masses eating and devouring food like monsters, there’s a private, intimate moment tucked away in the corner of the banquet hall where it’s just you and him. “It's not like I don't deserve it anyways. I'm not a 'good' entity. Since when did the devil help anyone?”   “Since when did the devil need to help anyone?” you ask on impulse. It’s become your pure instincts to doubt everything told to you. “Since when did anyone need help?”   “You're right.” Seokjin grins wolfishly. “But the alternative of hatred is love anyways, and that's sickening.”   There’s a second of silence.   And then you burst out laughing.   Seokjin whips his head over, watching the sound leaving your lips.    “I should bring you love then, just to make you suffer then,” your words slur as you poke his shoulder. “But knowing you, you'd probably enjoy suffering too because you're that sick and twisted.”   The corners of his mouth tugs into yet another smile as a light scoff leaves his throat. The devil can’t love, but what he feels towards you is what he thinks is pretty damn close to it.   //   The day that follows if focused on envy.   The workers greet you with another package of activities to do and a promise that they can get you one thing you’ve always wanted, if it’s within their abilities. But you don’t know what to tell them.   You end up loitering around for most of the day, checking facilities and eating, walking around until night falls where you head down to the luxurious bar, drawn in by the blue lights and entrancing music.    Halfway through nursing a drink at the counter, someone slides up on the stool next to you. It’s not the person you were anticipating unfortunately. Wait.   Unfortunately?   You wonder why you automatically thought it was unfortunate. You momentarily ponder why you were filled with a brief emotion of disappointment when it wasn’t the person you expected.   “Hi, I was just sitting across the bar, but I couldn’t help coming over and telling you that you look stunning in that dress.”   It’s a demon with doe eyes and a boyish smile. He makes you look down at yourself to inspect the rather simple number — compared to the layered robes you often have to show up in for the judgment process, this was just a floor length dress, black and sleek with one sleeve and the other side off the shoulder.   “Thanks.”   “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”   He puts out his hand and you shake it after a short pause. “L/N Y/N.”   “Sounds familiar,” he hums, red eyes piercing through yours. The demon plasters on a grin. “Do I know you from somewhere?”   “Probably not.”   “You’re right. I would’ve remembered someone so beautiful.” The grease reminds you of that someone you thought would have appeared by now, but the stranger isn’t as smooth when he says the one-liners. It doesn’t sound as pleasant to the ears. “Can I buy you a drink, Y/N?”   “Um…”   “Sorry, I’m already buying her one.”   Another voice pipes up — the person you were unknowingly waiting for finally manifested himself.    Kim Seokjin appears with his hair pushed back, forehead on full display, dressed in another one of his dress shirts with sleeves rolled up and casual trousers deliciously tight around the thighs. His pink, plump lips quirk into a smile as he looks at you. Meanwhile, Jungkook visibly pales.   “Oh. Sorry, I, I didn’t know she was, uh, um…” The stranger recognizes you now. With you beside the devil, he recalls where he’s seen you before.   You’re the devil’s advocate. “Yeah, why don’t you get lost?” Seokjin moves his head to the side and Jungkook slides off the stool so quickly, he almost loses footing and falls flat on his face. Luckily, he catches himself and you watch him sprint away practically with his tail caught between his legs.   What a shame. “He was nice.”   “I bet he was,” he mutters, glaring at the fleeting demon’s backside with a force that could light the entire place aflame.   “Kind of cute too.” You turn your head to look back at Seokjin. You’re not sure why it’s so fun to aggravate him at the moment. Maybe you realized it’s a way to get under his skin. “You didn’t have to scare him off.”   “Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten scared so easily,” he refutes and it’s a rather good point. Jin orders a drink, getting served immediately. He sips on it and peeks at you through the rim of his glass. “Were you going to reject him or were you planning on getting his room key?”   “Does it matter?” Your elbow is to the counter, chin casually rested in your palm. You’re discreetly challenging him and it’s a dangerous game, but one you feel like playing tonight. “Shouldn’t I be enjoying myself to the fullest extent, Seokjin?”   His brow quirks at how you call him by his name directly. “I don’t like people associated with me playing with sub-par trash. It makes me look bad.”   “Or it makes you look inclusive.”   The devil scoffs. “You always have a way to argue, don’t you?”   “It’s my job.”   He hums a low note and redirects his gaze at you. “Want to go outside for a breather?”   “I don’t think hell’s air is very fresh, but sure.”   The two of you try to exit the noisy bar. You struggle to weave through the crowd of sweaty demons dancing and grinding on one another. But then Seokjin grasps your shoulder tenderly and shifts you to walk behind him. You realize that the mass of demons splits when he walks through. Even in their inebriated state, they know to cower down and move out the way.   Once it’s clear, you open the west-side door and enter a quiet area absent from any other entity. It’s easier to breathe out here, silent, and you lean against the ship’s railing to watch how the canal’s water glows a deep crimson hue. The ship moves through it, and you listen to the noise of the water sloshing against the side of the ship.   When your head tilts up, you stare at the mahogany sky nearing black.   “I heard the human realm was really beautiful. Apparently they have something called stars and it appears at night. They’re tiny but they twinkle. Have you heard of them?”   He doesn’t respond, but he lifts his hand and waves his palm up. Suddenly, the sky is blanketed in complete black. The shade bleeds throughout, sweeping across the horizon, and you furrow your brows unable to understand what he’s doing. But as you stare, tiny sparkles become apparent.   “They’re only an illusion, but it’s the best I can do,” he breathes out.   Your eyes are wide and you glance at him. “I….I love it….”   “Good.”   Seokjin grins when a smile expands across your face. The stars gleam like jewels spilled across the canvas — what you’ve heard and read about for so long finally in front of you. They sparkle from the distance, glittering, and the longer you stare, more appear. The entire horizon soon becomes filled with them, and you’re breathless.   It’s a shame only you and Seokjin can view them.   “Are you seeing this?” You hold your hand out, trying to gesture. The more you stare, the more it sinks in just how spectacular this feat is. You’ve only ever seen the sky black, red, and maybe a shade of azure when you reach the in-between of the gates of Heaven and Hell. You’re seeing stars for the first time and it’s more amazing than you thought was possible. “Holy hell!”   “Not sure how hell could be holy,” Seokjin laughs and stares at you with a smile. “Do you really like it this much? You’re so simple. I could’ve done this ages ago.”   “I didn’t know…..”   “You could’ve asked.”   “Yeah, but you never answer me anyways when I call,” you murmur without thinking twice, unaware of how his gaze on you softens. Your hands against the railing tighten and you exhale. But eventually, you focus again when it occurs to you such a long stretch of silence has passed in comfortable silence. “What did you request today? Did they fulfill any of your wishes?”   Seokjin leans against the railing and tilts his head to stare at you. “I asked for something they can’t give me.” You meet his intense eyes, wondering what he means. The corner of his plump lips pulls and he blinks, easing. “What did you ask for?”   “It’s also something they can’t give to me.”   “What is it?”   “Your job.”   The devil chuckles, head lolling up to look at you. “Why would you want that? Don’t you hate working for me?”   “Exactly. I hate working for you. I’d rather take over. I would restructure the entire system, I’d delegate more duties, lessen my own workload, I’d be able to prepare better instead of working so last minute.”   “Sounds like you have a whole plan.”   “I may or may not have spent a lot of time thinking about it,” you hum in slight pride.   Seokjin grins and shakes his head. “Too bad the position at the gates is a traditional, symbolic role. The only way you’d be able to acquire it officially through proper tradition is becoming the devil’s lady.”   You know it too. Thought about it after a millennium and damned the rules that restricted your abilities so many times. The only way to claim his position completely was to wed to him and be named the devil’s lady. But it’s an absurd idea, one you never even thought twice about. Although, for some reason, the way the devil says it isn’t like he’s stating a plain, boring fact.   It’s almost as if he’s….considering it.   Seokjin leans in close. His eyes are not unlike the stars, twinkling with mischief. “Don’t tempt me.”   //   The next day that comes is your absolute favourite.   It’s what you’ve been prepared for.   When the workers knock on your door with the usual room service and daily package, you’re ecstatically tearing papers apart and reading all the descriptions, ready to take full advantage of all the activities included. After all, it’s a day of sloth — a day of guaranteed relaxation.   You start off by laying in bed the entire morning, lazing around until you head to the spa. There you get a head to toe scrub, hair and nails done, and you nap in the steam room. The masseuse is also surprised at the number of knots in your muscles and three demons end up working on you, slapping and massaging your tense muscles.   Once you’re finished, you feel like you’re floating on air. For the first time in a thousand years, you’re stress-free. Nothing could ruin your mood. Not even Kim Seokjin.   You head up to the deck for another nap, claiming a lounge chair in the corner, and being as quiet as possible to not disturb other demons sleeping away. But before you can drift off, the warm light on your skin ceases. You feel a shadow overtop of you. And you slide your sunglasses down the slope of your nose.   The devil looms over your body with a smirk.    “Looks like someone’s been enjoying themselves.”   You sit up and instantly pull him down to sit beside you. Jin’s brows are lifted in surprise from the affectionate invitation. You grin at him. “Have you been down to the spa yet?”   “No.”   “Hell, you need to go down there right now then. It’s. Amazing. Jin.” From your sheer excitement, he grins and you giggle. Giggle. Now that’s a sound he hasn’t heard from you before. Seokjin can’t help but wonder what other sounds you can make. “You need to go to try it and get the Swedish massage. Can’t say the Shiatsu massage is as good. But try out the deep tissue one. That was good too.”   “How many massages did you have today?”   “I tried all of them,” you sing-song and sit back in your lounge chair, humming to yourself. You inspect your clean nails, the french tips done, holding your hand out in front of you.   Seokjin smiles as he looks at you. You’re so much happier and relaxed. You in your little swimsuit and your translucent, silky cover up.   “What else did you do?”   “Got my hair washed. Got my nails done. Got two kinds of facials. You should just check it out for yourself, seriously, it would be a waste if you didn’t.” Suddenly, your eyes light up over the rim of your dark sunglasses. “Should we go together?”   His plump lip pulls. “You want to go to the spa...with me?”   He’s the entity you hate the most. To be given such an invitation from you is no less shocking. But you don’t seem to care. You even laugh and swat at his arm playfully. “We can go together after I take my nap. It’s all day and I really want to get the hot stone massage again.”   “Okay.” He laughs. The devil’s not a very spa-kind of man, but he’ll go with you.   “We can head down in an hour.” You lay back again, eyes fluttering for a shut-eye, but you keep them open to look at him for a second longer. “Do you want to sleep with me?”   “Careful how you ask that question.” He smirks slyly, making you scoff.   “You know what I mean.”   Seokjin hums a low note, considering something else. “Do you want to watch a show tonight? They’re putting on something in the theater.”   “Really? Sure!” You joyfully agree, so easily at it too, cheeks inflated with your smile. He snorts at how fast you answered. It’s such a difference from your tense self. Not to mention, you’re unbothered with him sitting there at the end of your lounge chair as you drift off and he observes how you’re snoring a minute later.   You don’t realize that an idle mind is the devil’s workshop, and he’s ready to have some fun with you.   //   There’s a permanent skip in your step.    You’ve learnt to navigate the entire area of the spa and you don’t notice how everyone is intimidated with Seokjin here. Even when he’s comedically dressed in a white robe, white towels wrapped up on his head, and feet decked out with white slippers — white from top to bottom as if he’s wearing the skin of an angel. Each demon moves out of the way when they realize the devil is here. But he pays no mind to them, following after you. You, who looks like a true angel with how you smile and how radiant you shine in pure white…..   Although the exterior is a bit ruined when you bark at the masseuses to dig into your muscles harder.   You’re even more giddy after you take your third nap in the steam room and he enjoys dinner with you. It’s hard not to when you’re such great company, and you don’t seem to bat a lash when you glue yourself by his side, joining him to watch the evening show.    It’s a game show of some sort, couples on honeymoons together and answering trivia questions about one another. Seokjin sits beside you, a bit bored as he rests his chin in his hand, elbow on the arm rest. His mind wanders before he finds himself glancing over at you.   You seem to be enjoying yourself and that’s enough for him to sit through it.   He wonders what it takes to make you happy like this all the time.   But eventually his train of thought is interrupted when he catches your eye, when he notices you peeking at him at the corner of your vision, trying to glance at him. His lip tugs into another smirk.   Seokjin leans in close. “Y/N.”   He whispers your name into your ear, hot breath skimming on your skin, and he watches the way goosebumps raise over the back of your arms. He pauses for added suspense.   And then he exhales. “You can kiss me if you want. I wouldn’t stop you.”   An immediate frown forms, your lips lopsided, your entire body stiff again. That’s all that’s needed to make you tense again — it’s so easy that it’s amusing. He laughs quietly at your glare.   One of these days, he knows you’ll give into his outlandish idea. Seokjin just can’t help planting the seed there.   //   Right after your favourite day is your least favourite. Lust.    You’re shaken awake in the morning by a sudden bang. It comes from the room next over despite the walls supposedly being soundproof. You would think someone was being tortured or punching the wall over and over again, but what follows the noises that are loud enough to leak through are moans and whines of ‘harder’.   You are sorely not impressed.   “There’s an orgy party tonight,” Seokjin tells you, crowding beside you at the breakfast buffet. It’s hard to ignore the smacking sound of kissing occurring behind the food bar and it makes the food unappetizing.   “I heard.”   “Are you coming?”   “I don’t know.”   “You should.”   “Why?” you question his insistence.   “I would explain to you what I’ve heard about it, but it would be a...mouthful.” Seokjin fully intends the pun, irises sparkling with mischief.    You feign a glare at him, and he follows you to a table, sitting across from you. The devil digs into his sweet stack of waffles, and tears his teeth into a medium rare steak.   “You’re gross.”   “It’s not gross if you feel the same way.”   “Who said I do?”   “Who says you don’t?” he challenges, bringing your lips into a smirk.   The two of you banter back and forth, and you don’t realize that you’re having breakfast with him willingly. That you’re tucked into the corner of the restaurant serving leftovers from the feast from the day of gluttony. You’ve both fallen into a natural course, fallen in line with one another unconsciously. It’s too easy to be in each other’s presence.   But eventually you part ways, and it’s difficult to weave your way out of the bodies pressed together. Guests are practically dry humping one another and the workers are actively encouraging the lust. You guess this is what they mean by indulging in the sins.   You retire to your room early to escape the scandalous sights.   But your sanctuary is interrupted with a knock on the door.   “Good afternoon, Miss Y/N.” The worker greets you, holding onto a clipboard like a door to door salesman.   “Is there something I can help you with?”   “We were just wondering if you were going to attend tonight’s event. We’d like to know about how many people are coming so we can accommodate them properly.”   “Oh.”   "If you are to attend, we have complementary masks to wear." The worker smiles, cheeks rosy.   A masquerade orgy isn't appealing to you. But your thoughts stray to a certain someone who asked you if you were coming this very morning. Someone with dark hair and dark eyes staring into yours. Someone whose plump lips always pulls into that sly smirk and makes you feel a certain kind of way.   "Sure."   Why not. You came here for new experiences after all.    "Fantastic!" The worker exclaims and gestures down the hall. You hear wheels rolling against the carpet and a girl appears with a cart showing a selection of masks. "Feel free to choose whatever is appealing. We also have a catalogue you can order from for free if none of these are to your satisfaction."   You look over them, from the intricate designs in gold and red, to those decorated with jewels and ribbons, and ones delicately painted. But one in particular catches your attention.   "This one’s fine."   You pick the black lace mask, one that's simple but sufficient.   The night arrives sooner than expected. The sky turns a shade of deep mahogany without a moon or sparkle in sight, clouding the horizon over in uncertainty, while the canal glows a hue of rose.   You enter the ballroom on the fourth floor in a black floor length dress, a slit on your left side to top of your thigh. Others seemed to be dressed even more luxuriously, while some of them are already nude and their clothing littered on the ground.   The room is a circular space, ceiling high with paintings of angels on it — ironically to overlook the sinning. The columns spiral high, decorated with gold and made from shiny porcelain like the floor tiles. Slow music plays in the background, accompanying the soft smacking noise of mouths colliding. There are also chaise lounge chairs off to the side, curtains drawn to cover the private areas. But the shadows and silhouettes show they’re doing something less than decent.   There are three or four people participating behind the curtains, those participating, those watching, those that like to be watched. You even catch moans and whimpers as you pass by.   By oddly enough, instead of disgusted, you feel entranced.   Suddenly someone’s warm arm slinks across your abdomen, rough hands that find purchase on your waist. You gasp as your ass is shoved against their hardening groin. Their other hand palms the meat of your ass. And you find yourself giving in, leaning closer to the body heat that feels like cozy flames.    You turn around, meeting brown, doe eyes behind a white mask. You swallow your mouthful of saliva. Their lips look so soft, irresistible. You surrender without an ounce of self-control, this time to the temptation. The man leans in as well—   But then you’re suddenly yanked away by another.   The spell breaks.    “Buzz of. This is mine.” It’s a familiar voice, a sonorous tone but rumbling timbre. The doe-eyed man nods wordlessly and stumbles back into the crowd.   “Jin?”   Where he’s encircled your wrist, you can feel how his skin is warmer than the stranger’s, like a fire is burning underneath his flesh. Behind the black mask, with tiny sparkles that remind you of the stars, are eyes you recognize — dark pools like chocolate, full of indulgence.    Instantly, he lets you go.   “I’m sorry…”   You’re bewitched by him. And you cave into the magnetizing pull. You latch onto him before he can leave. “You shouldn’t have any reason to be sorry.”   The devil meets your gaze.    Everything about him is to lure and entice you, meant for you to indulge in. From the pinkness and plumpness of his lips, to his eyes that are shaped soft and sheepish. His sculpted face, his scent, the sound of his voice...   The devil would never come to such an event to get himself dirty with lowly demons. His hubris is much too high to be touched by strangers. He’s here for a specific purpose — and you think you know what it might be, or rather, for who.   “There’s a reason you’re here, right?”   Seokjin knows you well too, knows that you don’t like to be touched by strangers. His mouth pulls into a smile. “Do you have the same reason as I do?”   You grasp onto the collar of his fitted suit, lust overwhelming you. He stares at your mouth through half-lidded eyes, his own parted.    “I...don’t want this to affect my job,” you murmur, breath already on his.   “It’s going to affect it either way. You’ve stopped being just my advocate long ago.” His large hands hold your hips. “Why do you think I always skip out on my duties? I have to make sure not to come and replace you. I need a reason to keep you around.”   “You bastard.”   The puzzles you had finally click into place. The dots connect. It makes sense, more than it ever has.   “I know.”   “You’re a selfish prick. But one I still owe a kiss to.”   Finally after a millennium, you relinquish your dignity and fully indulge in Kim Seokjin.   You dance with the devil, mouth pushing against his. Immediately, he deepens it, slipping his hot tongue in to claim you as his. Seokjin makes your lips swell as he kisses you hungrily. Sinfully.   He savours your muffled groan as you feel yourself wrapping in the heat that emanates off his body, drowning in his scent. The devil’s lips are of velvet, addicting, and you can’t stop. You’re too frantic to notice that his eyes are still half-lidded, drinking in your pleasured expression.   But in the middle of the kiss, you sense someone else’s presence. Your eyes peel back to see a female stroking her hands over his broad shoulders. You break apart with a forceful smack, thin string of saliva breaking.    “Fuck off,” you spit at her.   The female demon doesn’t hear you. Her hands slowly trail downwards to the thick lump forming in his tight trousers. But Seokjin catches her wandering palms before she can actually touch him. He throws her arms off him. “You heard her. You’re not invited.”   She openly scoffs, and rolls her eyes before walking away.   You won’t let third parties in. You won’t let anyone else touch him. You’re too selfish and greedy to do so.   “Let’s get out of here.”   Seokjin locks his hands in yours, and you’re finally able to revel in how he looks in his fitted suit, how broad his shoulders are, the thickness of his thighs.    Even when you leave the ballroom, the lustful atmosphere never lessens. Instead, the suspense builds. The tension becomes overwhelming. It’s awkward to stand in the elevator and listen to the boring jazz, suffocating in the small space. The heat is tangible.   You end up tackling Seokjin against the wall. You kiss away his laugh by shoving your tongue down his throat. It’s obscene but you don’t care much for your pride at the moment.   “I won’t be seen fornicating in the elevator,” the devil scolds in a low tone, peeling you away after another ravenous make out session, his grip having been tight on your thigh. “Come on.”   Seokjin leads you to his floor, and the door automatically opens when he steps in front of it. The lust is instantly exchanged for amazement.   His suite room is breathtaking, private windows allowing a wide view of the red canal and the horizon. It’s an open space with many rooms, a luxurious bathroom and enormous bed. Like his own personal home.   “This….this….h-how much does this even cost?!”   “Does it matter?” Seokjin loosens his tie. He chuckles watching you run around, checking all the rooms and inspecting the furniture. “I would’ve invited you sooner, but I didn’t want to get slapped.”   You scoff in the other room, and he follows after you. “You know I can’t slap you.”    “Yeah, but you always look like you want to.”   “Just cause I want to, doesn’t mean I can or will do it.”   “Alright, enough of this chit chat.”   Seokjin picks you up from where you’re marveling at his closet. He heaves you up and over his shoulder, carrying you across his suite and he lightly tosses you onto his soft mattress. The devil corners you. He grabs your ankle when you playfully try to escape and he climbs on top of you, straddling your waist to trap you in place.   “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers as he relishes the way you’re pinned beneath him.   You cock your head to the side. “Really? I think if you were waiting for that long, you would’ve done something about a century ago.”   Seokjin sighs at how you’re trying to pick an argument with him even in such a situation. “Love, if you don’t stop trying to pick fights with me, I’m going to gag you with your own underwear.”   You would nod and be obedient. But it’s intrinsic for you to doubt.    Instinctively, the words spill out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Why are you assuming I have underwear on?”   A muscle in his cheek twitches. Seokjin flips you over, and instantaneously delivers a slap to the meat of your ass. You moan, arching into him, but you quickly turn your head with a frown.   “What was that for?!”   “You know what it’s for,” Jin barks. “It’s going to be a long night if you don’t listen to me, Y/N.”   The devil follows through with his word. It indeed becomes a long, long night.   It’s too delicious to see his irritation. How his ears can turn into a shade of scarlet that matches the colour rising from his neck to his forehead. But you bend to his will after a while, giving into his command.    It’s the most sinning you’ve done. The most indulgent you’ve ever been. Seokjin’s sweat drips on top of you before it’s your sweat on him when you get on top. He’s merciless, leaving bruises along your thighs from his tight grip and where he kept your legs spread. He leaves blue, purple, red marks along the column of your neck. You sink down on his cock enough times that your cunt stretches out to match his girth and length into a perfect, snug fit. And you get to know the flavour of each other’s spit and cum until it’s all you can taste.   You’re glad no one shares Seokjin’s walls or else they’d hear the way your voice grows hoarse over the course of the night. They’d hear the creak of the bed, the slamming of the headboard. Anyone on the same floor would hear your name groaned through those beautiful lips licking into you.   You’re sure if there was another level to hell or damnation — you and Seokjin will be arriving there in each other’s arms.   //   The last day of the cruise finally arrives and you’re devastated.   Tomorrow, you’ll return to work and continue the cycle of late nights preparing documents and affidavits and judging human souls in line at purgatory only for them to scream obscenities at you no matter what gate they end up entering.   Your train of thought is interrupted by a knock on the door.   “G-Good morning, Miss. Y/N!” The male worker jumps, surprised to discover you answering the door. “I didn’t think you’d be in your room.”   “Where else would I be?” you deadpan.   The female demon worker smiles and steps forward. “We have room service for you!”   You widen the door and they wheel the cart in. “We just wanted to ask about your stay here and if there were any concerns whatsoever.”   “Oh no.” You bat your hand. “It was absolutely lovely. Thank you for the past seven days. It couldn’t have gone better.”   “That’s great to hear.” They grin and gesture to the pamphlet placed with your meal.   “We’d also like to mention that there’s a honeymoon package and an express cruise that travels to all three realms, hell, heaven, and human. It’s just a promotion. I thought I’d mention it.”   You laugh, nodding. “Okay, thank you.”   “There’s one event left. A farewell party for tonight for all guests on this trip.”    You receive the invitation. Today’s a day of pride and in its celebration, the cruise has a farewell ceremony where they read each guests’ accomplishments. It’s a sweet gesture, perfect to top off the trip.   But you can’t fully look forward to it when you’re plagued by your thoughts. You still haven’t decided if last night was a mistake, if it was just the lust in the air.    Seokjin was insatiable, that much was clear, and you swear you feel permanently hot in your face. The in between of your legs still ache whenever you move. It’s impossible to try to forget or disregard what occurred. And when you’re unable to cover up his marks all over your neck, you find yourself deciding to wear it with pride.   You wonder how he feels about last night too. If the devil simply likes to spoil his advocates.   But your questions are answered when you see him again at the party.   “Evening.”   “Good evening.”   You raise your wine glasses up at one another in mutual acknowledgment before turning to watch the room. The pair of you are tucked in the corner again as if you were the hosts and everyone else were guests in your domain.   The silence broken by him. “It was...regrettable that you ran out so soon this morning.”   You agree. “It was regrettable, but it’s the right thing to do.”   “You think with your head too much sometimes,” Seokjin muses.   “Jeon Jungkook,” the worker on stage announces into the staticy mic. “He has tricked twenty four humans into giving their soul to him.” There’s a collective ‘ooh’ from other workers and a loud applause. “He works in marketing and coworkers call him proactive!”   They allow every guest to indulge in their own pride and you don’t expect much as you watch, but then your name is called. “The devil’s advocate, L/N Y/N.”   “Persuasive and diligent. In her existence thus far, she’s captured two hundred forty three souls before working for the devil where she’s passed judgment for eighty six hundred thousand sixty six human souls,” they continue to read your long list of accomplishments and it’s seemingly never ending. The worker runs out of breath and has to take a drink of water to keep going.   The devil is in the details after all.   But you didn’t realize you had done so much.   “Impressive.” Seokjin nudges you with a quirked brow and an amused smile.   Suddenly, you’re called on again. “L/N Y/N, will you please come onto the stage to receive a special award.”   “What?”   “Don’t just stand there, idiot.” Seokjin mischievously bumps you forward and your steps stagger. With half a mind, you pass the tables and demons watching you, up the stairs to the modest stage. The spotlight is absolutely blinding.   The worker shakes your hand and gives you a golden frame. Inside is a certificate of accomplishment. It’s stamped with the crest of hell, the official insignia of honour.    “It was signed by the devil, himself,” the worker tells you privately. “He insisted that it would be given to you. Congratulations, Miss Y/N.”   There’s a roar of applause. Your eyes stray off the side to see him, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, a proud smile placed on his features. Something blooms inside your chest.   Finally, you’ve received recognition for what you’ve done, for all your hard work.   You step off stage, cutting through the crowd to get to him. But then you’re stopped by yet another worker. “Miss. Y/N, thank you for being a part of Sins Cruise Line. We’d like to gift you this photo album compiling your best moments of this trip.”   “Oh, t-thank you.”   You move off and out of the way to open the leather album. What you find are photographs you didn’t know the workers took. There’s a picture of you stepping on this ship for the first time and looking out at the horizon with your drink in hand and the wind blowing through your hair. There’s another with you sitting across the poker table and Seokjin on the other side, the dim lights shining on your heads and illuminating your faces.   You continue to flip through, and you discover countless pictures of you and Seokjin together.   Him shooting at a human with you standing beside him. Laughing with Seokjin while you’re both in the corner of the feasting room. Out on the lounge chairs together. At the spa. Watching a show in the theater room. Looking into each other’s eyes in the ballroom before your shared kiss.   They’re beautiful photographs — precious moments captured in time. You didn’t realize you looked at him in such a way, or that he looked at you so tenderly.   You find Seokjin in the crowd again, as you’re grasping the album and the certificate to your chest.   “Congratulations, Miss. Devil’s Advocate.”   “I can’t believe you did all this.” You’re still breathless, unable to comprehend why he would go to such lengths for you.   “You deserve it.” Seokjin matches your softened smile. “Are you sad about leaving?”   “Can’t say I’m excited to go,” you admit. “But I have to go back. There’s probably a lot that’s piled up. Taehyung doesn’t know how to work on cases properly.”   “Well, take it easy,” the devil says with a grin and stares at you for a moment. It’s silent, the two of you gazing at one another, but then he catches himself and inhales a breath. “Actually, I’m planning on restructuring some things. I want to delegate more duties and lessen workloads so others can better prepare instead of working so last minute.”   His eyes twinkle with mischief. He literally took the words right out of your mouth, quoting you exactly. “I’m going to need some advice and personal help for the next while.”   “Personal help?” Your brows raise with a giggle.   “Personal help.” Seokjin nods. “Hey, you’re free right now, right? Do you want to talk it over during dinner?”   Laughter bubbles out of you and your gaze becomes tender. “I’d love to.”

It was undoubtedly hard to walk off that cruise ship.   A part of you wishes it could last forever. But alas, all good things must come to an eventual end.   Yoongi is seated at his desk, feet propped up on the surface of said desk. He’s casually leaning back on his chair, elbow propped up on the armrest, fingers playing with a few strands of his hair. He’s humming to himself, but then he sees the demon guard move aside, and his brows raise.   He’s pleasantly surprised. “You’re early.”   “Only a little.” You smile at the angel.   “Welcome back.” He takes his feet off his desk and deadpans, “I missed you. Too many people have been getting through Heaven lately, it’s been disastrous.”   “I’m sure Taehyung wasn’t that bad,” you murmur in the demon’s defense, but it’s weak and half-hearted. You both know he’s pretty terrible — Taehyung’s impatience and lack of meticulousness isn’t exactly great for this job.   “What was worse was that he was so annoying. I’d never thought I’d say it, but I’d much prefer you. Did you enjoy your vacation?” he asks. “I heard you went on that cruise.”   You smile to yourself. “Yeah, it was good.”   “Did it live up to its name?”   You contemplate it for a moment before you find yourself nodding. “I have to say that it does.”   “Wow, just rub in your good time, bitch,” Yoongi mutters passively aggressively, glaring through the slits of his eyes. Then he relents and sighs. “I’m glad you finally took a break. You look better. Healthier.”   “Thanks. Actually, it’s really thanks to—”   “You forgot this file, Y/N.”   A voice pipes up and the guards move aside. A man appears with his cape billowing behind him, dark robes decorated with gold, official and intimidating. Yoongi’s eyeballs nearly fall out of his socket. The angel’s mouth draws open, his nostrils flared.   Seokjin is behind you and hands you the file before taking a seat beside you.    He pushes his round spectacles up the bridge of his nose, focusing downwards to the paperwork. “I have to sign where?”   “Here.”   He’s helping you, has been since you’ve gotten back.    Yoongi doesn’t try to hide his shock. You smile at the angel with a look that equally shares his pleasant surprise and shows how impressed you are.   “You two are close,” Yoongi says when he finds his power of speech again.   Seokjin lifts his chin, glances at the angel and then at you. The pair of you share a warm smile together. “I’d say we’re a bit more than close at this point.”   You already know Seokjin’s intentions — you’re his advocate after all.

[repo-net]

This was originally just something I submitted for a friend after I lost a bet, but I decided I'd post this here too. This really isn't one of my best works since it's been a hot minute since I last played YTTD, but luckily the new chapter is coming out soon (it's already been released in the creator's pixiv fanbox for people to squash bugs in) and we just gotta wait for the public release and the translators do their work. Anyways.

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

The Mask I Put Up

“Welp, I’m off. You staying here, Alice?”

“I shall relax myself in this bath a little longer, it is an opportunity not often presented after all. You’re free to leave.”

“Not like I was plannin’ on staying anyways, wahaha. Enjoy the bath all to yourself.”

Alice Yabusame had a difficult life growing up; his mother forcing himself to be raised as a daughter because of some idea or trend that was going on, when he dictated that he was more at home with his masculinity. He was ready to be thrown out of the house when he confronted her that enough was enough, but in the end, his mother only gave him an uncaring and simple approval. To Alice, maybe that was enough. But he sometimes still thinks about that event to this day and what would’ve happened if he never retaliated.

Not to mention the time he really messed up and the event that caused his own family and fellow band members to remove him from their lives, his own mistake that still haunts him to this da-

“Hey, you seem pretty lost. Y’alright there?”

“Ah, yes, I am. I was simply lost in thought, please do not mind me.”

“If you say so.”

With a little bit of an awkward nod and thumbs-up, Keiji went back to getting himself dried and dressed. As the steam cleared and he watched as the only other person left with him; Keiji left the bathhouse, Alice was once again left alone to ponder on his own thoughts. Laying back onto the rock as he looked up at the ceiling, the former convict let out a sigh that was filled with nothing but exhaustion and worry. He needed to stop thinking about the past; nothing was going to change it, all he could do now was make sure he fixes everything up so that he can move forward in the present.

And maybe when this is all over, he and Reko can finally…

“Hey, bastard! What the hell are you still doing in here?”

“Gwah?! Rio Ranger, damn you! What the hell are you doing in the men’s bathroom?”

The frail doll let out a small noise which could only be described as a giggle, before taking off his hoodie and tossing it over to a nearby dry bench. 

“I’ve got my own priorities here, buddy! You can’t be hogging all the bath time for yourself, ya selfish prick! Besides, you should know already; I belong in this men’s bathroom as much as you, shouldn’t you know a thing or two about stuff like this already?”

“You goddamn…!”

Alice got up and was about to throw hands with the ginger doll, before the floor master threw one of his expression masks his way, hitting the taller man right near the eye.

“Hey now, settle down. I just saved your life there, don’t think you can just get away with trying to hurt a floor master. Are you trying to leave poor, helpless little Reko here all alone? Some kind of sibling you are.”

“Gh…”

Ranger simply responded to Alice’s clear discomfort with a mocking chuckle, then getting rid of the rest of his attire before cannonballing into the bath, sending hot water all around the area, splashing Alice on the way as well. 

“I give myself a 10/10 on that one! Thank you, thank you!” Ranger proudly said as he held a rather happy expression stick in front of his face, bowing to particularly no one.

“Are you… not a doll? How are you not malfunctioning or even getting harmed by the water? Actually, why are you even in here, you don’t even need washing!” Alice exclaimed as he pointed at the floor master.

“We literally kidnapped 20 of you here and not a single bastard on the outside noticed, you think they can’t make a perfectly waterproof doll like me? Idiot.” Ranger replied, putting his arms behind his neck as he laid against a rock, releasing a small noise that could probably be described as a sigh of relaxation.

“I suppose that’s true… but still, I feel disgusted to be in the same bath as scum like you. Again, you don’t even need a bath!”

“Yeah? And we didn’t need to give you one or have Safalin treat you guys either, but look how generous we’re being. Be thankful for the stuff you’ve been given. You guys are disposable as hell, we could always just throw you out whenever needed.”

That was a lie; Ranger knew that the participants were important as hell to the game and having it all flow naturally was part of the plan. After they were left with 12 participants, he and the other Floor Masters were tasked with getting at least 3 out every phase of the game, 1 for the Sub-Game and 2 or more for the Main Game, depending on the results. He knew that any deaths that would be caused outside of those sets were going to be his responsibility and his fault, and the last thing he wanted happening was to disappoint him.

“Right… great, now I don’t even want to be here anymore, I should’ve just followed the rest of the men when they left, now I’m stuck with this annoying, intolerable,-“

“Sexy, attractive, handsome-“

“I wasn’t done talking, stop trying to flatter yourself!”

“Ahahahahaha!” Ranger started cackling like a madman as soon as he saw Alice get pissed off at his antics again, that feeling of anger and negative emotion; it was something Ranger always felt glee at, the sadistic nature of him always enjoying that feeling of humans letting out all their frustrations. 

“Gh…! Fine, you desire to toy with me like this, to make me feel worse simply by being around you? Then I won’t let you have this satisfaction anymore, you problematic mess!”

“Awww, leaving so soon? But we were just getting started! What a killjoy. No wonder your sister tried to not associate herself with you anymore.’’

Alice grit his teeth at the incredibly low comment that Ranger had made, resisting all the desire in him to just scream and bend the doll’s body like it was a twig. He got up from the bath in fury, which only seemed to make Ranger enjoy his time in the bathhouse even more. Truth be told, the floor master did have a reason for being there in the bathhouse with the convict, but it was a reason that he wouldn’t admit, even to himself. That inferiority complex that he doesn’t even know he has wouldn’t allow of it, of course.

Ranger simply giggled sadistically as he watched Alice storm off to grab his clothes, still hiding his face behind one of his masks. He was about to close his eyes (well, as much eyes a doll like him could have), until he noticed in the corner of his eye. Alice picked up something. It was black, long, and something Ranger knew well.

That was one of his expression sticks. Specifically, the one he made that was to look like Kazumi Mishima.

“You said I couldn’t harm you physically, but what happens if I make you pay in another way? Take this, this is for trying to make a mockery of Nao Egokoro’s dear professor!”

And before he could even get a word out, Ranger watched as the former convict grabbed the mask by it’s edges and snapped it in half, the two pieces that left behind it falling with little trouble. 

“How’s that?! Don’t try to mess with me or my sister ever again, you cursed being!” Alice smugly smiled and proclaimed as he looked at Ranger’s expressionless face, before storming off and leaving the bathhouse with his clothes on, giving the dressup doll time to comprehend what had just happened.

He sat there in silence for a moment, before getting out of the hot steamy water that he couldn’t even feel as he walked over to where his expression stick had been left broken.

“…”

This was his way with dealing with being a doll. He knew he wasn’t as human as the other floor masters; so this was how he coped with and kept up with them, putting up masks that would make him feel more human because he was aware that he couldn’t do it himself. 

This guy that was one of the people who could die in this game just broke and snapped it right in front of him, in an act of pettiness to try and get back at all the low and disrespectful comments he made. 

It didn’t matter that Ranger could always just make one; the fact of the matter is and what’s important to him is that this guy actually just pulled that right in front of him with the intent to piss him off. And it didn’t matter how little it was, Ranger despised the idea of being one-upped by a human. 

Picking up what remained of his broken expression stick, Ranger held them before looking at the door that Alice had left by.

“Cursed being…? You don’t know who you’re trying to pick a fight with, you bastard... I’ll make sure you learn your goddamn place, shithead, don’t you ever mess with me...! It doesn’t matter which one it is now, I’ll make sure that a Yabusame doesn’t get out of this game alive… whether it be on the inside, or the outside…!”

With that declaration and plan in his mind, Ranger threw away the broken mask before drying himself as he put on his attire once more, ready to execute out a little plan he has for the future.

The Yabusames were on the top of his list now.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Hi hello 😶 17 - How do they deal with getting ill? Is one better at handling it than the other? for Fane and Solas? 👉👈

*peeks around the corner with a huge smile on my face* Why hello~! It seems I have yet another friend in my humble corner! Come on in, and listen to me RAMBLE BRAMBLE! >:D

Thank you for the ask! <3

17. How do they deal with getting ill? Is one better at handling it than the other?

Solas, is by far, the one who handles getting ill better. He's more calm, collected, knows it's merely how physical bodies can be, and he has remedies that either soothe or completely curtail the intensity of say a cough or a fever. That's not the say Solas is infallible; he's still 'mortal' for all intents and purposes. So, on the off chance the dear wolf finds himself bested by the forces of nature, he usually hides away, keeps the symptoms hidden as well as his 'weakness', but not from Fane, never from Fane. Fane's used to watching Solas' body language, and the moment something is amiss, he latches on, he observes every rattling breath, every quiet shiver, every shutting of eyes as a fever fogs a usually clear mind, and if necessary, Fane will intervene if Solas is proving to be difficult and stubborn.

"Either go lay the fuck down on your own, or I'll make you lay down."

"Fane, it is merely a cough. It is not--"

"Your sweating like a whore in a Chantry, your complexion is ashen, your eyes are deep set with bags as if you haven't been sleeping, your posture is slouched and it rattles every time you take in a deep breath, your knees are practically knocking together when a shudder wracks it. Now, tell me: is that just a 'cough'?"

"...You have made your point, but I--"

"Go. Lay. The. Fuck. Down. I will carry you if I have to, Solas. You know I will."

"I am well aware, ma'isenatha. *sighs* Very well. If it will ease your mind, I will attempt to rest."

"Good."

So, that's pretty much a rough summary of how conversations can go when Solas is the one sick. Fane isn't gentle when he's concerned, and especially not with Solas because he knows the damned fool will run himself into the ground before taking care of himself. But once Solas does lie down, then Fane is more calm, more gentle, and he won't leave his sky's side until he's stable and resting.

Now, Fane is a whole other story when he gets sick. Fane has a pretty sturdy constitution, and a lot of that comes from what he is. However, that's not always the case. It's very rare that Fane gets sick with 'common' illnesses like the flu or a cold, yes, but there is another form that literally sticks to him like glue, and it has for years upon years.

Fane has a magical sensitivity. This sensitivity is so bad, so potent, that certain strains of magic will cause Fane to buckle and retch until there's nothing left in his stomach, but pure bile, and then that, too, will come up. This chronic illness isn't something from Fane's draconic life, even though magic was mainly what caused his death, but rather, it was from his mortal life when his 'father' began his experiments. Those experiments involved a lot of lyrium, a lot of magic, and it was near daily that they occurred, and all over the span of five years.

Fane has lived with this affliction for a total of nine years, and has never fully been able to recover from it. It lessens as his story goes on, but only after gentle exposure; minor healing, simple barriers, etc. It's also why the removal of his vallaslin doesn't occur until much, much, much later than Inquisition's canon timeline, and even then, Solas has to help Fane through an episode of shivers and vomiting. Uncovering Fane's adversion to magic is actually what first brought Solas closer to him back when they were simply 'The Herald' and 'the elven apostate'. As such, Solas helps Fane after every nightmare, every battle involving the essence, even if curious eyes are watching because he knows just how bad, how violent these episodes can be if not tended to properly.

"Damn it all.."

"Breathe, vhenan. It will pass. Just breathe. Do not panic."

"You don't have to...ngh...sit here with me. Go on, and--"

"Enough, Fane. Do you truly believe me to care so little as to leave you face first in a basin of your own bile?"

"No, I just--"

"Hush. I understand you had to endure this alone, and it hurts to know that that was the case, that I was not there to help you. But, this affliction is not your doing, it is not your sin; it is the sin of another. Do not punish yourself for that. I beg of you.."

"...Thank you, my sky. Sorry to be a burden.."

"You are nothing of the sort. I will get you some water. Just breathe, and continue breathing, no matter how much it may feel futile. Please."

"...Okay. Okay."

Another brief summary of when Fane is sick. Solas is softer, but still firm when Fane's being stubborn. There's a lot of reassurance that Solas has to do when Fane is in the middle of one of his episodes because a lot of what Fane does is self destructive due to the fact that he believes he is to blame for everything earlier in his life.

He was the one to allow the experiments, wanting to protect his sister from their father's machinations. He was the one to let foolish pride encase him and goad him into thinking it would nothing to him. He was the one that never spoke up, never unveiled the truth from being so certain no one would listen, and for fear of more wrath.

These are all things that Fane feels are his fault, and they aren't, but feelings like those don't just go away overnight, and Solas works with Fane throughout the course of their relationship to make his dear dragon realize that he is not to blame, that Fane is worthy of love and care just like any other being. Solas will guide Fane through these bouts of sickness with soothing words and gentle gestures. Stroking his hair, quietly whispering to him in Elvhen and Common, holding his hand if Fane seeks it out, and coaxing him to lie down in bed after the vomiting ceases. When Fane's body and mind finally gives way, exhaustion taking over, Solas will take care of everything that may arise in the time frame without protest, without complaint while keeping a close eye on his tenacious dragon, not trusting anyone else to do it.