#trying to stitch was fun because I just had to keep working around threads

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

The Eras Tour | 2023-2024

[hannahssimblr]

It’s an innocuous day in January when, for the first time, I realise my life can come apart just like anybody else’s. Like theirs, mine is a seam, a thousand tiny threads holding it firm, an analogy somewhere about a stitch saving time. Or nine. I don’t remember. My mother is too high class to sew her clothes. When they tear or wear at the elbows and knees, she buys more, because people like us don’t need to repair. 

Friends at school with fraying cuffs on their uniform sleeves, hems of their trousers unrolled and hanging raw about their ankles. Shirts, a rectangular echo of a pocket on the breast of the thing worn for years after being attacked in the hallways by boys who tore them off for fun. Happened to me too. Inevitable. A rite of passage on my first week of school. I wore a shirt still creased from the packet the next day, because my clothes never had to be old, worn, damaged. When something tore, another one appeared in my room. I was from the big house on Vernon Avenue. I had the PlayStation 2 before everyone else. My clothes were always new.

But this, all of this, is like when Jen’s school trousers ripped up the back the time she tried to climb on the cistern to have a cigarette out the window. The threads had been giving for a while. They just waited until that moment to let her know, in a violent display of embarrassment in front of the girls she was hoping to impress. It’s like when the elastic in your swimming togs gives up one day, falling to bits around your body after months of cooperation, eaten secretly by the chlorine the whole time. 

It starts with nothing. A pretzel. The bakery near the university I get my breakfast some mornings. Simple, a bagel and a coffee which I’ll take with me to class. Tuesday, that day. The day I have art history at nine with Steffen, the lecturer that fancies my girlfriend and loathes me. It’s my most dreaded hour of the week, one that calls for the comfort of a pretzel and a coffee, essential to get me through the slog of it, keep me sane while he pretends he cannot understand my German and corrects me sneeringly in front of everyone, determined to embarrass me. 

Card declined. 

“Ah, weird.” Trying again then, and another denying beep. Smiling sheepishly at the barista, explaining I don’t have cash on me. 

“It could be a problem with the machine. You can take it. You come here all the time, so just pay later if you want.”

Thank her. It was nice of her. Tell her I’ll be back in a couple of hours, after my classes, but I won’t be. My card is declined in the little Italian deli where I’ve met Astrid for lunch. It’s awkward this time. They’ve already made our sandwiches up. 

“I’ll pay it,” says Astrid after a long, uncomfortable pause, and presents a little blue debit card while it strikes me I’ve never actually seen it before. Never knew what her debit card looks like, and sort of assumed in some sense she didn’t even own one. Why would she? I think. What does she ever have to pay for?

The sandwiches, I suppose. Tasting worse than ever now, they are spoiled by the pungency of my guilt. We eat them by the river, hands freezing around the tinfoil wrapping, frowning at the water, as the wind lifts white peaks from its surface. “So weird about my card,” I say, but Astrid is disinterested, doing that flippant waving thing with her hand. “Sometimes the machines just don’t work as they’re supposed to. That’s why having cash is good.” She wants to talk about this Iranian film she and Dalia saw in an indie theater. I let her, all the distracted by thoughts of my bank account. It’s fine, surely. I have money. People like me have money. 

Early evening, with my earbuds in on the gym’s treadmill, and I hear a message chime. Jonas. I wipe the sweat from my brow and read it. It’s about the water bill. A message so unbelievably dull that usually I’d ignore it for a few hours, but now my stomach twists. I went back to the bakery after college to pay for my breakfast, and my card was declined again. It looks like I stole that pretzel now. I told the barista I’d come back in the morning with actual euros for her, and she smiled in this vacant way that made me feel like a liar, wanting so badly to explain to her I’m not, like, poor, or whatever. I can pay for it, while knowing that explanation would only make me look worse. 

And now Jonas is asking about the water bill, saying I never paid it. I step off the treadmill and stare at my phone. A drop of sweat hits the screen, magnifying the pixels, little dots of coloured screen, and emphasises the word paid for me, like I didn’t already understand the central theme of the text. As in, I have not paid my share of the bill. 

“I have,” I respond. “It should just come out of the account automatically.”

“It hasn’t,” he says, and sends a photograph of the bill, big überfällige Zahlung across the top of it in terrifying red lettering. Overdue payment. Surely not. My legs start feeling a bit weak, which is very dramatic. It’s fine. I have money. I hold on to the arm of the treadmill anyway, in case I decide to fall over. Someone is asking if I’m still using it. I tell him no and head for the changing rooms. 

I call Jonas from the UBahn on the way home, immediately confrontational on the phone to him. “I paid that bill.”

“Well, you haven’t,” he’s eating something. “If you had, then the letter would not say ‘überfällige Zahlung’.”

“That’s obviously a mistake.”

“I don’t think so,” rustling noises, him unfolding the paper for further examination. “I have never seen a mistake before like this, if that is the case. It’s more likely you didn’t pay.”

“I’ve direct debit set up, so.”

“Okay, then maybe your account is empty.” He says it so casually, mouth full of whatever he’s having for dinner. The nonchalance enrages me. 

“Don’t be so stupid,” I hiss, and someone on the train looks over. “There’s no way. I have loads. There’s something going on with my account today, is all. This is normal.” I have no idea whether it’s normal or not, but am sure there’s merit to saying it with such conviction. 

“When did you last check your account balance?”

Well, I’ve never checked it. The sight of it frightens me and reminds me of the drain and eventual cessation of life. Completely reasonable reason. “Jonas, I am telling you that this is a mistake.”

“You can check. When you get home, check.”

“Yeah,” I say, and hang up as the train hurtles from a station into a black tunnel, rumbling through the darkness. 

“You look unwell,” Jonas greets me as I arrive and untangle my scarf from my neck, choking me now, and kick my boots outside the door. Indeed, I do. My reflection is pale and wild-eyed, hair tousled from grabbing at it, like one of those Wall Street guys in the documentary my economics teacher made us watch to explain the recession. 

“Where’s my laptop?” I already know where it is. Need to look. Can’t bear to. Pushing through the apartment now with everything in a dizzying blur, shaky cam, the smell of Jonas’ cooking, him trailing behind, offering me a plate of it, as if I can even think about putting food into my mouth. 

My laptop is on the bed, tossed all casually on the rumpled duvet. Macbook. How much are these things worth? I never cared before this moment. Jonas is in the door as I type the banking website into the address. My codes then. Fuck sake. Don’t know them. I have to navigate through a chat with my mother to find them, heightening the suspense. Then punch them in. Check balance. 

It’s like being punched in the head, the feeling. Then there’s this long, deathly silence, because Jonas knows without me having to say it. He knows by the look on my face. 

“Do you–”

“I have four euros in my account.”

We look at one another for one endless moment, and I can tell he wants to laugh a bit, because it’s a funny kind of shocking. Four euros. A comically depressing number. 

“It’s fine,” he’s saying now. “You just top it up with more,” and then I look at him with the most scathing look I have in my repertoire, because for the first time, he’s the one who looks like the privileged idiot. I feel I have to speak to him slowly to control the emotion in my voice. Tremors anyway, wobbling there beneath every word. “Where do you suppose I get the money to top it up, Jonas?”

He falters. “I thought your parents gave you money.”

“They don’t.”

“But you… We all thought they were funding your lifestyle.”

“They weren’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

“But Jude,” he says, shaking his head at me. I don’t like that. “You were spending so much money all the time. We all thought you had an unlimited amount.”

“I wasn’t,” I snap. “I wasn’t, really.”

“The holidays you went on. The gifts for Astrid, the way you eat at restaurants every day…”

“Those things didn’t feel expensive. I thought I had enough money to cover it, or, I don’t know, I didn’t think. When I sold my car, I–it looked like…” I break off helplessly. “I got an A in maths, Jonas. How can this happen?”

“It’s basic subtraction.”

“This shouldn’t be happening to me.” my laptop fades to black now, the account disappearing from sight, but the reality still ringing in the surrounding air. I think of all I am about to lose. A vision of my life crashing down around me like a house of cards. “Astrid! Oh, God, Astrid. What is she gonna do?”

“She will have to buy her own things for once.”

I groan, head in hands, unable to formulate a response. How can I speak when my life is basically over? Condemned to the streets. One of those people rummaging through skips with holes in my shoes, saying mad things to people at the bus stop, terrorizing the feral pigeons in the town square. There he is, crazy bird man, a cautionary tale. He got an A in maths in his leaving cert, and this still happened to him. 

Jonas, there by the door, deciding it's the perfect time to ask whether I've paid rent this month.

Without looking up. “No,” One glance at my account was enough to show it’s been struggling along for a while. Hundreds becoming tens, whittling down through December to the last few euros. Pocket change. It’s been bad for a while. “No, I didn’t pay rent.”

“Hm,” he says. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Looking at him in despair, considering, briefly, a tantrum of some sort. Pure childhood panic. If I cause enough of a scene, this will all go away. Looking into Jonas’ face is frightening, because I can see it there. He doesn’t know what to do either. He isn’t going to help me. 

“What do I do?” I ask, as if he knows. Pity in his eyes, watching me flail. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Perhaps you can get a job.”

A job. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. A job. An actual job. Kill me. That’s the last thread. The one causes the seam to give and ruins my life. You don’t understand. I want to explain. I’m from the biggest house on Vernon Avenue. I had a PlayStation 2 before everyone else. Instead of saying that, I lie here like a corpse, staring at the ceiling, wishing some heavy piece of furniture would crash through it and turn me into one for real. 

“It’s not bad,” he says, not understanding how bad it really is. Unable to fathom the intricacies of my life. 

I don’t bother to answer. It’s the financial equivalent of being pantsed in the schoolyard. The blankets ripped off my sleeping body on a winter morning. I am a creature accustomed to the shade beneath a rock, exposed at last to the light, nothing left to shelter me.

A job. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[okasuka]

Damian wayne x Reader - this was just a secondary version of my last post,

A/N : i finished this on the toilet….

Part 1: The Mission Aftermath

The Batcave was eerily quiet when Damian and Bruce returned from patrol. Y/N, sitting at the main console, was focused on tracking a new lead Oracle had sent over. She’d stayed behind that night, acting as backup, coordinating their intel and providing support from the cave.

The hiss of the Batmobile brought her attention to the duo stepping out. Damian strode in first, his movements stiff but controlled, his cape flowing behind him like a second shadow. His uniform was torn at the side, revealing a deep cut across his toned torso. Bruce followed, his gaze impassive as always, though the sight of Damian’s injury had clearly left a mark of concern in his furrowed brow.

“Y/N,” Bruce called, his baritone voice snapping her out of her thoughts. “Damian needs stitches.”

Y/N sighed, standing up and grabbing the first-aid kit from the desk. “Of course he does.”

“I’m fine,” Damian snapped, brushing off his father’s attempt to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Fine?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You’re bleeding through your suit.”

Y/N approached, her short wavy hair bouncing slightly as she walked. The red streak glinted under the Batcave’s harsh lighting. She crossed her arms, fixing Damian with a pointed look. “Take off the top half of your suit. I can’t exactly stitch through Kevlar.”

Damian glared at her, his green eyes sharp. “I don’t need—”

“Now, Damian,” Bruce interjected before Damian could argue further. “You’re not going out again until it’s treated.”

Damian huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically as he unhooked his cape and began removing the top half of his suit. He winced slightly as he pulled it over his head, exposing the jagged cut across his torso. His skin was flushed from exertion, his muscles taut as he crossed his arms, glaring at nothing in particular.

Y/N grabbed a pair of scissors and approached, carefully cutting away the fabric around the wound. “Hold still,” she ordered, her tone firm.

“I’m perfectly still,” Damian shot back.

“You’re tense,” Y/N countered, pressing lightly near the wound to inspect it. Damian flinched, his jaw tightening as he instinctively moved away.

“Stop squirming, Damian!” she said, exasperated.

“I’m not squirming,” Damian retorted, though his shoulders were practically glued to his ears in discomfort.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “Good luck,” he muttered before retreating toward the Batcomputer.

Part 2: The Stitching Struggle

Y/N crouched beside Damian, her gloved hands working quickly to clean the wound. The proximity made Damian visibly uncomfortable. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh, and his jaw clenched whenever she moved too close.

“Damian,” Y/N warned, looking up at him. “If you keep moving, this is going to take twice as long.”

“I’m not moving,” he muttered, though his fidgeting hands said otherwise.

“You are literally twitching right now,” she said, gesturing to his restless fingers. “Do you want me to mess up and leave you with a scar? Because I will.”

He scowled, his cheeks slightly pink. “You’re incapable of messing up, so don’t patronize me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Then hold still and stop being so annoying.”

“I’m not—” Damian began, but the sharp sting of antiseptic cut him off. He hissed, his hand shooting out to grip the edge of the med table.

“Oh, suck it up,” Y/N said, unamused. “You get stabbed all the time, and this is what makes you flinch?”

Damian glared at her. “Tt. You’re insufferable.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same about you.” She smirked, grabbing the needle and thread. “Okay, this is the fun part. Try not to squirm.”

Damian shot her a look that could curdle milk. “I said I’m not squirming.”

Y/N leaned closer, her focus narrowing on the wound as she carefully began stitching. The closeness was unavoidable, and she was acutely aware of Damian’s quickened breathing.

“Y/N, can you—”

“What?” she asked distractedly, pulling the thread taut.

“Nothing,” Damian muttered, his gaze darting anywhere but her face. The faint pink in his cheeks deepened, though he tried to mask it with a scowl.

Part 3: Disaster Strikes

After a few more stitches, Damian shifted again, his muscles tightening as she worked.

“Damian,” Y/N said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t stop moving, I swear—”

“I’m not—” Damian moved once more, causing Y/N to lose her balance. She slipped forward, her knees landing awkwardly between his legs as she caught herself on his chest. Her face was inches from his, their eyes locking in shared shock.

“Uh…” Y/N started, her voice faint.

Damian’s eyes widened, his cheeks now a vivid crimson. “Get off of me!” he snapped, though his hands instinctively caught her waist to steady her.

“I am!” she shot back, struggling to push herself upright. Before she could, the sound of footsteps made both of them freeze.

“Damian—” Bruce’s voice cut through the air as he rounded the corner. He stopped abruptly, taking in the scene: Y/N practically sprawled across Damian, their faces far too close for comfort.

“What…” Bruce’s brow furrowed deeply, and he crossed his arms. “Am I interrupting something?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Y/N blurted, scrambling to her feet.

“Clearly,” Damian added, his tone sharp as he stood as well, brushing imaginary dirt from his pants.

For a moment, Bruce stared at them, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, rubbing his temple. “Just… finish treating the wound. And try to stay professional.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce was already walking away, muttering something about “teenagers” under his breath.

Part 4: The Teasing Begins

The awkward silence between Damian and Y/N didn’t last long. As soon as Bruce disappeared, the unmistakable sound of stifled laughter echoed through the Batcave. Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Don’t,” Damian said sharply, glaring toward the source of the laughter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Dick said, walking into view with his hands raised in mock surrender, though his grin betrayed him. “I just… That was priceless.”

“What are you even doing here, Grayson?” Damian snapped, still visibly flustered.

“Making sure you’re not dying,” Dick replied. “And, apparently, catching some quality entertainment while I’m at it.”

“Shut up,” Damian growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Wait—what happened?” Tim’s voice carried through the air as he jogged into the Batcave, Jason following closely behind. “Why is everyone—oh. Oh.”

Tim’s eyes landed on Y/N and Damian, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Did I miss something? Please tell me I didn’t miss something.”

Jason, who was leaning against a nearby wall, raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Damian did something stupid again.”

“Not this time,” Dick said, clapping Jason on the back. “Y/N fell on him.”

“And Bruce walked in,” Tim added, his grin widening.

Y/N threw her hands in the air. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Oh, but it looked like that,” Dick teased, waggling his eyebrows. “The proximity. The awkward tension. The panic. Chef’s kiss.”

“Grayson, leave,” Damian barked, his face practically glowing red now.

“But I’m having so much fun!” Dick protested, flopping onto a chair. “Besides, I’m not the only one enjoying this.”

“Obviously,” Tim said, pulling out his phone. “This moment needs documentation.”

“No pictures,” Damian snapped, lunging toward Tim.

Tim dodged easily, laughing as he darted behind Jason for cover. “Relax, Dami. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Since when?” Damian countered, his voice low and threatening.

Jason snorted. “You two are such children. At least Y/N is staying out of this.”

“I’m really not,” Y/N muttered, glaring at the group. “You’re all the worst.”

“Aw, c’mon, Y/N,” Dick said, grinning at her. “Admit it—you’re having fun.”

“Not even a little,” Y/N replied flatly, though the faint blush on her cheeks suggested otherwise.

Part 5: Stephanie Joins the Party

As if things couldn’t get worse, Stephanie appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the railing. “What’s going on down here? Why is Tim giggling like a maniac?”

Tim waved her down enthusiastically. “You’re just in time. Damian and Y/N had a moment.”

Stephanie’s eyes lit up with mischief as she descended the stairs. “A moment, huh? Do tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Damian growled, his tone icy.

“Except that Y/N fell on him,” Dick said, unable to resist fanning the flames. “And Bruce walked in at the worst possible time.”

Stephanie gasped dramatically, clapping her hands together. “No way! This is perfect.”

“It’s not perfect,” Damian shot back, his voice rising. “It’s none of your business!”

“Correction,” Jason said, smirking. “When it happens in the Batcave, it’s everyone’s business.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Can we all just move on?”

“Nope,” Stephanie said, plopping onto a nearby stool. “This is too good. I mean, when else are we going to see Damian this flustered?”

“I’m not flustered!” Damian insisted, though the redness in his face betrayed him.

“Sure, you’re not,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I think this calls for a celebration.”

“Don’t,” Y/N warned, narrowing her eyes.

Stephanie ignored her. “We should totally tell Alfred. He’ll love this.”

“Stephanie!” Damian and Y/N shouted in unison, their voices laced with panic.

Jason barked out a laugh. “I’d pay good money to see Alfred’s reaction.”

“Why do you all insist on tormenting me?” Damian growled, his hands balling into fists.

“Because it’s fun,” Tim said simply.

Part 6: The Kitchen Incident

After what felt like an eternity of teasing, the group finally dispersed—though not without a fair amount of snickering and side comments. Damian and Y/N were left in the Batcave, the tension still thick between them.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked after a moment, her voice soft.

Damian glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your brothers are… well, them,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the direction they’d gone.

“Tt. I can handle them,” Damian said, though his tone lacked its usual edge.

Y/N smiled faintly. “Good. Because they’re not going to let this go anytime soon.”

“Unfortunately,” Damian muttered, running a hand through his hair.

The rest of the evening passed without incident—until the group reconvened for dinner. Y/N found herself in the kitchen, helping Alfred clean up while the others lounged around the dining room. Damian, ever the perfectionist, joined her, claiming he couldn’t stand the sight of Dick’s lazy posture.

“Pass me that towel,” Y/N said, motioning to the counter.

Damian handed it to her without a word, his movements stiff and precise. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the faint tension in his shoulders—a sign he was still on edge from earlier.

“Relax, Damian,” she said lightly. “It’s just dishes.”

“I am relaxed,” he replied, his tone defensive.

“Right,” Y/N said, smirking as she turned back to the sink.

That’s when Tim walked in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Need any help in here?”

“No,” Damian said immediately.

Tim ignored him, sauntering over to the sink. “You’re doing a great job, Y/N. Very thorough.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow.

Tim leaned casually against the counter, a little too close to Damian. “You know, Dami, you should learn a thing or two about teamwork. Maybe take some notes from Y/N.”

Damian scowled. “Tt. I don’t need advice from you, Drake.”

“Suit yourself,” Tim said with a shrug. Then, with calculated precision, he nudged Damian’s shoulder—just enough to throw him off balance.

Damian stumbled, colliding with Y/N, who was leaning over the sink. The sudden impact sent her forward, water splashing everywhere as Damian’s hands landed on her waist to Part 7: The Kitchen Chaos

Damian’s hands instinctively gripped Y/N’s waist to steady her, but the proximity was, once again, way too close for comfort. Y/N froze, her hands braced against the edge of the sink as Damian practically loomed over her back.

“Damian!” she snapped, whipping her head around to glare at him. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t mean—” Damian started, his voice flustered and defensive. “Drake shoved me!”

“Tim!” Y/N exclaimed, glaring past Damian. “Seriously?”

Tim burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as he pointed at the two of them. “Oh my God, this is perfect! You guys are like magnets for awkward moments.”

Damian released Y/N as if her skin burned him, his jaw tightening in irritation. “I’ll give you a five-second head start, Drake.”

Tim, unfazed, held up his hands. “Relax, Dami. It’s just a joke.” He smirked and added, “Though Bruce might not think so if he walks in right now.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Damian growled, taking a step forward.

But before Damian could lunge, a voice cut through the room. “Do I even want to know what’s going on here?”

Bruce stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Behind him, Dick and Jason peered in with barely contained grins. Stephanie had joined them, and she was already laughing.

Y/N groaned, covering her face with one hand. “This is not what it looks like.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, his gaze flicking between Damian and Y/N, who were both still slightly damp from the sink mishap. “It never is,” he said dryly. “But I keep walking into these situations.”

“I’m being sabotaged,” Damian muttered, glaring at Tim.

“Oh, come on,” Dick chimed in, stepping into the kitchen. “This is hilarious. You two are like a sitcom.”

Jason leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk growing. “I mean, if you guys wanted some alone time, you could’ve just said so. No need to involve the dishes.”

“Enough,” Damian barked, his patience clearly at its limit. “You’re all insufferable.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Stephanie said, grinning at Y/N. “You guys have such great chemistry.”

“There is no chemistry!” Y/N snapped, her face heating up. She turned to Bruce, desperate for an ally. “Can you please make them stop?”

Bruce stared at her for a moment, then at Damian. Finally, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve given up trying to control them.”

“That’s because he secretly enjoys it,” Dick whispered loudly, earning a sharp look from Bruce.

“I heard that, Richard,” Bruce said.

Part 8: The Aftermath

After much bickering, Alfred finally appeared to restore order. “Master Tim,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Perhaps you’d like to assist me in organizing the pantry instead of causing chaos?”

Tim groaned. “Fine. But I stand by my art.”

“Art?” Damian repeated, his tone incredulous. “You’re ridiculous.”

As Alfred ushered Tim away, Dick and Jason decided to follow, leaving Damian and Y/N alone in the kitchen. The silence that settled was heavy and awkward, the tension from earlier still lingering.

Y/N sighed, grabbing a towel to dry her damp hands. “You okay?”

Damian scowled, his gaze fixed on the counter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your brothers are maniacs,” Y/N said, leaning against the sink. “And they seem to enjoy making your life miserable.”

Damian’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smirk. “Tt. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Yeah, but you’re also a terrible patient,” she teased, her tone light. “You make everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at your job,” Damian retorted, though the faint pink in his cheeks betrayed his usual bravado.

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing the towel onto the counter. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” Damian said, his smirk growing slightly.

Part 9: The ension Breaks

For a moment, Y/N considered throwing the towel at Damian’s smug face, but instead, she exhaled and gave him a tired smile. “At least you’re self-aware.”

Damian crossed his arms, leaning back slightly. “I don’t see how that’s a flaw.”

“Of course you don’t,” Y/N muttered, turning back toward the sink to finish cleaning. “You’re too stubborn to see anything as a flaw.”

“I prefer ‘confident,’” Damian corrected.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You really are impossible.”

The sound of her laugh made Damian pause. For a split second, the tension in his posture eased, and he tilted his head slightly, studying her. “Why do you even bother?” he asked suddenly, his tone quieter.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Bother with what?”

“Helping me,” Damian said, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. “Dealing with my—” He hesitated, clearly reluctant to admit any sort of fault. “—attitude.”

Y/N turned to face him fully, her expression softening. “Because I care,” she said simply. “And because someone has to.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, the faintest hint of vulnerability flashing across his face. He quickly masked it with a scoff, looking away. “Tt. You’re too sentimental.”

“And you’re too proud,” Y/N shot back, smiling faintly. “Guess we balance each other out.”

Before Damian could respond, a loud crash from the dining room interrupted the moment.

Part 10: The Final Push

“What now?” Y/N muttered, already moving toward the source of the noise.

When she and Damian entered the dining room, they were greeted by the sight of Dick sprawled on the floor, laughing uncontrollably. Jason stood nearby, holding a chair that had clearly been knocked over in the commotion. Tim and Stephanie were perched on the table, grinning like mischievous children.

“What happened?” Y/N asked, her hands on her hips.

“Teamwork,” Jason said simply, gesturing toward Dick. “He thought he was sneaky, but I caught him.”

“Caught him doing what?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Trying to rig the kitchen door to lock,” Jason explained, smirking. “Probably planning to trap you two in there. Again.”

Damian’s glare turned murderous. “Grayson…”

Part 11: The Plan Backfires

“What?” Dick said, holding up his hands defensively as he climbed to his feet. “I thought you two needed some quality time to sort out… all this tension.”

“What tension?” Y/N snapped, her face heating up as her gaze flicked between Dick and Damian.

Dick gave her an exaggerated look, one eyebrow arched. “The tension, Y/N. It’s practically its own entity at this point.”

“There is no tension!” Damian growled, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Right,” Tim said, grinning. “That’s why you look like you’re two seconds away from throwing Dick into the Batmobile.”

“Not a bad idea,” Jason muttered, smirking.

Y/N groaned and pressed her palms to her temples. “Can we all just act like normal human beings for five minutes?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Stephanie chimed in, swinging her legs off the table. “Besides, this is way more entertaining than a quiet night.”

“You’re all ridiculous,” Y/N said, crossing her arms.

“And yet you love us,” Dick quipped, winking at her.

“Speak for yourself,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Dick ignored him, turning his attention back to the group. “All I’m saying is, maybe we’re just trying to help. You know, give you two a little push in the right direction.”

Damian’s glare darkened. “You’re pushing too hard, Grayson.”

“Am I?” Dick replied, feigning innocence. “Or are you just afraid to admit that I’m right?”

“Keep testing me, and you’ll find out exactly what I’m capable of,” Damian warned, his tone low and menacing.

Jason snorted. “Careful, Dick. He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”

Part 12: The Fall

As the bickering escalated, Y/N decided she’d had enough. She turned to head back to the kitchen, only for her foot to catch on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled forward, her arms flailing for balance—just as Damian instinctively stepped toward her to help.

Unfortunately, Damian misjudged his footing in the rush, and the two of them collided, tumbling to the floor in a heap. Y/N landed on top of Damian, her hands braced against his chest to steady herself.

The room fell into a stunned silence for a moment before Jason let out a bark of laughter. “Well, this just keeps getting better.”

Y/N’s face turned bright red as she scrambled to get off Damian. “I—I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Damian muttered, though his cheeks were tinged pink as he avoided her gaze.

“Aw, that was adorable,” Stephanie said, clutching her hands over her heart dramatically. “You two are like a rom-com waiting to happen.”

“Shut up, Brown,” Damian growled, his voice dripping with irritation.

“Relax, Dami,” Tim said, smirking. “It’s not like we’re judging you. Much.”

Damian sat up, his glare cutting through the group. “I swear, if any of you say one more word—”

“—you’ll what? Brood harder?” Jason teased, earning a few snickers from the others.

Part 13: The Kiss

Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “You guys are impossible.”

“Right back at you,” Dick said, his grin widening. “But, hey, I think you owe Damian a thank you for breaking your fall.”

Y/N turned to Damian, her embarrassment still written all over her face. “Uh… thanks, I guess.”

“Tt,” Damian replied, standing up and brushing himself off. “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Jason echoed, leaning against the wall. “Looked like something to me.”

“Maybe we should give them some privacy,” Stephanie suggested, grinning.

Before Damian could respond, Y/N let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. You all want a show? Here.”

And then, without thinking, she turned to Damian, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.

The room erupted into chaos.

“Whoa!” Dick shouted, his eyes wide with shock.

“Holy—” Jason started, but his words were drowned out by Stephanie’s excited squeal.

“Finally!” Tim yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

Damian froze for a moment, completely caught off guard. But as the initial shock wore off, he found himself leaning into the kiss, his hands tentatively resting on Y/N’s waist.

When Y/N pulled back, her face was bright red, and Damian looked like he was struggling to process what had just happened.

“There,” Y/N said, her voice a little breathless. “Happy now?”

The room was silent for a beat before Dick burst out laughing. “Oh, we are definitely happy now.”

Part 14: The Aftermath

Damian turned on his brothers and Stephanie, his expression a mix of embarrassment and fury. “If any of you say another word—”

“What? You’ll kiss us next?” Jason teased, dodging Damian’s attempted punch.

“I hate all of you,” Damian growled, though the redness in his cheeks undercut his usual menace.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Dami,” Stephanie said, grinning. “You’ve got a girlfriend now! You should be happy.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Y/N said quickly, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Not yet,” Tim muttered, earning a sharp glare from both Damian and Y/N.

Bruce walked in at that exact moment, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”

“No,” Damian and Y/N said in unison.

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I’m too old for this.”

“Join the club,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

Part 15: The Endless Teasing

The chaos didn’t end with Bruce’s weary departure. If anything, his brief interruption seemed to embolden everyone else. Dick, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie all huddled together, whispering conspiratorially and shooting sly glances toward Damian and Y/N.

Y/N, still standing uncomfortably close to Damian after the kiss, could feel the weight of their teasing looks. She crossed her arms, trying to mask her growing discomfort. “Okay, you’ve had your fun. Can we move on now?”

“No way,” Dick said, grinning from ear to ear. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week.”

“Best thing all month,” Stephanie corrected, leaning against the table. “Do you know how rare it is to see Damian look this flustered?”

Damian bristled, his fists clenching. “I am not flustered.”

“You totally are,” Tim said, smirking. “And honestly? It’s adorable.”

Jason chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “Dami’s growing up so fast. Next thing you know, he’ll be writing sonnets about Y/N and picking flowers.”

“Would you all shut up?” Damian snapped, his voice dangerously low. “Or I swear—”

“What? You’ll throw another tantrum?” Jason interrupted, his smirk widening. “Careful, baby bird. That’ll just make this even better for us.”

“Jason,” Y/N said, stepping forward with a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Jason replied with a shrug. “But thanks for noticing.”

Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Part 16: Stephanie’s Master Plan

“Ridiculous, yes. Hilarious, also yes,” Stephanie said, pulling out her phone. “We should really commemorate this moment. Group photo, anyone?”

“No,” Damian said immediately, his voice sharp.

“Oh, come on!” Stephanie pouted. “Just one picture. It’ll be cute.”

“Stephanie,” Y/N warned, her tone low. “Don’t you dare.”

Ignoring her, Stephanie raised her phone and aimed it at Damian and Y/N. Before she could snap the picture, Damian lunged forward, snatching the phone from her hands.

“Hey!” Stephanie protested, trying to grab it back. “That’s not fair!”

Damian held the phone high out of her reach, his expression a mix of irritation and smug satisfaction. “Consider it a lesson in boundaries.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” Stephanie muttered, crossing her arms.

“And yet, I’m still smarter than you,” Damian replied, tossing the phone back to her.

Part 17: Peace Negotiations

Before Stephanie could launch into another round of teasing, Dick stepped forward, clapping his hands together. “Alright, alright. Let’s call a truce before Damian actually murders one of us.”

“Tempting,” Damian muttered under his breath, shooting Jason and Stephanie a warning glare.

“Look,” Y/N said, raising her hands in exasperation. “I know you guys live for chaos, but can we please move on? This whole thing has already gone too far.”

��Too far?” Tim repeated with mock surprise. “We’re just getting started!”

“Tim,” Y/N said, her tone sharp. “Don’t.”

Tim smirked but wisely backed off, retreating behind Jason.

Jason, however, wasn’t so easily deterred. “Fine, fine. We’ll drop it—for now. But I’m keeping tabs on you two. Never thought I’d see the day Damian Wayne became a certified softie.”

Damian took a menacing step forward, but Y/N put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Jason, enough,” she said firmly.

Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, nurse. Whatever you say.”

Damian glanced down at Y/N’s hand on his chest, his expression softening for a split second before he caught himself and stepped back. “Let’s leave before I lose my patience entirely.”

“Good idea,” Y/N muttered, already turning toward the door.

“Wait!” Dick called after them. “At least let me get—”

The sound of the kitchen door slamming shut cut him off.

Part 18: A Quiet Moment

Once safely out of the dining room, Damian and Y/N stopped in the hallway. The muffled sound of laughter still echoed behind them, but at least they were alone.

Y/N sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “Your family is insane.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Damian said, his tone dry. “They’ve been unbearable for years.”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Still, they mean well. In their own, chaotic way.”

Damian’s expression softened, and he leaned against the opposite wall, studying her carefully. “You handled them better than most.”

“I’ve had practice,” Y/N replied with a faint smile. “Besides, someone had to keep you from losing it in there.”

“I didn’t lose it,” Damian said defensively.

“Not yet,” Y/N teased, her smile widening.

Part 19: Unspoken Understanding

Damian crossed his arms, his brow furrowed slightly as he looked at Y/N. “You really don’t have to deal with all of this, you know. My family… they’re relentless. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to avoid it altogether.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening. “And leave you to face them alone? Not a chance.”

Damian’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You’re persistent.”

“Someone has to be,” she replied lightly. “Besides, they’re not all bad. They’re just… enthusiastic.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed, though his tone lacked its usual edge. “That’s one word for it.”

Y/N straightened, stepping closer to him. “Look, I know they like to push your buttons, but I think they do it because they care. They just have a weird way of showing it.”

Damian hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment. “They’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” Y/N said with a small shrug. “But they’re your family. And honestly, you’re kind of insufferable too.”

Damian’s eyes snapped back to hers, narrowing slightly. “Excuse me?”

Y/N grinned. “You heard me. But that’s okay. I guess I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Starting?” he asked, his tone laced with mock offense. “You’ve had plenty of time to adjust.”

“True,” she admitted. “But you’re a lot of work.”

Damian huffed, though there was no real anger behind it. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” Y/N said softly, her smile fading slightly. “But you need it.”

Part 20: A Subtle Shift

For a moment, the air between them grew heavy, charged with something unspoken. Damian held her gaze, his usual confidence replaced with a flicker of uncertainty. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“I do,” Y/N said quietly. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Damian. No matter how much you think you should.”

Damian swallowed hard, the vulnerability in her words hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “I don’t… trust people easily.”

“I know,” Y/N said. “And I don’t expect you to change overnight. But I’m here, okay? Whether you like it or not.”

Damian was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Thank you.”

Y/N smiled, the sincerity in his voice enough to warm her heart. “You’re welcome.”

Part 21: The Return to Chaos

The moment was short-lived, however. Before either of them could say anything more, the kitchen door swung open, and Dick poked his head out, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“There you are!” he said, his tone overly cheerful. “We were just about to come find you. Thought maybe you’d snuck off to—”

“Finish that sentence,” Damian interrupted, his voice icy, “and you’ll regret it.”

Dick held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Relax, little bro. Just wanted to say that Alfred made cookies, and we thought you two might want to join us.”

Part 22: Back to the Bat-Family Circus

“Why do I feel like this is a trap?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Dick.

Dick’s grin widened. “Oh, come on, Dami. Do you really think I’d set you up again after all this? I’m offended.”

Jason’s voice called from behind Dick. “You absolutely would.”

“Not helping, Jason,” Dick muttered before turning back to Damian and Y/N. “Look, cookies. Good vibes. No teasing—probably. Just come on.”

Y/N sighed, exchanging a glance with Damian. “It’s not like we’re going to get any peace out here anyway.”

“Tt. Fine,” Damian said begrudgingly, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on Dick. “But the first person to make a comment is going to regret it.”

“Noted,” Dick said with a salute. “No comments. Scout’s honor.”

Part 23: Cookies and Chaos

When Y/N and Damian entered the living room, Alfred was already setting out a tray of freshly baked cookies and tea. Jason was lounging on the couch, Tim and Stephanie were locked in a fierce battle over the last cushion, and Bruce sat in his armchair, reading a thick dossier as if none of this chaos was happening around him.

“Ah, Master Damian, Miss Y/N,” Alfred said warmly, gesturing to the tray. “You’re just in time. I saved a plate for you.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Y/N said, smiling as she took a cookie. “At least someone here knows how to be civilized.”

“You wound me,” Jason quipped, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “I’m always civilized.”

“That’s debatable,” Tim muttered, earning himself a glare from Jason.

As Y/N sat down on the edge of the couch, Damian stood awkwardly for a moment before settling into the seat next to her. The teasing eyes of his siblings immediately turned toward them, but a single sharp look from Damian kept them quiet—mostly.

“So,” Stephanie began innocently, “how’s everyone enjoying their evening?”

“Don’t,” Damian said warningly.

“What?” Stephanie asked, all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m just making conversation.”

Bruce lowered his dossier, glancing between them briefly. “I’m assuming this is related to whatever it was I walked in on earlier?”

“Oh, definitely,” Jason said with a smirk, earning a sharp kick from Y/N under the coffee table. “Ow! Violent much?”

“I said drop it,” Y/N said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Bruce sighed, closing the file. “I don’t need to know the details. But whatever this is,” he said, gesturing vaguely between Damian and Y/N, “just make sure it doesn’t distract from training. Or missions.”

Y/N and Damian both turned bright red, speaking at the same time.

“There’s nothing going on—”

“This isn’t a distraction—”

The overlapping denials only made the others laugh harder.

Part 24: A Moment of Calm

Eventually, Alfred’s cookies distracted the group long enough for the teasing to settle down. Y/N leaned back on the couch, exhaustion evident in her expression. “Your family is exhausting,” she muttered to Damian under her breath.

“I tried to warn you,” Damian replied, though there was a faint smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, well, I guess I can handle it,” Y/N said, taking another bite of her cookie. “But you owe me for this.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Owe you?”

“For putting up with all of this,” she said, gesturing toward his bickering siblings. “And for not letting me know what I was getting into when I started hanging out with you.”

“You should’ve known better,” Damian said, though there was an unusual softness in his voice.

Y/N glanced at him, her teasing smile fading slightly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should’ve.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything, the noise of the Bat-family fading into the background. Then Damian leaned slightly closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

Part 25: Nightfall and an Unlikely Arrangement

As the evening stretched on, Alfred appeared in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically apologetic. “Miss Y/N, I regret to inform you that the construction in your room will not be finished tonight. It appears the repairs were more extensive than anticipated.”

Y/N frowned, setting her teacup down. “Oh. That’s okay, Alfred. I can just crash on the couch.”

“Nonsense,” Bruce said, not looking up from his reading. “You’ll stay in one of the guest rooms.”

“Unfortunately, Master Bruce,” Alfred interjected, “the guest rooms are also undergoing renovations.”

Jason let out a low whistle. “What a shame. Guess you’re stuck with us, Y/N.”

“Don’t even think about it, Todd,” Damian snapped, his eyes narrowing.

“What, you’re volunteering to host?” Jason smirked, leaning back with a wicked grin. “That’s very generous of you, baby bird.”

Damian glared at him but didn’t respond. Y/N, sensing an argument brewing, sighed. “I’ll just sleep on the floor or something. It’s no big deal.”

“No,” Damian said abruptly. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised. Clearing his throat, he added more evenly, “You can stay in my room.”

The room went silent for a beat, and then Jason burst out laughing. “Oh, this is too good.”

“Quiet,” Damian snapped, his face slightly red. “There’s no need to make this a spectacle.”

Y/N hesitated, her own cheeks warming. “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine,” Damian said firmly, standing and gesturing for her to follow. “Let’s go before they make this even more unbearable.”

Part 26: Sharing the Space

Damian’s room was surprisingly neat, the decor minimal but tasteful. A large bed with a black-and-green comforter dominated the space, and a few books and weapons were arranged meticulously on the shelves. Y/N glanced around, feeling slightly out of place.

“Your room is… very you,” she said, offering a small smile.

Damian shrugged, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto a nearby chair. “I prefer order.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Y/N teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. “So… where am I sleeping?”

Damian frowned, as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. “The bed, obviously.”

“And you?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The bed,” Damian said, crossing his arms. When Y/N gave him a skeptical look, he sighed. “It’s large enough for both of us. We’ll stay on opposite sides.”

“Alright,” Y/N said, kicking off her shoes and climbing under the covers. “But if you hog the blanket, I’m kicking you.”

“Tt. As if I would need to,” Damian muttered, sliding in on the other side of the bed.

The two lay in awkward silence for a while, the only sound the soft rustle of blankets. Y/N stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. Sharing a bed with Damian Wayne was not something she had ever anticipated. She glanced over at him, noticing how tense he seemed, his back rigid and his hands clasped over his stomach.

“Damian,” she said softly, breaking the silence.

“What?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“Relax,” she said, smiling faintly. “I’m not going to bite.”

“Tt. That’s not what I’m concerned about,” he muttered.

“What are you concerned about?” Y/N asked, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him.

Damian turned his head slightly, his emerald eyes meeting hers. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and Y/N wondered if she’d pushed too far. Then, he sighed, his usual guarded expression softening.

Part 27: The Confession

“I’ve been avoiding this,” Damian admitted, his voice unusually vulnerable. “Because I don’t know how to say it.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Say what?”

Damian sat up slightly, leaning against the headboard. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the blanket—an uncharacteristic sign of nervousness. “You’re important to me,” he said quietly. “More important than I thought anyone could be.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching. “Damian…”

“I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the blanket. “I’m stubborn , and I push people away because I’m afraid of letting them get too close. But with you… I don’t feel that way. I can’t push you away. I don’t want to.”

Y/N’s heart raced, and for a moment, she couldn’t find the words. Damian Wayne—stoic, guarded Damian—was opening up to her in a way she hadn’t expected. His vulnerability was both shocking and endearing. Slowly, she moved closer, her hand reaching for his, instinctively seeking connection.

“You don’t have to push me away,” she whispered, her voice soft but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, Damian. You don’t have to be afraid of that.”

Damian looked up at her, his eyes searching hers, a mix of longing and uncertainty swirling in them. “I’m not good with this,” he admitted, his voice low. “With… feelings. But I want you to know how much you mean to me. More than I’ve ever let anyone else in.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She reached up, gently cupping his face in her hands. The moment felt so intimate, so raw, that everything else in the world seemed to fade away. There were no distractions, no jokes from his siblings, no teasing from the others—just the two of them in this quiet space, holding each other in a way that was more meaningful than either of them had imagined.

“I care about you, Damian,” Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. “More than you know.”

Damian’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into her touch. For a brief, fleeting moment, it was as if the world had paused, leaving only the two of them in this fragile, perfect moment. Without another word, he leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he kissed her.

The kiss was tentative at first, both of them unsure, testing the waters, but as the seconds stretched on, it deepened. Damian’s hand gently cupped her neck, pulling her closer, and Y/N responded instinctively, her fingers threading through his hair. There was no rush, no urgency—just a quiet, intimate connection that felt like it had been building for longer than either of them realized.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other, neither of them spoke. The kiss had said everything that needed to be said. Damian, usually so careful with his emotions, had laid himself bare, and Y/N had met him halfway, offering him the one thing he feared most: acceptance.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Damian said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither do I,” Y/N replied, her voice equally soft, “but I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, Damian allowed himself to believe that.

A/N - whooo!! that was a long one. i may or may not have been constipated writing this….

[inoreuct]

I've been lurking in the Zosan tag and I'm super in love with the snippets you've been posting! For a prompt, I really enjoy them being soft and taking care of each other after fights? Also love outsider POV if that seems fun to you.

wahshdhdhhs THANK YOU 😭 i’m having so much fun writing them and i had fun writing THIS :)) made it short and sweet and mostly from nami’s pov; soft but also they bicker because. when do they not. enjoy!

Nami huffed as she made her way to the galley, peckish after the battle. Sanji was probably there, but loathe as she was to admit it she’d feel a little bad to ask him to make something; that fight had taken a lot out of all of them, and she’d gotten off easy— The last she’d seen him he’d been wrapping his forearms with his shirt and trying to staunch the bleeding from several wicked slashes.

The door was cracked open when she got there. Strange. Sanji was meticulous about keeping it shut to keep Luffy out, but she supposed if he was to be lax at any time, it would be when he was injured. 

That was, until she heard the voices.

“Stop moving, shithead!”

“I’m not moving! The fuck are you—”

She peeked through into the kitchen and almost stopped breathing, hunger forgotten, fatigue banished, grin growing by the second.

“If you don’t stop fucking fidgeting it’s gonna leave a scar,” Zoro warned, tugging Sanji’s hand forward again and rolling his eyes at the cook’s dramatic sigh.

Sanji was perched on the dining table, one arm outstretched as Zoro shoved a needle threaded with fishing line through his skin. He tried to hide his wince at a particularly tender spot, shoulders jumping before they settled at Zoro’s soft sound of apology. Nami took a note at the back of her mind to get Luffy to befriend more doctors.

Still, looking at the arm that Zoro had already finished, the stitches were neater than Zoro would have done on himself; she’d seen the scars that he’d gotten from sewing himself up. They didn’t look like they’d had half this much care put into them.

“You’re lucky they aren’t that deep. The hell’d you go and do this for, shitty cook? You need your hands,” the swordsman mumbled, brows furrowing and actually sounding a little confused, and Nami simultaneously felt sorry for him and like she wanted to clobber the big idiot upside the head. 

“Ah, you know me,” Sanji sighed, slouching to the side dramatically but keeping his arm still. “Always the martyr—” Zoro levelled him with an unimpressed stare, cutting a stitch with a dry snip, and he faltered. “Well, I— I don’t know, marimo.” He shrugged, swallowing. His eyes were staring at something on the table. “I saw you there and just moved.”

Nami gathered her context clues and had to stop herself from pumping her fists. It was finally happening. The two idiots had been dancing around each other for ages; She and Usopp had a running bet on who would get their shit together first, but hell, at this point she didn’t even care who won.

Zoro sighed heavily, short and sharp, pushing Sanji’s skin together to finish off the last stitch. “Just— Don’t do it again.”

“The hell do you mean don’t do it again, you ingrate?!” Sanji squawked, outraged and hissing through his teeth when the fishing line was tightened. “I saved your life!”

“I would’ve been fine!”

“You would’ve been hurt—”

Zoro tossed the scissors and needle aside, brandishing a roll of gauze in Sanji’s face. “And what if you couldn’t cook anymore?!” 

“Well maybe, just maybe—” The cook snatched the gauze, gripping it in his fist with his eyes ablaze, “Really think about this, now— I care more about you than that, you moss-brained oaf.” He took a measured inhale, jaw working as he looked away. Nami was about to do a victory lap around the deck. “Good God, how long is it gonna take to get it through your thick skull…” 

“Curly-brow.” 

Sanji remained resolute, face turned to the side even as Zoro stepped closer.

“Oi, cook.”

He wound the gauze between his fingers, looking down.

“Sanji,” Zoro murmured. “Baby. Come here.”

Nami clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide as coins. This was a thing. They were already a thing. Oh, Usopp was absolutely going to lose his shit. 

Sanji swallowed, unable to escape when Zoro had callused hands on his knees and was dipping down to nose at his cheek. “First you want me to stop moving, now you want me to—” He cut off when Zoro kissed him, simple and sweet, thumb rubbing circles over his kneecap. “…Mm. Right, yes, I suppose that’s… a valid reason.”

“Thank you.” Zoro set his jaw, looking up at Sanji earnestly. “I mean it, curls. I know how much cooking means to you. And you said...”

Nami watched as Sanji’s face softened, his hand coming up to cup the side of Zoro’s face. “Of course, mon chou.”

The swordsman chuckled low in his chest. “Did you just call me a cabbage?”

“Wh— No.”

“Yes, you did.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“Our navigator doesn’t just have maps. Found a French dictionary lying around.” 

Shit, she’d been wondering where that had gone. Green-haired bastard.

“Said navigator’s been here since five minutes ago.”

Double shit. 

Sanji whipped around with a scandalised noise as she gave up the act and stood in the doorway properly. “Nami!”

“I didn’t see anything!” she cackled, just barely sheepish, hands up in a gesture of peace as she turned and hightailed it out of there. The smart thing to do would be to blackmail the shit out of Zoro—

But she thought of how gently they’d treated each other, the looks in their eyes, and sighed. She’d let them have this.

(But getting her to admit that they were good for each other or that she was happy for them would be harder than pulling teeth, she’d make sure of that.) *

“Go get me a wet cloth, darling, there’s blood in your hair.”

“You think she’ll snitch?” Zoro asked, running the tap over a clean dishcloth and wringing it out before walking back.

Sanji hummed, non-committal and slightly amused. “Would you mind if she did?” he asked lightly, seemingly unbothered as he wiped at the red drying tacky in Zoro’s hairline from where he’d been whacked over the head.

The swordsman laughed under his breath. He could feel the tension in Sanji from the way he was sitting, spine too straight as he wrapped his arms around the cook’s waist, hipbones pressed into the table’s edge between his thighs. “…Not really, no.”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Sanji said, cool and composed, but this time he didn’t bother hiding the relief in his smile. “Now.” He pursed his lips, scrubbing the rest of the blood out of Zoro’s eyebrow. “To the showers with you, and then bed.”

Zoro held up the gauze. “Still gotta wrap your stitches.”

Sanji rolled his eyes again, the corners crinkling as he smiled. “Fine. Wrap, shower, bed.”

“Mm,” Zoro hummed, pulling him close and leaning up for one last kiss. “Perfect.” 

fin.

[fallenangels1987]

lets face it. the joker sucks as a batman villain. everybody thinks hes good because hes got a cool character design and hes been around since forever and writers keep trying to make him good, but in concept alone he fails to tap into any of the central themes or intrigue of batman, and nor does he reflect any of bruces internal conflict. really, the only use the joker has ever had was creating harley quinn, but now shes an entirely separate character from him so any short-lived relevance he may have had with her is gone. but contrary to what some may think, i dont think the joker should die. that decision would be a big deal and he'd be so dramatic about it, we'd have an entire plotline dedicated to it.... no one wants that. no one wants to see his stupid joker face for longer than physically necessary. it would also be reversed by the next reboot. no, we need a plan to make him irrelevant. more so than he already is, i mean.

first, we have batmans rogues gallery do a drag race. whos judging? poison ivy and the riddler. its green-themed. but see this is genius. cuz who hates the joker more than poison ivy and the riddler? yeah, harley quinn, who is not in attendance cuz she knows whats about to happen. in fact, she planned this, and shes using this as her cover to mess around with selina and try to convince her to be harley and pams third again. it wont work, but the dedication and jakey-haterism is commendable.

the drag race itself is not the focus, however. see, the entire thing has been set up to generate the most drama possible. everyone except for the joker has received invitations that say the show (which is being live broadcast to an unwilling audience of 150,000, all of whom thought they were watching the morning news up until 5 minutes ago, and found themselves unable to switch the broadcast off) will be recording their every move, so they better be on their worst behavior. the joker, unbeknownst to this, is being his usual asshole self, but not even in a fun conniving way, just in the regular asshole way.

at some point, he starts a fight. tensions are already high and hes the fucking joker. just let him dig his own grave here. he starts a fight and his (already shitty, i should add) outfit gets torn. now he has to spend all of his time that should be spent on makeup on fixing the stitching of this dress, and its going awful, and hes been forcibly removed from the makeup/costume making zone so hes just sitting on the stoop outside with a single spool of thread trying to fix this poofy ass dress. soon enough hes got 5 minutes left on the clock and hes still not finished, so hes like fuck it! im just gonna do my makeup and hope for the best. the makeup is atrocious, predictably, he doesnt even get to finish the eyeliner, but he tries to go back inside nonetheless. oops, he got locked out! thank you, tetch. now hes gotta go through the front, all the while trying not to get dirt on this dress which is falling apart on top of him, knowing full well poison ivy and the riddler and the rest of the queens are making fun of him for being late.

he gets back in. by this point, hes sweating like a damn hog, his makeup is running, but hes HERE. he sees amygdala preparing to go down the runway. no no no, the JOKER cant have that. the joker cant have anyone stealing his rightfully earned spotlight. he pushes amygdala out of the way and waits for the go-ahead.

poison ivy and the riddler look confused and disturbed, then whisper to one another for a moment. they turn back toward him.

"didnt we already escort you off the premises like, half an hour ago?" the riddler asks.

"yeah, you weren't supposed to come back," poison ivy says. "that's the point of having henchmen take you out."

they argue about this for a while until joker is thrown out again. the public vote gives him a pitiful 1%.

after that, hes a laughing stock! nobody likes him! hes just the guy who couldnt take a hint even after he was kicked out of a building! he resigns in disgrace and moves to rural ohio where he becomes a gas station attendant. and THAT is how we get rid of the joker.

[improbable-implosions]

This one's kinda funny, I went into affixing that patch SO sure that the design of that sword of mine, Arma, would be plenty for that patch, but the longer I stared at it doing other mends for these pants, the longer I felt it needed _something_ else, you know?

First up, we've got to stitch on the patch itself! I did some nice even straight stitches, because initially, I was planning on a little area of sashiko mending.

But, in looking at the size of the chunk of dissolvable backing I had cut, there wasn't really any patterns immediately springing to mind that'd work at a scale that small, or, so I thought after seeing how that basketweave pattern came together on an earlier piece. For context, the whole patch is roughly the size of the palm of my hand, at 3.5 inches square.

So, instead, I decided to try something a bit more complex to render than I'd really tried out before, this art of Arma! (Despite the sword's design being my work, the art in question is by @razzmatazic, who I did ask if I tried to trace, and she had no problems!) And so trace I did, tracing the outlines of the major features of the piece, namely, the outer lines, and the shapes of the gemstones.

Unfortunately, in my haste (and, admittedly, my focus, since this was much higher detail than I normally tackle around here), I didn't grab any in-progress shots of this. Still, I actually really enjoy how this came out looking, even if it doesn't perfectly evoke the design or detail of the original piece, it certainly emulates the look of Arma well enough I recognize it, and very visibly reads Cool Sword, y'know?

Next up were a few colorful rims around the edges of the front pockets! They were fraying pretty significantly, so not only does this add a fun splash of color, but it keeps me from picking the edges of these seams apart while I'm not thinking about my hands. Initially, I was going to pick a different set of colors than that turquoise and purple, based on a fun fact about my hometown, but that color scheme was just calling out to me! I decided to lean into the somewhat royal vibes and went for a different, lighter purple, with two little bits of yellow thread, which, fun fact, I actually dyed with some yellow flowers I foraged back in the boston area!

As for these two little spot-mends, they were really more an exercise in frustration. Really, I'm mostly miffed the thread broke on the original patch in the one place the hole kept trying to expand through, but hopefully that little bit of randa stitching (which looks MUCH more like randa stitching should than my previous efforts, namely on my wallet and that previous pair of pants that we detailed, the ones with the segaihana sashiko) alongside some additional reinforcement along the edge of that original yellow patch, made from some thread I scavenged from a fraying bit of denim, should keep this particular pair of shorts from getting any more fixes right on the edge of the patch that has misbehaved TWICE now!

Last but not least, while I was wrangling those pocket rims and the spot mends, I really just had the feeling that Arma would look kinda... lonely, I suppose? Centered in the framing straight stitches like that, so I improvised a little open book next to her! (She's not a sword-girl, promise, it's she/her like you'd she/her a boat) There's actually some really nice dimensionality to the book, too, with some looser stitches to emulate ruffle-able pages, and those two knots along the spine make for a pleasant, crinkled texture to the cover lines! Can you tell I'm pleased with myself for getting that just so, without any guides?

All that said, hopefully that's all the mends my poor poor jean shorts need, I swear, just as I get one set fixed, the other winds up with another hole! Don't get me wrong, I'm starting to enjoy the whole almost boro-like vibe they're developing, with all these overlapping mends, but I'd like them to develop it slower, thanks! (And yes, I do plan to wear these at LEAST until they look like I've quilted them back together, they're comfy!)

[moongothic]

Do you ever start a project, thinking it'd be a fun thing to make, only to realize halfway through you hate and have literally no use for it and then get stuck unsure what the fuck you should do with it

Yeah

This is my Bag of Regrets

Okay so around March of 2023 I made my first-ever crochet bag out of the leftover yarn I had from my Blanket of Darkness. I loved how that bag turned out, but even then I realized I could've done a better job had I lined the bag, which I should've done really early into the project.

So.

I ended up with a bunch of this super thin cotton yarn, in a few colors. We're not gonna talk about how I got the yarn, I just ended up with it. And I did not know what to do with it, because the pink and the dark maroon-y color just are not my colors, at all. I do not like them what-so-ever. And so like, I had to figure out something to do with the yarn, didn't wanna waste it. And for some god damn reason I thought I could practise making more crochet bags using this yarn.

Like in theory, this was a fine idea.

But I don't even like pink, what the fuck am I going do with this god damn thing now.

But I was a fucking idiot and did not think about that fact until I was like 80% done with it

Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to try doing a checkerboard pattern on the tiny crochet bag. This was a huge mistake. I don't know what the fuck it was about it, but I had the worst time of my life trying to make sure the squares were even, with the same amount of rows and that the corners met at the right spots- like sometimes I made the right amount of rows but the corners didn't meet at all and sometimes I did the wrong amount of rows but the corners did meet. It was a fucking nightmare to crochet. I had a horrible time. Making the front and back panels took me months and I had to restart it so many times just to get it right. It was bad, I hated it man

Also, by the way. I don't mind working with thin yarn at all, but because this was a thin COTTON yarn, I just. The yarn has no stretch, it is hard. Working with it made me feel like I was going to cut off my left finger as the yarn was rubbing against it as I was crocheting.

The bottom piece of the bag was done in that dark purple-maroon-y color with... I can't even remember what stitch I did, it was something Alt Knots has a video tutorial for on their YouTube though

But, I made the three crochet panels

Then I cut out the piece of fabric I would hand-sew the crochet pieces onto. I have a ton of this red-brown fabric that I have no idea wha to do with, and I figured it would work fine for this (since you're not supposed to see this fabric anyways) so I cut the pieces from it

Pinned the pieces down and then I just sewed the pieces onto the fabric. I decided to use sewing thread so it'd blend into the crochet better (being a fine thread and all), using white for the checker board pieces and a dark red/maroon-y color for the bottom piece

Forgot to take a photo of the bottom piece but it's fine, you get the idea

Then I cut out the lining fabric. I didn't really have any fabric that would actually match the checker board crochet at all, and I didn't want to buy anything so I chose to use this black fabric (with itty bitty roses) for lining

Cut the pieces and pinned them down facing each other

I think I originally wanted to do the sewing by hand for a cleaner look but I wasn't happy with it, so after I did my innitial hand-stitching I went over it with a sewing machine, getting as close to the crochet but without sewing over it. And after checking it was okay, I cut the excess fabric and did some clean up to help keep the fabric from fraying.

Folded the pieces inside out and they were looking decent!

Now yes, I did still have to hand-sew one side shut for each piece, but it wasn't a big deal, though sadly because I had to make sure the handsewing wasn't visible on the outside of the bag, this was going to be a visible flaw on the lining anyways

You can see what I mean on the top edge of the bigger piece (with the white thread)

In hindsight I probably could've sewn the edge shut with a mattress stitch or something instead of going through all the fabric, but alas, I was stupid and didn't not realize this at the time

Sidenote I took like 5 month break from this project after finishing the front and back piece but before I did the bottom piece. Because yeah, this was around when I realized I hated what I was making and that I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do with it once it was done. And I just could not get myself to even look at it, for months. And it HAUNTED me, made me feel bad about not having completed it every dang day. But yeah, finally in March I got back to it after finishing my last crochet blanket. Because I wanted to start another project but I did not want to start anything before finishing this fucking thing so yeah.

(Oh yeah I also I grabbed some metal accessories from my mom's stash that I attached to the bottom piece, so the bag can have a widdle handle)

With the pieces all done, it was finally time to sew them together. And this I was going to do by hand sewing them with a mattress stitch. I started by just attaching the smaller piece to the bottom, making sure it was centered right, and carefully sewed it together, starting from the middle and making my way up the sides, one at a time.

I did very specifically do sewing on the red-brown fabric

And it was looking good, according to plan!

Did the bigger piece the same way, and then all I had to do...

...Was clean up, by mattress stitching the crochet pieces together. Chose to use white because I figured I'd rather have small amounts of white peeking through on the bottom piece than have the dark red/purple on the front pieces. Though thankfully the white yarn isn't even that noticable, it sinked into the stitches quite nicely

With that done, I did this one final little touch-up. On checker crochet pieces you could kind of see my starting row, as the row had quite large holes in it. And I wasn't a huge fan of how it looked, so I just took some of the white yarn and wove it into the loops to fill it out

One final thing I did but didn't bother documenting was the strap. I did considder crocheting it, and even started it, but I did not like the stitch I was trying to use for it, and at this point I was so fucking done with the project I couldn't be bothered. I had some white cotton ribbon with nothing to do with it, so I decided to just grab some of that to make a lil strap. It's... not great, it's just that the ribbon is quite thin so it FEELS really flimsy. But I had reached the "I don't give a fuck anymore" stage and so. Yeah whatever

My shitty little bag of regrets is done. Yay.

I probably could've done something to clean the edges of the bag better because you can see the red-brown fabric peeking through, but... Like I can't think of what I could do to fix that, and again, I'm at the point where I don't have the energy to even try anymore

It's done, and that's what matters

Probably throwing it in the trash because what else am I gonna do with it

(Final note; I did have left-over yarn from this, but I used that yarn to make tiny mesh fruit/grocery bags. Ones I will actually use! Yay)

[hqmillioncorn]

If there comes a time where you are falling down-I'll be your Savior

Cherrypit looked down at his current project and then up at the Crystal Exarch. “Hmm…I think the hood needs work…” He mumbled to himself. All it would take is a few things to fix. Nothing to worry about.  Currently the Crystal Exarch had no idea Cherrypit was in the Ocular. The power to turn invisible came in handy for a lot of things. One of them being sneaking out of the Crystarium and the other was to spy on the guy he was trying to make a doll out of. Despite how Cherrypit behaved he really did appreciate everything the Crystal Exarch had done for him. He was like some sort of weird pseudo-dad and annoying big brother who thinks he knows everything at the same time.  Of course that also included knowing Cherrypit was in the room.  Cherrypit turned behind him, looking at his supplies and dolls. “Lulu can you hand me that thread? And Verty? Can you hand me that snack I packed?”  Both dolls happily attended to their tasks.

ffxiv write day 25: perpetuity

cherrypit loves babycorn!! cherrypit loves cake!! cherrypit loves...

There were a lot of reasons that Cherrypit liked dolls. 

Dolls are fun to play with and fun to hug too! That’s what Cherrypit thought. Everytime he and Babycorn would come across a place that sold toys he would go through all of them and if he happened to make a connection to one he really liked then there was nothing Babycorn could do to keep him from taking it home.

No way in all of the seven hells she could ever resist Cherrypit’s pleading look. 

His giant eyes staring right at her, the way he would wiggle his big ears, the big smile on his face that told Babycorn that he believed with all of his heart she was going to buy it for him because she loved and cherished him.

Babycorn would always fold immediately. 

When Cherrypit wasn’t buying his dolls, he was making them. 

He learned how to make them when he was the tender age of two-years old. The same age he had been for the past twelve years or so. The dolls Cherrypit made weren’t professional by any definition of the word, but it was still pretty impressive. 

The weaver’s guild had given him all the supplies he needed and in a short time Cherrypit had made a stitched rag doll. Giving it the name ‘Bebe.’ The name of the person he loved the most in the entire world! Babycorn was flattered, and a little mad that some doll had stolen her name but if it made Cherrypit happy it was fine. 

There weren’t a lot of places Cherrypit didn’t take his dolls to. 

He would take all his dolls, especially the Calca and Brina dolls, to all sorts of places. Like the kitchen, B’ig Nunh’s room, the very top of a tree and to the doctor’s office. The last one in particular was very important. Cherrypit needed all the support he could get to stay brave in there. 

Another scary place Cherrypit would take his toys was into battle. 

They wouldn’t fight but they would be there when the battle was over, ready to play a fun game with him. Then when night would fall he would sleep in a big pile of his dolls. Then they would have a nice rest and sweet dreams together. 

Playing with his dolls was so much fun!

The truth was that Cherrypit has a special secret talent! That you can’t tell anyone about! 

Cherrypit can bring dolls to life! So they can talk and walk and do a lot of things on their own. All Cherrypit needs to do is think it, and the dolls do it. So many of his dolls would clean up around the mansion. His dolls would also make sure that all his friends were safe and sound. 

Ready to let Cherrypit know if something was wrong. 

Of course Cherrypit didn’t just bring his own dolls to life. He would bring life to any toys that his friends had. Like Linnet and Pancake’s stuffed toys. They would mostly run around when both girls weren’t looking, cleaning up the messes they left behind and helping with their homework. 

There was something else Cherrypit loved about all his dolls.

Unlike so many things whenever dolls broke or got ripped apart–Cherrypit could fix them easily! 

All it would take was a few stitches here and there, maybe some replacement stuffing and they would be as good as new! Different dolls could also be fixed in all sorts of different ways. He could use glue for porcelain dolls, tape for paper dolls and a thread and needle for the rest. 

That way Cherrypit’s dolls would last forever.

His friends would last forever. 

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Bebe would

Cherrypit looked up, he had been resting his head on his knees for who knows how long. 

His room was a mess. Torn up drawings and pieces of broken furniture were littered everywhere. There was a sign that something had been on fire recently. It still smelled a little like smoke. 

Cherrypit wiggled his feet around, they had fallen asleep. He had fallen asleep too. How long had he been asleep for? There was no one in his room anymore except for him. 

There was a mirror leaning up against the wall next to Cherrypit. He ended up startling himself when he looked at his own reflection. 

Different colored eyes were staring back at him. A blank white and and a piercing blue one. 

Cherrypit’s eyes were stinging. Maybe it was from the crying or from how long he was exposed to black rose. His eyes were red and puffy. He had been crying for a really long time. It was dark when he got back to his room and now there was light outside. A beam of light was softly shining its way inside. 

As it turned out–Cherrypit wasn’t as alone as he thought. 

The sound of rustling papers caught his attention. It was coming from the other side of the room. Cherrypit stood up and slowly walked towards the noise. He didn’t really have a plan of what to do once he found out what had made the noise. It felt like there was just something pulling him towards it. Something familiar. 

When Cherrypit got there he looked down to see a small doll, sitting where he had left it when he left the day before. There was a teacup in front of it. The last time he was in this room Babycorn had promised him she would play with him when they both got back. 

Cherrypit picked up the doll in his tiny hands. It was a doll he had once made himself. 

“Bebe…” Cherrypit hiccuped out, his breathing becoming faster. Something in his chest was hurting. 

The doll wasn’t moving anymore. It wasn’t looking at him. 

Just like all the people Cherrypit had seen. Standing and fighting one moment then in a flash they were lying on the ground, unmoving. No matter how hard Cherrypit had yelled at them to wake up nothing would happen. He had run through the battlefield trying to find anyone he recognized. Nobody woke up. Nobody.

No matter how loud he yelled. How much he shook them. How much he used his magic to heal them. How much he wanted them to wake up. 

Cherrypit gripped the doll in his hands.”Bebe…” its old stitches slowly began to tear themselves apart. 

Babycorn had stayed awake more than the others. Cherrypit could still remember. She had said something to him, he saw her mouth moving but it was so loud around him he hadn’t heard a word before she

Cherrypit let out a scream and tore Bebe in half. 

Stuffing of all different kinds and from different times came spilling out. He kicked the stuffing away and threw the remains of the doll against the wall. Cherrypit let out a sob, crying louder than before. The pain in his chest wouldn’t stop, his heart just kept going and going. 

He cried out for his sister, saying her name over and over again. Hoping that she would be able to hear him and come running back to get him. 

There were no tears for his broken doll. He didn’t care. He barely remembered it had existed. Who had the time to care?

When nothing lasts forever after all.

[tavyliasin]

BG3 FicFeb SFW - Day 16

Today's prompt is to base the work on a song. The ending notes will contain the full lyrics, but this is the song link I chose. It felt like it fit well with Wyll's character arc, how he's struggling with his identity shifting and changing as a result of everything that happens outside of his control.

I'm not as happy with this chapter but I think it ended well enough, and it was fun to explore through the vibes of the song~

Short fic below the cut~

Day 16 - Write something inspired by your favourite song/poem/book (I can't pick a single favourite song so I chose one that worked)

Wyll stormed out of his tent, shirtless and distressed, his clothing hanging loose in his hand. “That’s the fourth time this week! I can’t keep…how the hells do I-” 

“Wyll. Come here.” Tav’s voice was firm but calm, the others already starting their day around her as Wyll had been struggling with his outfit in his tent. “Sit down. Astarion?” 

“Again?” The pale elf was already going through his pack for the sewing kit as Wyll slumped down on the log next to Tav. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got more thread, more patches.” She took the shirt and passed it over to Astarion, who quickly got to work on the rip. 

“I’m pathetic.” Wyll gazed into the fire.

“Wyll, it’s a shirt. You’re still getting used to the horns, and honestly even if it wasn’t that then something would’ve put a hole in it eventually.” She wiggled her finger through a rip in her leathers, the slight red stain betraying the cause as an errant arrow a few days prior. 

“If it was just a shirt, it wouldn’t matter.” He still didn’t turn his eyes from the fire. “But that bloody thing might as well be a metaphor for my whole life.”

Tav looked to Halsin, who was helping Gale with the morning food supplies, and motioned brewing some tea. The druid nodded, already selecting the pot and herbs. She motioned for Wyll to continue.

“Every time I tried to dream of something, to reach out and grab it, it ends up torn apart. I tried to save the city, my family, to be the man that my father always wanted me to be…and I was cast out. I tried to rebuild myself, to at least still be a hero, to do what was right and to save people…and I nearly killed an innocent woman. Gods only know how many others Mizora might have made me hurt.” He glanced over at Karlach for a moment, as she helped pack up everyone’s tents for travelling again, completely unaware of the single fiery eye that was already stinging with fresh tears for her sake. “For all my troubles, for all that trying to still do the right thing, I can’t even be a hero because anyone I try to help only sees a demon from their worst nightmares.” 

“You didn’t know, you couldn’t have known any of this would happen.” Tav handed him the freshly brewed mug of tea. 

“But that’s the thing. Even if I knew, if I went back knowing everything I do now,  I’d do it all again. I don’t know if it’s foolishness, unjustified courage, or desperation to try and live up to even the smallest part of that legacy of my father. Yet here I am, blade in hand, devil’s chain around my neck. I’m still fooling myself into thinking I can change it, that it’s worth it… Just like every damned day I put that shirt on telling myself it won’t catch on my horns this time because I know better.” He sighed heavily, taking a sip of his drink and sitting back a little. “And yet here we are. Again. Another hole to mend, but at least that’s just a shirt, and not trading my soul for a dream that should’ve died the moment I lost my eye.” 

Astarion handed back the shirt in question, the hole mended, but not with a basic stitch. It looked more like embroidery, a small sword with a golden hilt. “Gods I can’t listen to this any more. Look at this. The shirt, it will never be the same because of the holes in it, imperfect, whatever you want to call it.” 

“You’re not helping, Astarion.” Wyll grumbled, running his thumb over the other repairs made that week. 

“Oh for the gods…let me finish, will you?” The pale elf shot back, tapping on the embroidered part insistently. “Someone here seems to keep telling me something, so I am going to do you a favour and impart the same lesson. Life changed you, yes. Well it does that, and rarely with any thought for your dreams or goals. So change them. Stop seeing all the parts that are broken and look at the parts you still have. You see over there? That tiefling who you didn’t horribly murder? Good. She’s rather fond of you, and if you get your horns out of your arse for 5 seconds you might just notice.” 

“That’s…certainly something to think about, but what’s the point if-” 

“Darling please stop the warlock from talking for a minute will you?” Astarion shot a pointed look at Tav, who in turn nudged Wyll and hid behind her own tea. “You cannot go back to being just the human Wyll Ravengard any more than I can undo being a bloody vampire. So, why not look at what you do have? You are alive. You have one good eye. And gods forbid I point out that you even have friends around you who do not give a single fuck what you look like, because they know who you are.”

“I…Thank you, Astarion, that’s surprisingly-” 

“AND WE ALSO ALL HAVE BLOODY TADPOLES IN OUR BRAINS THAT COULD TURN US INTO MINDFLAYERS AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. So if you are quite done with your pity party, I would like to get back on our way to getting rid of the bloody things.”

Tav watched the vampire stalking back off to his tend and simply shrugged with a smile. “He’s not wrong. Not necessarily the kindest way to say it, but… Stop worrying about the dreams you can’t reach any more, Wyll. Look at what’s right in front of you. If you can even get a passionate speech out of Astarion of all people, I’d say you’re doing at least something right.” She ran a finger over the embroidered sword on his now mended shirt. “The world has changed every one of us from what we thought we might be. It’s scary, and sometimes it hurts more than any arrow or axe, but we survive. And after we survive, we decide what living means again.” 

She stood up to follow after Astarion, leaving Wyll with his thoughts, his shirt, and half a cup of cold tea that had been forgotten. He glanced over at Karlach again, her bright smile matching the glow of her heart. “A blade,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “is only worth what it can protect.” ------ ------ FULL SONG LYRICS

Sainthood and Sanctuary by Aviators

Safe from an early grave But death feels closer still When does the human soul cave To find itself a kill Promised a crown of glory Fought for an equal stand But fortune would never find me In this blood red land

Why have I given my heart I've fallen so far Because now the future scares me Why am I broken and small i'd sacrifice all For sainthood and sanctuary

After I sought protection The saviors broke my bones Lost streets that I remember Now lie here alone Mantras of greater purpose End up left behind The faithful don't deserve this Desperate and blind

Why have I given my heart I've fallen so far Because now the future scares me Why am I broken and small i'd sacrifice all For sainthood and sanctuary

I would give anything to know I'm not alone I'm tired of suffering When I once had a home

Fallen graces familiar faces Never look like mine rings of fire And holy water never turn back time Why do I have many questions Intel I can't find still unsure of My mind's selection to trust my fallen kind

Why have I given my heart I've fallen so far Because now the future scares me Why am I broken and small I'd sacrifice all For sainthood and sanctuary

Why have I given my heart I've fallen so far Because now the future scares me Why am I broken and small i'd sacrifice all For sainthood and sanctuary

I would give anything to know I'm not alone I'm tired of suffering When I once had a home

[anonymouscomrade]

this is the finished mask that i posted about earlier, with the red paint touched up and evened out, a coat of sealer applied, and the old thin elastic headband that was attached with hot glue replaced with a stronger elastic band attached with actual stitching. note that my skill level at sewing hovers somewhere around "can successfully push a needle and thread through fabric without sticking his own finger approximately six out of every ten tries" so the stitching is super jank and isn't good by any means, but the mask held for my entire shift at work so it worked enough for that at least. my "costume" was extremely thrown-together at the last minute because i didn't even plan to do anything for halloween until like 48 hours beforehand so aside from the mask i wore my oldest pants, the most worn and threadbare hoodie i own, and a solid color t-shirt. not super accurate, but at least not something terribly out of place. if i'd had more time maybe i could have gotten my hands on a prop machete or knife or something to carry around to add to the look but whatever, it was fine for being so last-minute

various reactions i got at work:

like five different people thought i was Michael Myers, which makes some sense because Jason doesn't have much in the way of hair while mine hasn't seen scissors in months, but Michael Myers' mask is solid white and covers his whole head. it took a few movies but Jason's most iconic look is the hockey mask with red chevrons. totally different guy

one guy walked up to me and said "hey, Freddy!" with all the confidence in the world. it was still early enough in the shift that i was still trying to stay dedicated to the bit and maintaining Jason's silence so i just gave him a nod. Freddy's the one with a striped sweater, a fedora, and knife glove, and kills people in their dreams, and also he talks a lot. Jason has the hockey mask, kills people in the waking world, and doesn't talk pretty much ever. again, completely different guy

at least nobody thought i was Leatherface, even though my physique is definitely closer to his than Jason's. for those keeping score, Leatherface wears a tie and an apron, and someone else's face like a mask over his, and kills people with a chainsaw because he's also a cannibal. i haven't seen a Friday the 13th from start to finish in a long while but i'm pretty sure Jason doesn't eat people and might not actually need to eat at all because he's undead

one guy took one look at me and wanted a picture of me standing there menacingly in front of the meat counter. that was fun

i think the best reaction i got all day was the older guy who saw me and did a full-on hands on head, knees knocking, fingernail biting cartoon scaredy routine like something out of Luigi's Mansion

[meangan-thee-lesbian]

Also, lemme paint a picture for you, of maybe the lowest moment of my life, due entirely to the robodebt scheme, since I'm so good at 'fun creative writing' lmao

It's been raining all week. The roof of the car that I live in is leaking right on my pillow, but there's not much I can do about that except put a takeaway container that I found outside in the gutter on my pillow and empty it every fifteen minutes. I've just come from the doctor where I spent my last $50 getting a large skin cancer surgically removed from my shoulder. The doctor, who had his nose wrinkled the whole time, because I hadn't showered in a whole week, told me to 'try and keep the wound clean'.

I drive to the backstreet behind my work, where I have to be at 6am the next morning. As I turn into the street, my car stops. I wrap a plastic bag around my twelve stitches and get out in the rain to push the car off the road. After half an hour of tinkering, I figure out the fuel pump has shit itself. Thank god for my 6.6GPA science degree, I know exactly how to fix it. So I call up the nearest mechanic (a two hour walk away) and reserve the part for when my paycheck comes in next week. By this point I've busted open three of those stitches. But it's not like I can go anywhere and do anything about it, so I just try and thread them back together as best I can (yes, it does hurt, a lot) then I smother it in antiseptic and hope for the best.

I get ready for bed, by constructing a gutter out of plastic bags to divert the water from the leaking roof off my damp pillow. I'm pretty exhausted at this point, so despite being wet from the rain and sticky from several days of unwashed sweat, I fall right asleep. I'm occasionally woken up by hoons screeching by, slamming on the horn when they see a car with foggy windows and screaming 'wake up' as they go by. I'm sort of used to this frequent nightly reminder of society's active disdain for the less fortunate.

I go into work the next day at 6am. I work most shifts alone, but at swap over my co-workers make sure to let me know I look and smell like shit. They know I'm homeless. They don't care. No one does. Well, that is except for the dog walker who calls the cops on Day Three of me being stuck in the same spot. The cops give me a move on order. Thanks to my first class legal honours degree I know I have 24 hours to comply before they can do anything. My paycheck comes in at midnight, so I'm hoping to have my car back on the road the next day.

I eat some white rice, take a leak in an ice cream container, and go to sleep under my makeshift gutter. I wake up in the morning to absolutely excruciating pain in my jaw. I dunno what it is, but it's the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. There doesn't appear to be anything immediately wrong, other than swelling in my gums, so I just down half a packet of pain killers and make a note to swing by the pharmacy for something stronger on my two hour walk to the mechanic today. It would later turn out I had developed bone cancer in my jaw from the abscess an untreated wisdom tooth had created.

Anyway, five hours and about 20km of walking with a 10kg fuel pump hanging off my one good shoulder later and I'm back at my broken down home. I have about three hours to get out of here before the cops show up to fine and/or arrest me for 'camping illegally' on a city street. Usually replacing a fuel pump would take me half hour, max, but I'm in significant pain. The painkillers the pharmacist gave me are helping, but I'm still borderline delirious. I spend a long time just laying under the car, the greasy city rainwater in the gutter running directly into my now infected surgical wound, just clutching my face, trying to make the pain in my jaw stop. I kind of want to cry, but I ain't cried since I was a kid and I just don't really know how to physically do that anymore. I lay under my car, not really knowing how much time had passed, but pretty anxious the police would show up any minute.

In my semi-delirious state I think about how it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'd worked so hard at my education for nearly a decade for it to not be like this. And yet the Australian government had swooped in and destroyed that burgeoning career for no other reason than wanton malice. I was supposed to be sitting at a nice dry desk, on the upper floors of some top tier law firm's CBD office tower. But I couldn't be admitted as a lawyer with a welfare debt to my name, even if it was obviously fabricated. My greatest discomfort should have been the squelch of rain in my nice shoes when I accidentally stepped into a puddle on the city street. It should have been beyond my comprehension to be laying in a gutter, not even worried about the dirty water in my busted open surgical wound, because of the overwhelming pain of some as yet unknown malady in my jaw. I would never have to know how many people (mainly men) will go out of their way to make a homeless person's life just a bit worse. I would never have to know how little it would take for friends and family to abandon me. I would never have to know that 'unconditional love' doesn't really exist, not when the government says people like me, people with welfare 'debts', don't deserve anything at all. And even back then I knew my 'debt' wasn't a real debt, but no one would believe me. Still not many do, but back then there was no class action, there was no royal commission, there was just the government's propaganda machine against dirty dole bludgers like me.

Anyway, I got the fuel pump in and, while I probably shouldn't have been driving in my state, I drove to the nearest doctor, the one who had originally done the cancer excision. I don't remember too much, due to the pain, but I do remember him saying things like 'what drugs did you take' and 'I'm not sure there's much of a point in me cleaning this up if you're going to not take care of it'. Such is life, I suppose.

I was fairly new to being homeless at that point. I'd only been on the streets a couple months. I've learned and toughened up a lot since then. I still have days and weeks and months where everything goes wrong, but I'm more prepared for it. For example, I try and keep antibiotics and prescription painkillers on hand, even if I have to lie to get a renewed prescription. I've upgraded to a good van and I voluntarily spend my days under it, learning everything I can, fixing and maintaining everything I can. I keep a close eye on the weather. I stay out of populated areas, even if that means staying unemployed, because in the long run, I'll save more money not paying the fines I get from nosy cityslickers than I would in a job. Also I taught myself how to hunt and forage, which reduces my grocery bill significantly. I've basically just accepted survival as the only option.

So I'm sorry if I come off a bit feral to anyone sitting pretty in their nice little house, with their nice little shower, and nice little toilet, and nice little $20 steak they bought at the supermarket, and their nice little as yet unchallenged fantasy land where they have more in common with politicians on $900 000 a year salaries than with the homeless, and their nice little government-sponsored ideas about how anyone the government says is a bad person is in fact a bad person, and their nice little personalities where it's apparently acceptable to have a dig at the traumatic experiences of people who have endured a hell that is so unimaginable, it must be a lie, no matter how fucking watertight the evidence is.

Actually lemme fact-check a little here, because turns out I'm not sorry for being feral. Actually I think the real ferals are the people who choose to ignore the factual, legally-proven, federal court-backed, royal commission-backed experiences of robodebt victims, and instead choose to dismiss, harass and abuse some of the most vulnerable members of society who have endured wrongs and horrors most people can scarcely imagine. I can't even begin to understand the mentality, the lack of basic human decency, that would be required to stoop so low. I could not possibly look on anyone, even my worst enemy, in such a situation and think to open my mouth and tell them 'lol you're lying get therapy uwu'. I just don't understand what has to be fundamentally wrong with a person for them to act this way. But I see it so much, most people are apparently of this calibre, and I'm apparently one of very few people able to see what tf is wrong with it. So I guess that's just another reason I'm better off being a feral out in the bush. I'll take torrential rain, the blistering heat, brown snakes, red backs, shitty dirt roads and plagues of rats over humanity any day.

[jackrrabbit]

Runaways /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You were like an older sister to Dabi back when the two of you were teen runaways together; now that he’s found you as an adult, it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of him.

A/N: I could write a term paper on all of Dabi’s pathologies in this fic...I forgot how much I love writing smutty angst. Good shit 👌

I was planning on making this a ficlet so it’s kinda structured like that even though it ended up a full-length piece. Also, Dabi says some bullshit about sex work that I absolutely do not agree with or condone so please keep that in mind.

➠ see also: [homeowners association]

Tags/warnings: Dabi victimizes you, noncon/dubcon, light yandere, threats, cheating, NTR kinda?, mentions of past sex work, degradation, rough sex (breath play, impact play, crying), mild violence, very brief mentions of past child abuse in the Todoroki household, sad stuff/angst idk lol, *Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood plays in the background*

Dabi would know you anywhere.

You’re different now, which makes sense. It’s been years. Your old uniform of raggedy denim and hand-me-down leather has been replaced with a prim linen dress, designer label at the collar. You used to dye your hair religiously (it was neon pink when he saw you last) but now it’s styled back to your natural shade, a color he only saw back then when your roots grew out. You smell good, expensive. It does take him a second to recognize you without smudged pencil eyeliner drawn under your eyes like in the old days, but once he catches your gaze the realization is immediate.

It’s you. You. You.

You recognize him too, but your reaction is different—shock, then panic; you tug the arm of the man at your side, urging him to walk faster so you can pass Dabi on the sidewalk. The rejection stings for a second, but he isn’t too surprised. You did abandon him, after all.

Dabi doesn’t let it bother him. You’re not going to get away that easy. He pulls you into conversation, grinning when you reluctantly introduce him to your companion (who is, apparently, your husband) as an old friend from school. You didn’t go to school—Dabi knows that, and you know that, but your husband doesn’t. Which means your husband isn’t aware of your sordid past as a runaway.

This is going to be fun.

Once he knows you’re in town, he doesn’t have much trouble finding you. Your husband is a very wealthy man, well-known in this city now that he’s moved here. So this is what you’ve been up to all these years? Shacking up with some ugly motherfucker who’s at least 20 years your senior because he can afford to dress you up in pretty things and take you on overseas vacations? Dabi has to admit, he wouldn’t have thought it of you. Back when he knew you, you were so sincere, such an idealist, even in your darkest nights.

Then again…you always were willing to get your hands dirty in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Maybe you haven’t changed as much as you think.

Dabi comes to your house in the middle of the day when your husband’s at work and you’re stuck at home because that’s what you are now, a housewife. From a cocksucking whore to a pretty housewife with a dirty little secret. He’s getting hard just thinking about it as he watches your internal debate on whether to let him in or not. Eventually guilt wins out and you usher him inside, hoping the neighbors didn’t see a known villain lurking on your doorstep.

You make Dabi coffee (and aww, you remember exactly how he likes it). He gets you to talking, and you don’t seen surprised to learn about his current line of work; when he presses you, you admit that you’ve been following him in the news. Your life, in comparison, has been wholly uninteresting: you met a man, he proposed, and you married him. Very little has happened to you since. After a long silence you timidly apologize to Dabi for leaving him behind when you two were teenagers, and he tells you he understands.

He doesn’t forgive you.

Overall, things are good, he tells you. But you know, sometimes he misses the old days. Being on the run with you, stealing food from gas stations, breaking into fancy summer homes and pretending the two of you lived there. Stitching up each other’s cuts, because one of you had always gotten in a fight in the past few days. Sometimes he still has dreams about the smell of the balm you used on his fresh burns…and your cool hands, smoothing gently across the tender skin on his face, but he doesn’t say that.

You look down into your monogrammed coffee mug and tell him you know what he means.

When you turn your head like that, Dabi can see the tiny dots running up the side of your ear where your old piercings have scarred over from lack of use. Do you remember when he gave them to you? You did his first, running a needle through the lonely flame of your lighter (he offered to use his quirk, but it was still hard for him to control then so you declined) and then threading the metal through his ear. You promised it would only hurt for a second, and you were right, so he let you do the others.

Then you offered to let him do yours. Just one on each ear—you already had an impressive collection of piercings, but you wanted to let him return the favor, so he did. You were older and more experienced and had lived on the streets for longer, so when he held the needle in his hand and heard your voice saying you trusted him, it was the first time he ever thought of you as fragile, something delicate, something that he was capable of harming.

He chose twin helix piercings for you, cresting the shell of each ear, silver band rings to match his. When they were done you pulled him to a mirror and asked him what he thought. It hadn’t been long since he got the worst burns on his face (the ones under his eyes, wrapping around his chin and down his neck) and he was still getting used to the knowledge that the ugly, wrinkled scars were never going to heal. “I look like…” he started.

A monster. A freak. A victim.

“A badass,” you said. “You look fucking cool. Any asshole who wants to pick a fight with you will take one look and know you’ve been through worse shit than whatever they can dish out, and that’s something to be proud of.”

Now that Dabi thinks about it, he probably wanted you even then.

…But the longer he reminisces, the more nostalgia’s going to distract him. He came here for a reason, and it wasn’t to have coffee with you and talk about the good old days. What he’s about to take from you—what he’s about to make you give—is long overdue.

You’ve still got a little fight in you. Dabi likes that. But you’ve gone soft, filling out and losing muscle in places where you used to be lean and hard from the constant running and fighting of your old lifestyle. Besides, even if you were as strong as you’d been back then, he’d still be stronger than you—he’s a man now, and it’s incredible how small and weak you seem now that he can look at you as a man.

Were your punches always this light? No way…and your wrists couldn’t have always been this delicate. It’s really no trouble at all for him to wrestle you down to the couch and pin you there so he can tear off your stupid little housewife dress and tug your panties down past your ankles.

Once he’s got you fully naked, though, you pretty much give up trying to fight him off. It’s sad, really—like you’re remembering the past, remembering all the times you let other men hold you and fuck you just so you could have enough money to take yourself and Dabi to McDonalds for a few days. And now look, you’re plenty well-fed, but Dabi’s the one holding you down against your will. Funny how things change like that.

He does appreciate your submission, since it gives him the chance to get a decent look at you. The years have been kind—you look so much healthier than you used to. No more visible ribcage stretching out your skin; no more unhealthy pallor from going outside only at night. Your hands are as soft and manicured as if you’ve never done a day’s work in your life, a far cry from the bitten nails and bloody knuckles of your youth. It’s good to see you like this, and he lingers for a second, drinking in the sight of you and committing you to memory.

Dabi’s pictured this moment for years. He used to think he’d savor it, be sweet with you, slow and gentle to show you what you were missing with the trashy guys you used to hang out with. But now, hey—he’s the trashy one, he’s the one who wants to hurt you and own you and ruin you. May as well act like it.

Your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?

You’re unbelievably tight for a former whore. Dabi can barely hold out when he first pushes into you, licking the tears off your cheeks when apparently it hurts too much for you to keep up a brave face. It takes real effort to fuck himself all the way into you, pushing past the tense squeeze of your muscles while you…well, you’re not exactly wet, but he’ll get you there. As soon as his hips are grinding up against yours, he’s hitching your legs up on his shoulders and pounding you into your stuffy antique couch so deeply that he thinks it might splinter into pieces underneath the two of you.

God, you’re so, so, tight. Dabi feels like a virgin with his cock buried inside you, biting his lip so he doesn’t cum in thirty seconds and thrusting into you with a rhythm that comes from nothing less than pure animal instinct. And you’re getting into it too. Can you tell that your pleading and begging him to get off you is turning into moaning? Can you feel your hips bucking weakly back against his, reverting to the position of the submissive bitch your body remembers even if your mind has tried to forget?

It’s perfect, right and good and perfect, everything Dabi’s been waiting for since he first knew what it was to want someone—no, not just someone. You. It’s always been you. A person never forgets their first love, right? It’s perfect, except—except you won’t look at him, you keep looking off to the side and sniffling, and that’s not going to cut it. So he slows down and wrenches your head back to center and makes you kiss him, sliding his tongue over yours and trying to see if he can feel the place where you used to have a piercing there, too. It’s kind of thrilling, actually—wondering whenever his face dips into yours if you’re going to bite him, if he’ll come back from you with blood in his mouth.

He’s only got to thumb over your clit a couple times before you’re clamping down on him, your body begging to be used and abused. Your husband hasn’t been treating you right, though Dabi doubts the old bastard can even get it up without a blue pill. Sure, you look like a sweet little doll, so darling and delicate and breakable, but Dabi knows you better than that. You’re strong, you can take it. He knows you want it rough, so that’s how he’ll give it to you—and hey, hey, he can feel your cunt quivering around him—you’re cumming, aren’t you? So you like it. You like it.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long before, but when you cum and tighten and squeal so high he thinks you could lose your voice, the tension in his abdomen rises up and he digs his fingers into your hips and—shit, you’re saying something, what are you saying? You’re pleading, begging him not to cum inside—but, ohhhhhh fuck he can’t help it, he can’t, he can’t, he’s cumming all the way deep into your tight little snatch, cockhead jutting up at your cervix, fucking his semen all the way through you until your slit is smeared white from top to bottom.

Stop crying. Dabi’s sick of hearing you cry.

You’re still pretty nimble, even though your current exercise regimen probably doesn’t extend beyond periodic jogs around your neighborhood and weekly pilates with all the other bored trophy wives. He’s kind of surprised when as soon as he lifts himself off of you, you have the strength to roll off the couch and scramble around on the floor for your clothing.

You don’t say anything, which he wasn’t expecting. You don’t scream at him, demand that he leave, or ask him how he could do this to you after everything the two of you went through together. You probably still think of yourself as an older sister when it comes to him.

When you’d first met the scarred kid trying and failing to live off the streets, you knew he wasn’t cut out for this. He’d known pain before, plenty of pain (icy-blue fire roasting the skin off his face—spiral fracture from callused hands twisting his arm behind his back—cold, aching muscles after what he thinks is the fifth hour spent locked in a closet), but he’d never known hunger. Hunger was a different kind of beast, one that would chew the kid up and spit him out and leave him broken if you didn’t take him under your wing, so you did.

It wasn’t like you had much of anything to spare, but you made it work. For a few years. He didn’t talk at first, but he took what you gave him, so you gave him what you could: food, if you had it; a place to sleep at night; the knowledge you’d gathered in your own years as a runaway on how he was supposed to survive in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or rotted away in a gutter. You cared.

Until you didn’t.

‘Going to be traveling alone for a while. Don’t wait for me. I’m sorry,’ your note had read. You left it in his backpack along with $43 in cash—not much, but he knew it was more than you could afford. It was all you had.

And now you have all of this! Don’t you feel lucky? You have the rich husband who barely looks at you, the big house with so many empty unused rooms it makes him sick, more food than you could possibly eat in one lifetime. All of that, and you also have Dabi’s semen leaking out of your cunt. It’s a real rags-to-riches story, he thinks.

Dabi picks a cigarette out of his jacket and you stop fixing up the buttons on your dress to ask him not to light it inside. How will you explain the smell to your husband? Every move you make, every syllable that comes out of your mouth, is weighed down by despair. You look like you’ve been beaten.

He lights the cigarette anyway.

///

Before he had you the first time, Dabi thought once would be enough. Pretty naive, huh?

He makes it his mission to fuck you in every room of your husband’s gluttonously enormous mansion (what with your history Dabi has a hard time thinking of the house as yours, and considering the way you tiptoe around and seem like you’re afraid to move so much as a vase, he suspects you feel the same). There’s a lot of rooms.

When he shows up at your door again you don’t even bother to hear him out, instead just trying to shut it on him, but he forces his way in. You wouldn’t want to make him mad, would you? Not when he’s got such a filthy secret hanging over your head? Will your husband keep paying for your designer shopping trips when he knows you’re a street rat who used to steal everything she wore? Will he still kiss you goodnight when Dabi tells him you used to wrap those pretty lips around strangers’ cocks for money?

If you want Dabi to keep quiet, you’re going to have to convince him the best way you know how. A cockwhore is a cockwhore. That’s not the kind of stain you get to wipe away with time and distance and expensive clothing.

In the kitchen: standing up, your back to his front and your hands barely holding you up on the counter, so hard and rough and deep that the dishes are rattling in the pantry. One of your teacups falls out of the glass china cabinet and shatters into a million fragments in a four foot radius over the tiled floor. Neither of you notice until after. Blunt red lines press themselves into the tops of your thighs where he’s shoving your body into the edge of the counter and there are bruises on your tits from how hard he’s groping you.

In the dining room: sitting on the edge of the table, one of your legs hiked up beside you and the other on a chair while Dabi kneels on the ground in front of you, his head between your thighs and his tongue flicking over your pussy. You start off thinking that you’re going to have to sanitize the entire mahogany surface before you can eat off it again and then he licks his lips and sucks on your throbbing clit and you don’t really think about anything else after that.

In your husband’s study: doggy-style on the floor in front of the fireplace, facedown, his body folded over yours, pressing you so deep into the tacky lion-skin rug that you can taste it. He sighs in your ear—actually, you’re not sure if it’s a sigh or a growl—and his hand comes up to cover yours. You feel the metal stitches and the rough burned skin scraping on your own and it reminds you that it’s him. It’s Dabi.

(A few days after his 13th birthday, the Dabi you used to know told you that he was going to dye his hair—he wanted to be unrecognizable, and you understood, so you found some old scissors and stole hair dye from the pharmacy and you spent three long hours chopping his hair into rough spikes and painting it black. When you washed the dye out of his hair in the sink, your hands were stained inky black too. When he saw, he looked worried and weaved his fingers in with yours and asked if the dye would hurt your skin if it stayed on too long.

And you looked back at this kid—small for his age then, burned by his own quirk, trying so hard to look older and tougher than any 13-year-old should have to be, and you thought to yourself, I would die for you.)

Now you hear Dabi growling out your name and squeezing your hand as he reaches his climax and you think, I would kill you if I could.

///

Dabi saves the master bedroom for last.

Your husband is hosting a party at your house. Dabi knows because you begged him not to come today, looking up at him with those doe-like eyes, offering things you never would have offered if it weren’t important to you that he stay away on this particular evening. But he still comes to crash it. He arrives just minutes before your husband does, and you have barely enough time to tuck him away on the dark bedroom balcony and pull the curtains closed before your husband is opening the door and greeting you.

Dabi settles himself into one of the tasteful Adirondack chairs on the balcony and listens to your voice, or at least what he can hear of it through the sliding glass door. You’re sweeter with your husband than you are with Dabi, and he should’ve known you’d be, but it still makes him hate your husband more than he already did.

On the other hand, there’s something strained and high and nervous in the way you’re speaking. Probably because your husband is standing about twenty feet away from the man you’re cheating on him with.

It takes a while for the two of you to dress for the party, but finally Dabi hears you tell your husband that you’d like to take a little longer to get ready and bid him goodbye. “Love you,” you say to the old man as he leaves the room, so casually Dabi might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening.

Then you’re opening the door and ushering him inside and telling him anxiously that he has to get out before anyone sees him. But, oh, you look nice like this, dolled up in your evening gown and makeup and diamonds, trying to pull him to the door even though you must know by now that he’s not going to leave it there. Instead of following, he backs you up onto the bed and peels down the straps of your dress and slides his hands up under the skirt, and all the while he can’t stop thinking about what you said to your husband.

You used to say that to Dabi.

The first time it was an accident—you’d mentioned it off-hand during a night when it was snowing and his unnaturally high body temperature was the only thing keeping the two of you alive. “God, I love you,” you’d said, draping your arm around his shoulders and pulling him in close to share his heat.

It had stunned him and you could probably tell. Maybe the next few times were just you taking pity on a kid who had never been told so casually and so simply that he was loved. But eventually you meant it, the little love you’s before you went to sleep or when one of you went off to do something alone for a few days—a familial love borne of mutual reliance. For the years Dabi was a runaway with you, you were the only person he could trust, and he knows the feeling was mutual.

Now he wants you to tell him you love him again.

It would be hot, wouldn’t it? You telling Dabi you love him while he forces you into a mating press on the bed you share with your husband. Isn’t that hot? You’re never going to be able to sleep on these sheets again without remembering his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, his cock filling you in ways you haven’t been filled since you were 19.

How are you gonna lay next to your husband in this sad cold bed? ‘Cause that old fuck isn’t touching you, Dabi knows that much—if he was, he’d’ve noticed by now that you’re always covered in bite marks and hickeys that he didn’t give you. How are you gonna sleep at night knowing what a nasty slut you are, telling another man you love him?

So say it. Say you love him.

Oh, you’re going to be like that, aren’t you? What did he tell you about being a fucking brat when he’s talking to you? See if you’re still so defiant when he’s got his hand stroking the length of that pretty throat and then sealing down on it, squeezing gently on the veins running up the sides of your neck, not too hard, but enough that you’re probably getting a little dizzy while he continues to fuck into you. Does it hurt? Your face is turning pink. Uh-uh-uh, don’t try to pull his hand off, or he’ll show you just how good he is with his quirk these days.

You’re trying to choke out the words but you can’t quite make them make sense. There’s something endearing about the way your whimpers vibrate through the skin of Dabi’s palm, how he can hear you as well as feeling you. Oh—could you say his name too? He knows you’re feeling all fucked-out and wet and sloppy, every moan rising and falling in time with his cock stretching your pussy open, but can’t you give it a little more effort? He’s sure you can get his name out if you really try.

And if you’re not going to cooperate, Dabi may as well just dig the heel of his knuckle into your windpipe, because you really do tighten up so deliciously when you cough and sputter like that. Fuck, if you keep doing that, he’s going to cum, gonna cum right here in your syrupy pussy and spill it all over your marriage bed—but no, he wants to hear you say it first, so when you’re gagging and turning red and your eyes are watering he finally stops choking you, loosening his grip just enough that his hand is resting on your neck in a lover’s touch. It takes you a second and your voice is so hoarse he can barely hear it, but then you’re speaking and something jumps in his chest—

“I…I love—love y-you, Touya!” you sob. “I love you! I—love you, Touya—Touya—Touya—!”

And ah fuck it’s almost exactly right, your voice saying you love him, saying his real name, a name he hasn’t heard for years because you’re the only one who really knows it anymore—but you’re crying, real heavy sobs while you gulp in frantic lungfuls of oxygen. Your ribcage is heaving underneath him and—god, fuck—your guts are clenching, sucking down on every inch of his cock, every vein—

—oh shit fuck fuck he’s cumming, and he presses his face into your neck, into your hair, kissing you and thinking I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you—

—please stay, forever.

///

When he’s done, he goes for another round just to make sure you’re going to have cum dripping down your thighs when you go back to the party. No panties, unless you want him to walk through the grand foyer with all the other guests on his way out.

You don’t look at him as you fix your dress and your hair and wipe at your smeared makeup. With your eyeliner rubbed down to the bottom of your eyes, Dabi’s reminded a little of how you used to look—and the reminder is doubled when you slide your legs across the side of the bed and limp over to your vanity, walking hesitantly, your hips rocking from side to side. Damn, did he fuck you that hard?

Reminds him of the old days, you shuffling back to the hideout with that same awkward pain in your gait, purple marks around your neck, and a dim smile decorating your face—for his sake. Oh, and cash in your pockets. You’d tell him that the two of you were going out to eat that night and refuse to let him look at the injuries. God, it made him angry, it still makes him angry just thinking about it—angry at the men who bought you for treating you like that, angry at you for letting them. Angry at himself for not being old enough or strong enough or rich enough to stop them.

Anger, yes…and other things too. There had been a sick, insidious part of him that wanted to be in their position. He’d hated himself for it back then, until you left and the desire to punish you for abandoning him got twisted up with the desire to own you and keep you his. Maybe if he let himself think about it, he’d still hate himself for what he’s doing to you.

By now, you’re too good at covering up the bruises. A sweep of foundation and powder passes over each hickey he left on your throat and it’s like he never touched you. You have to push him off the bed so you can strip the sheets and replace them. When you’re done, you tell him to wait a few minutes after you leave to sneak out the back and he makes another half-joke about joining the party and introducing himself to your old man—

—and you shove him up against the wall with all the strength left in you, wrap your hand around his neck, and dig your fingernails under the line of piercings in his cheek. If he even looks at your husband, if he even thinks about it, you’ll rip his goddamn face open, you tell him in a low snarl.

It’s an empty threat (you and he both know who would win in a physical altercation) but there’s real hatred behind it. Dabi hasn’t seen that kind of fire in your eyes since he found out you became a trophy wife. It makes him want to have you again so he does, pulling your arms away from his face, standing and holding you up against the door to your bedroom, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him to keep from falling.

He’s lubed up by his own cum, and the wet squelching of your pussy just reminds him what a mess you’re going to be when you return to high society tonight. Maybe your husband will be able to smell it on you—the cum, the sex, the other man who’s been keeping his darling wife warm while he’s at work.

Well, probably not. If that stupid fucking cuckold hasn’t figured it out by now, there’s not much of a chance he’ll get it on his own. As Dabi sinks into your tight, gummy cunt again, he decides that he might just have to help the process along. A man deserves to know if his wife is being unfaithful, right?

///

Your husband’s office phone number is written on a post-it note that’s tacked to the desk of his study. It takes Dabi 40 minutes and $30 to buy a burner cell phone, leave a message on the man’s voicemail, and toss the burner in the kitchen trash at your house while you’re in the shower.

The message is short and straightforward. Dabi introduces himself as ‘the man who’s sleeping with your wife’, describes the floor plan of your husband’s house and what position he fucked you in for each room, and finally finishes it off with the evidence—the precise size and location of every hickey he’s left on your body that will still be visible by the time your husband returns from work.

Dabi almost wishes your husband had picked up the call—he’d’ve had a good time explaining in pornographic detail the way your tits look under those too-formal dresses, the way you moan when you cum in his mouth, the way you told him you loved him while he choked you out—with your husband in the house, no less. But this is fine too.

Besides, it’ll be so fucking funny if someone else at your husband’s company hears the message before he does.

///

Whore. Your husband called you a whore.

You’ve been called a whore a lot, actually. More than most people. You should be used to it by now. But it’s different when your husband says it. Your husband, the man who rescued you from a life of poverty and starvation, the man who has given you everything you own, the man who slid a ring onto your finger under a wedding arch and promised to love you in good times and in bad. The man you’ve almost convinced yourself you love back.

He called you a whore and slapped you when you tried to explain yourself and shoved you out the door and locked it. You can still hear his voice telling you the only place he wants to see your face again is in a casket.

So that’s why when Dabi comes to collect you, you’re hugging your knees to your chest on your front porch in your shiny lace-edged slip nightdress, hair in a mess around your head and your lip bleeding onto your chin. Your feet are so cold—your husband didn’t even give you time to put shoes on before he threw you out.

The night is cool and dark but the porch light buzzes on for half a minute when Dabi climbs up the steps to come crouch next to you on the doorstep. You try not to look at him, but he tilts your face toward his, electric-blue eyes skimming over the red mark and blue-black discoloration blossoming across your cheekbone; the blood drying on your split lip.

Dabi asks calmly if your husband hit you, and you nod.

Good, he tells you, and his body lights up blue in a roiling cloud of flames. He’s been waiting for an excuse to kill that old fuck.

The fire is like lightning, bright and ghostly in the darkness. The crackling of the flame eats away at the heavy silence of the night and you crawl back from the dry heat of it, sure you can feel your eyebrows singeing from being near. Dabi looks different backed by the inferno—bigger, crueler. Frightening. He reaches at the door but you shout at him to stop.

Why? Don’t you think he should suffer, after what he did to you?

But your fists clench by your sides and you set your teeth and you tell Dabi that if he’s going to kill your husband, he may as well set himself on fire too, because it’s his fault in the first place. And he’s done a lot worse to you than one slap.

Dabi waits a moment, searching your alarmed expression for something, but whatever he’s hoping for you don’t give him and the flames go out. The air smells like smoke and his hands are hot—not burning, but uncomfortably hot—when he kneels in front of you and rubs a thumb over your bruised cheek.

“(Y/N)—” Dabi starts, and then he can’t find a way to finish. So he just gathers you up in his arms and carries you bridal-style down into the lawn and to the driveway, where he’s got a car waiting to take you guys back to his place. You don’t resist, which surprises him again. He thought you’d push away at him, scream, get angry—he thought he’d have to convince you. Or force you, like he usually does. But you just let him deposit you in the seat next to the driver’s.

Before he gets in, he asks you if you need anything from your house. He can go get it for you. See if any balding motherfucker in his forties can stop him. But you just shake your head.

“There’s nothing,” you say blankly. “I have nothing. I…have nothing.”

Just like back then.

“Not nothing,” Dabi tells you, turning forward to the road so you can’t see the look on his face. “You have me.”

///

In the end, he does understand. He understood it the second he held that goodbye note in his hands and knew you were lost to him.

You were 17 when you met him and 19 when you left—hardly older than a child yourself. You barely had enough to provide for your own needs, much less a teenage boy’s. By the time you left, Dabi was more than capable of surviving on his own and already falling into ugly crowds, gangs and syndicates who saw money in his quirk, people you’d sacrificed a lot to keep him away from. He no longer needed you, and it was time for you two to go your separate ways. Dabi understands that.

But now you need him. Just like you needed him when you were fucking strangers for food money; like you needed him when you ran away; like you needed him when you got trapped in this mundane, sparkling-clean life, a life that was never going to fit you. Only this time—this time, Dabi’s old enough for you. He’s not a kid anymore, he’s a man. He’s got an apartment and a good job (well, kind of) and he’s got money. He can provide for you the way you’ve always needed him to.

Dabi’s going to take care of you, and you’re never, ever going to leave.

[levi-my-beloved]

Birds of a Feather

Chapter 5

Pairings: Canon!Levi x F!Reader

Content Warnings: Violence, open wound (minor), smut, oral (m and f receiving), thigh riding, fingering, unprotected sex, masturbation (m), virgin!Levi, virgin!reader, mutual virginity loss, tooth rotting fluff, gets a little angtsy towards the end.

Word Count: 13.2K

Summary: You were the most notorious criminal in The Underground City. With your organisation of highly skilled professionals, only one man could take you down. He also happened to be Humanity’s Strongest... and your ex.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Series Masterlist

A/N: oh my god picking out those words and selecting them individually to bolden them cuz tumblr doesn’t know how to copy and paste correctly was TEDIOUS. it gives the effect i wanted but jfc tumblr learn how to copy and paste bold and italics jeez. this was definitely the most fun chapter, as you shall see. this was supposed to contain more than just smut but i got super carried away and it would have been like, 22K if i paired it with the next one, so the next chapter will take a little longer, but i’ll make a post about that separately after this one. hope you all enjoy!

18+ MINORS DNI

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

“Levi?! You fucking idiot, you could have died!” it was the last thing you’d expected to come back to after a few days away. After spending some time with the strange man who took you in three years ago, Viper, he called himself, you were excited to come back to the small house you had with your best, and possibly only, friend outside The Nest.

What you weren’t expecting was to find him, propped up against the small wooden table in the centre of the room, shirtless, slowly bleeding out through his shoulder. You didn’t know where the other two were, and in fact, that was your first question.

“Where the hell are Isobel and Farlan, and why the fuck haven’t they sorted you out?” you stormed across the room, setting your bag down on one of the kitchen chairs before assessing his injury.

“First of all… I didn’t die. Second of all… shit… they’re out buying ODM parts after Isa’s shitty landing the other day, and th-fuck-thirdly, this only happened today. They’d just left when I got back,” Levi grit his teeth as you gently prodded the wound. Shit this fucking hurt. It was a stab wound from a shitty bartender in a shitty part of town who decided he didn’t like Levi’s shitty attitude. Honestly, looking back…

He couldn’t blame him.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“You’re a fucking idiot,”

“You’ve said that already,”

“This isn’t funny, Levi,” you huffed, turning to rifle through the bag you’d haphazardly dumped on the chair. You’d never been so thankful for Viper’s weird yet wonderful survival lessons. Over the last three days, he’d taught you basic medical training. You had no idea how the fuck he knew how to apply a tourniquet or sew wounds, but you never questioned the man. He reminded you of your father in some ways.

Just a little more violent.

“Stay still, it needs to be cleaned,” you brought out a small bottle of whiskey, a gift from one of Viper’s associates. His “Shadows”, or something.

Levi narrowed his eyes as you began taking out various pieces of equipment, and couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the expensive looking bottle.

“Where the fuck did you get these things, (Y/N)?” he breathed, glancing between the medical supplies and your face. Levi hated how he didn’t know what you did. He didn’t know where you went for days, and it worried him when you didn’t return when you said you would. He was always worried about you. Instantly missing the warmth of your smile as soon as you left.

“That’s not important right now. I need you to hold still, this is going to hurt,” his face heated slightly as you searched him, that apologetic guilt in your expression made him want to hold you and tell you everything was okay.

But he wouldn’t.

Because you two were friends.

And had been for years.

Despite his budding feelings, he would never cross that line with you.

Unless you wanted to, of course…

“It’s fine. Do what you gotta do,” he responded flatly, choosing instead to find the wooden skirting board incredibly interesting to look at. Much more interesting than your face.

He couldn’t stop the pained hiss that escaped his mouth as the piercing sting of alcohol in a fresh wound clouded his mind for a moment, fist clenching as his eyes screwed shut.

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” you muttered under your breath, hating every second of pain you were putting him through. But you had to clean the wound, and you had nothing else to use. You silently thanked the man called Wolf for the burning liquor, not expecting to use it in quite a way. Screwing the lid back on the amber bottle, you set it to one side, gently dabbing the torn flesh with a cotton bud.

“Levi, this is going to need stitches. Shit, what were you stabbed with, a fucking sword?” This was one of the things he loved most about you. No matter how dire or stressful the situation, you could always crack a joke, even whilst keeping a straight face.

“Kitchen knife. Pretty standard for the tavern–”

“THAT MOTHERFUCKER AGAIN?” yeah, this wasn’t the first time Levi had been met with problems from that place.

“Yeah, him. Got me good this time,” Levi almost laughed at your look of subdued rage. He knew how much you hated that owner. But that amusement was quelled when your rage was replaced with something he couldn’t quite decipher.

He let the silence drag on as you retrieved a small needle and thread, not even questioning where you learnt how to do this.

“Sorry, this will hurt again, but not as much,” you warned him, your tone having dropped several notches to something almost melancholic. Angling the needle next to the tender flesh, you waited for his nod until you continued, trying to concentrate throughout the whirling guilt.

He’d gotten himself hurt. Again.

And you weren’t there for him.

Again.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” you whispered, pulling the thread through the wound, slowly closing the gaping tear.

“‘S’fine, I didn’t even feel it,”

“N-no, not that. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Again,” this was the thing he hated most about you. You had a habit of blaming yourself for things you couldn’t control. You always felt like you had to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you always felt like you had to do it alone. It always took Levi some time and a long, long conversation to convince you that you weren’t alone.

“(Y/N), stop,” you immediately pulled back, scared you may have hurt him.

“Sorry! I didn’t realise it was hurting, i’ll try–”

“No. Stop,” he took both your hands in his own, making you raise your eyes to him. “You know thinking like that is pointless because I always manage to get it through your thick skull that I am in fact, not your responsibility, okay? It’s my job to get stabbed, to get shot and have random glass bottles thrown at me. It’s what happens when you steal a bunch of shit and sell it on. So quit thinking like you have to look after me. It should be the other way around,”

“Why? Because you’re a man?” your small, mischievous grin told him he managed to get his message across.

“No, brat. Not because I’m a man,” he stopped that sentence there, for he feared if he’d continued, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from confessing how hard he’d fallen for you over the last eight years.

You took his continued silence as a sign that the conversation was over. He had slightly lessened the guilt constricting your heart as you returned to stitching up the gash. It would definitely leave a scar, since you weren’t exactly adept at using a needle and thread yet, but at least he wouldn't bleed out now.

Finishing the final stitch, you cut the thread with a small pocket knife, tossing the blade on the table whilst you reached for the small roll of bandages. You think Viper would be proud of your work.

“This is about as sterile as we’ll find down here,” you comment absentmindedly, stretching out the bandage and applying it over his shoulder and across chest to secure it. You tried to ignore the subtle blush dusting your cheeks as his hard muscle flexed beneath your touch. You tried to ignore the almost mouth watering sight of his shirtless body when you first entered the room. Fuck, you’d tried to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he took your hands. Tried to ignore how honest he looked.

You tried to ignore how much you’d fallen in love with him.

But Levi was nothing if not observant. He saw the gentle rose petals blooming across your face, smirking slightly to himself at your reaction. Maybe…

Just maybe…

You two could cross that line.

He found himself missing your presence so close to him when you pulled back to admire your work.

“There. All done. Don’t move it too much because if you pull those stitches, I will hold a knife to your throat and you will apologise,” Levi rolled his eyes at your empty threats, internally chuckling at how over dramatic you could be sometimes. “Oh, and rub this salve into it if it starts to hurt. It’s a herbal recipe, supposed to help numb pain,” you left the small tin tub on the table whilst you continued to repack your bag of the supplies Viper had gifted you.

Levi’s eyes followed your movements as you effortlessly reached for the second roll of untouched bandages on the table. It was such a simple movement, but the way your loose shirt untucked from your leather pants, showing just a teasing amount of skin, had him readjusting how he was sitting. Shit you were beautiful. Since you’d both been managing to gain somewhat of an income, you’d been able to afford more food. He marvelled in the way you’d filled out a bit, your own lithe frame rippling with muscle. Granted, you were still dangerously skinny, but that was to be expected down here.

Packing away the final set of stitches, you collapsed onto a chair, once again running a hand through your hair before cringing at the repeated action. You really needed to stop doing that, or your hair would go greasy.

Looking at the small fireplace kettle, you returned your gaze to Levi, who you noticed was still shirtless, and didn’t seem to have any interest in covering up anytime soon. You felt your face heat up for a second, before distracting yourself with something else.

“Tea? I feel like you could do with one,” you grinned playfully, already knowing he would say yes and rising from your seat.

Until you were forcefully shoved back down.

“I’ll get it. You’ve done more than enough,” Levi felt bad expecting you to make him tea as well, but you just didn’t know when to quit. Removing his hand from your shoulder, you stood up, now close enough to either kill him;

Or kiss him.

“Not happening. You almost bled out a few moments ago. I’m not letting you do anything, shortstuff,” you raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to challenge you. Which of course, he did. But not without smirking at the ironic nickname.

“I damaged my shoulder, brat. I’m not crippled. I can make tea for fuck sakes,” there was never really any malice when the two of you argued like this. It was a more playful back and forth.

It was only when the breath of your laugh reached his face did he realise how close you were and the two of you fell into a strangely comfortable silence, subconsciously admiring one another. Only, his view of your face was slightly obstructed.

Levi hesitantly brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, his hand hovering by the side of your neck. You could see nothing but admiration in his steely, maelstrom hues. Admiration, and something else you were sure you were reciprocating in your own gaze.

It was only then it occured to you.

And you didn’t know how’d you’d been so stupid to miss it.

Levi loved you.

Just as much as you loved him.

“I was worried about you today,” Levi murmured, prying apart the silence as his hand now rested comfortably on the side of your neck. He hadn’t missed what he’d seen in your eyes. A glassy reflection of his own feelings.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come back late. I just got caught up in some things,” your whisper carried so much tension he was tempted to grab the knife from the table and attempt to slice the air.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he opted to rest his other hand on your waist, gently pulling you closer to his body.

“Will you ever tell me where you disappear off to?” The question held no weight. He knew that if you wanted to tell him, you would. He also knew that you needed your privacy sometimes, and this was just one of those things you didn’t talk about. He just hated how his mind would race when you didn’t come back.

Your heart was almost beating out of your chest, pulse quickening to something you didn’t think possible as the hand on your waist caused goosebumps to prickle your skin. You learnt into his touch as his palm came up to cup your face, thumb tracing the apple of your cheek.

“One day, maybe,” you replied, your hand mimicking his own as you reached up slightly to smooth over his eyebrow, he in return mirrored your response, leaning into your touch. You stayed like this for what felt like years, until he spoke up again with a question that let loose all the caged butterflies in your stomach.

“(Y/N)... can I kiss you?”

Your lips parted as you let out a breath, unable to contain your smile of pure adoration as you nodded a little shyly.

“Yes,” Levi wasted no time. As soon as you managed to form a response, his lips were on yours. You gasped slightly against his mouth, arms moving on their own to wrap around the back of his neck and hold him close.

The hand on your waist extended to embrace your lower back as your lips moulded against one another.

Fuck, he’d dreamt of this moment for so long. And it was so much better than he ever imagined. Levi elicited a breathy moan as you ran your tongue along his bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore his mouth. Something he was all too eager to accept, eyes rolling as he felt your slick muscle brush against his.

Your hands travelled to thread through his hair as you subtly pushed him back to the chair he’d stood from. He seemed to get the hint, bringing you down with him as he sat, pulling you to straddle his lap.

You drew circles with your nails in his undercut, once again drawing another delightful, gravelly groan from his throat, lips still hungrily devouring his.

It was only until you felt his hardening manhood grind against your slickening folds did a thought occur to you, and you had no choice but to pull back.

“Shit, what about Isobel and Farlan?” it wasn’t a question he put much thought into answering, especially when you were scratching his undercut like that.

“Won’t be back for a few hours,” he mumbled, before reclaiming your mouth in an ever deepening kiss. You whimpered softly as he began to roam your body with his hands, grasping at your waist as you started to rock gently against his tented crotch, relishing the noises he made.

“Ah– (Y/N), sh-shit,” you peppered featherlight kisses along his jawline, stopping briefly to suck his earlobe into your mouth, his soft gasp only fueling your arousal.

His pants grew to whines as you moved down his neck, suckling and biting where you saw fit, leaving purple blemishes across his soft skin. His lengthy moan set your skin ablaze when you found his pulse point, licking a stripe up his neck before sucking on the sensitive spot.

By now, Levi was painfully hard. Wanting nothing more than to free his aching cock from it’s cloth prison. But you were the one in charge here, and he was more than happy to continue at your pace.

As long as you didn’t take too long.

He started thumbing the buttons on your shirt free, dragging it off your shoulders as you continued to leave marks along his collarbones. The clothing was quickly discarded, along with the bralet one of Viper’s escorts gifted you. Levi didn’t have time to admire your breasts within the delicate lace before it was thrown to the floor along with your shirt.

Pride swelled in Levi’s chest as you mewled against his skin, his hands gently kneading your now exposed mounds. He loved how your nipples instantly pebbled beneath his touch, rolling the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger, smirking at your hisses.

“Fuck, Levi– shit that feels good,” your praise only made him harder as you sat up, wanting to feel his mouth against yours again. But Levi had other plans.

As soon as you raised your head from the crook of his neck, Levi ducked down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You cried out, back arching into his touch, hips bucking involuntarily. Levi groaned against your breast, the vibrations only adding to the sensation.

Your hands once again found his hair, gently encouraging him to keep going, his own hand rolling your other bud.

Levi switched sides, showing your neglected mound the same kind of treatment, and you couldn’t stop the stream of breathy gasps and desperate whimpers as he showered your breasts in physical praise, making a mental note of every reaction you made to his touch.

Finally you grew impatient, wanting to show him as much love as he was showing you. Your hands withdrew from his hair and you almost laughed at his disappointed huff around your pebbled nipple.

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll like this more,” your voice wasn’t one you recognised. It was lower, breathier. You’d never heard yourself sound like this before.

But what almost broke your resolve was the sound of his voice, showing you just how much your actions had affected him.

“Oh? But I was rather enjoying myself. I think i’ll just continue doing– oh fuck,” Levi threw his head back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you palmed his length through his pants. Shit, your mouth watered at the feel of him. Harder than steel and girthy. You briefly wondered how he tasted, that particular spark fueling your next movements.

Slowly sliding from his lap, you left a wet trail of kisses down his chest, careful to avoid the wound in his shoulder. Your lips nipped at each of his abs individually before continuing down to the prominent V in his naval, tongue caressing the small dips directing you down to your goal, Levi encouraging you every step of the way with his sharp breaths and small groans.

Pushing apart his knees, you settled in between his thighs, grinning slyly as he looked down at you, wide eyed. His expression settled for a moment, hand coming to rest against the side of your face.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m more than happy with how far we’ve gone today. I don’t want to force you into doing anything with me if you’re not ready,” your heart almost fell to pieces at the sound of his concerned, yet still gravelly voice. Your coy smile softened to something so genuine and loving, Levi thought he had died.

“Trust me, I want to do this. I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Levi,” you gently caressed his thighs, reassuring him that what you were doing, and what you were about to do, was something you’d longed for.

Levi’s smile was nothing short of angelic. He gently stroked your hair, and despite the heat of the moment, he still managed to make you feel so loved.

“Alright, but if you want to stop at any point, please tell me. I don’t want to make you feel obligated to carry on just because of me, okay?” you nodded happily at his words, giving his leg a small squeeze.

“I promise. Now shut up and let me suck your dick,” Levi laughed breathlessly, tilting up your chin as he leant down to capture your lips in a swift, affectionate kiss.

“You’re filthy,”

“Your fault,” you grinned, subtly fiddling with his belt.

“How is any of this my-ah fuck,” Levi cut himself off as he felt your hand gently grind on his length over his pants, the friction causing him to elicit the most gorgeous whimpers. You could definitely get addicted to the sounds he made.

“Nngh– shit, shitshitshit (Y/N) I– a-ah,” Levi stopped trying to form words as you slowly pulled down the offending clothing, leaving him in just his shorts, cock tenting painfully. You helped him kick his pants from his legs, joining the pile of clothes you’d made as you kept palming his dick. Neither of you had done anything like this before, both being too busy to engage in any sexual activity, but you felt like you already knew what to do. Acting off instinct, you adored his little shiver as you finally freed his length, your own folds slickening at the sight of his leaking manhood.

“Shit Levi, you’re gorgeous,” the compliment slipped out before you could rein it in, Levi’s cheeks heating slightly as your words reached his ears.

“Th-thank you,”

Your eyes took immediate interest in a rather prominent vein pulsing along the underside of his cock, and once again you couldn’t help but wonder how he tasted.

Levi couldn’t think straight. He’d touched himself before, jerking himself off when his hormones deemed it necessary, but he’d never felt anything like this. And when you took a hold of his length, he felt as if every nerve in his body had set alight. His eyes screwed shut instinctively, unable to suppress the breathy moan of ecstasy.

You started to slowly stroke up and down tentatively, watching the different expressions he made. You never thought he could look so needy, and yet here he was, mouth hanging open, brows knitted, eyes closed, a gentle flush dusting his cheeks. You smiled slightly at his breathless pants, taking note of how his breath hitched when you circled his leaking tip with your thumb, smearing his precum across his over his pulsing cock.

His hips bucked unapologetically, back arching into your touch as you squeezed him experimentally.

“Fuck…! Fucking— HAH, a-aah, oh my god… (Y/N), what’re you— FUCK… fuck, ‘feels so— nngh, feelssogood,” Levi’s words slurred as his head lolled back, sweat starting to bead on his brow. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, switching between gripping the table next to him and hovering around your head.

You hadn’t even taken him in your mouth yet, and he was already reacting so well to your touch. You watched him physically relax as you let him go, giving him some time to recover before you’d take it further.

“'M’gonna take you in my mouth, okay? Tell me if it’s too much or if you want me to slow down,” you rested your head against his inner thigh, admiring his fucked out expression as he nodded, his bangs sticking to the slick of his forehead. You could stare at him like this for hours, committing every part of his face to memory. But the temptation to show him how good you could make him feel was far too great.

Leaning forward, you gripped around the length of his cock, delivering a few kitten licks to the tip, relishing in the responsive jolt of his sensitive body. Shit you were wet, it was taking all of your willpower not to reach down and pleasure yourself. You knew your matching underwear was likely ruined, quickly lamenting the loss of such an expensive gift, but that thought was quickly extinguished as you ran your tongue along that delicious looking vein you’d clocked earlier.

“SHIT, oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuck, (Y/N)... shit, (Y/NNNNN),” just as you thought your own arousal couldn’t grow any further, he whined your name and you almost came there and then. Smirking against his dick, you leant forward just a little more, and engulfed his tip in your mouth, slowly taking more of him.

Levi’s hips bucked into your warmth, unable to stop himself as his brain was completely consumed by the sheer, mind-shattering pleasure. He’d decided this was nothing like getting himself off. This was something completely different. This was on a whole other level.

When you had taken as much as you could of his length in your mouth, you started to bob up and down, hollowing your cheeks as you pulled back to suck on his tip, before engulfing him again.

You could have sworn he almost screamed.

“Aaa-ah, you’re… you’re so– nngh, so good at this, HAH-aah, w-wait, fuck, s-slow down. ‘M gonna’– AH, ‘m gonna’ cum,” you did as he asked, taking your mouth of his raging length, gently caressing the base with your thumb as you waited for his laboured breaths to calm.

“Take your time, baby. Let me know when you’re ready,” even in his foggy, aroused state, he was still able to squint down at you with a brow raised at the new pet name. He couldn’t say he didn’t like it though, looking at your swollen, shining lips slick with your saliva and his pearly essence.

“Fuck (Y/N), you’re fucking stunning, look at you,” Levi tenderly held the side of your face, thumb smoothing over your eyebrow as he regarded you with such fondness. He hissed as you jerked his length in retaliation.

“Don’t be so cute, it’s not allowed whilst I’m sucking you off,”

“Technically you weren’t, you were waiting for me,”

“Oh is that how you want to do this?” you eyed him mischievously, and before Levi could even respond, you took his entire, swollen length down your throat, gagging a little at the intrusion before slowly getting used to him.

Whatever Levi was about to say died on his tongue as the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. He had no choice but to surrender to the pleasure threatening to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open as you swallowed around his sensitive tip.

“Shit…! Oh fuck, oh fuck, (Y/N)– nngh, haaah, ah, fuck, don’t stop. Don’t… don’t stop,” Levi panted, only just able to form cohesive words as you continue to take him down your tight, warm throat. He sandwiched his bottom lip between his teeth, biting almost hard enough to draw blood.

Tears started to line your lashes as you suppress your gag reflex, swirling your tongue along the underside of his length. Your eyes rolled back as his hands found your hair, not to push you onto him, but just so he didn’t completely lose himself in the pleasure.

The vibrations in the back of your throat as you moaned only heightened the sensation, and Levi wasn’t able to take much more.

“Hhhh, (Y-Y/N), m-move away, i’m -shit- i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna fucking cum!” but you didn’t move, instead opting to moan more wantanly, lapping at his cock and swallowing him down your throat, your hands coming up to rub and cup his rapidly tightening balls. His thighs began to shake as he came undone, back arching completely off the chair. His head was thrown back as you watched his Adam's apple bob through wet lashes.

“Ah, hnng– a-AH, FUCK (Y/NNN)!!” Levi came with a broken, desperate cry of your name on his lips, his salty seed shooting down your throat. His hands tightened in your hair, clinging on for dear life as you milked him through his orgasm, sucking him dry.

It wasn’t until he’d completely emptied himself into your mouth did he collapse back on the chair, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon.

You released him from your mouth with a pop, tenderly kissing his tip clean before rising to check the state of your partner.

“Levi?” you giggled, moving to carefully straddle his lap so you could take his face in your hands. He looked completely spent, head heavy as he lazily grasped your waist. “You alright?” you thought your question fell on deaf ears, until he cracked an eye open.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think you broke me,” you laughed at his tired, satisfied smile, brushing his sweat slickened locks from his forehead to lean against him.

“Was that okay?” you asked, searching his face for an answer. The grin he gave sent butterflies to your stomach and heat to your already throbbing core.

“Are you serious? Yes, that was okay. That was more than okay. It was incredible,” he gently wiped away any salty tears from below your lash line. “You’re incredible,” Levi leant up to capture your lips in a tender, loving kiss. It didn’t quite have the same heat as earlier, it felt more fueled with adoring gratitude. You pulled back a fraction.

“Who knew you could be so vocal?” you teased with a lopsided smirk, earning yourself a small, playful nip on your lower lip followed by a low, breathy laugh rumbling from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up brat. Not like I won’t get you back,” you hadn’t noticed his hand had trailed down to the crease in your thighs until a bolt of pleasure shocked your system as he slowly pressed his thumb to your swollen clit. “Speaking of which…” –he whispered, dark eyes searching your own– “Would you mind if I repay the favour?” Levi didn’t give you time to respond before his head ducked down below your chin, licking a long, deliberate stripe up the column of your throat. He smiled against your skin as you began to rock your hips against his hand, moaning and gasping with each movement.

“Mmn, Levi,” you breathed his name like a secret, shivering as he decorated your neck and collarbones with red and purple blossoms, leaving his mark on you.

“I liked the sounds you made when I did this,” Levi’s hand left a trail of goosebumps as he travelled from your waist, up you naval to your breasts, the pads of his fingers rolling the pebbled buds. Your needy cry caused his fingers to grind harder on your clothed clit, increasing the speed as you threw your head back, the pleasure consuming you.

“Fuck…! Levi… ‘need more… ple-HAAH, please,” you whined, lamenting the loss of friction as he guided you to stand. Your confusion was short lived when he pulled you back down to straddle one of his thighs, hands gripping your waist and encouraging you to drag your hips against him in a steady rhythm. Levi snickered against your neck as you gripped his shoulders, grinding wantanly against his muscular leg.

“Feel good?” he asked, brushing your hair back behind your ears as you nodded eagerly, too busy whimpering to form words. He could feel your slick soak through the leather of your pants before making the executive decision that you were wearing far too many clothes for his liking.

Levi deftly unclasped the front of your belt, chuckling as you refused to stop chasing your high long enough for him to pull them down.

“(Y/N), you’re gonna need to move,” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine, heightening the blissful sensation of your knot rubbing against his thigh.

“Nngh– can’t… a-aah! Feels… feels too g-good,” you were so close. That coil in your lower stomach tightening and you knew any moment, with just the right movement, it would snap and you would release all over his thigh.

Or at least, it would have done, had his strong hands not stilled your hips.

“L-Levi?! What the fuck? I was right there,” you pouted as he gently lifted you from his lap, tugging down your pants.

You felt a flair of pride as his jaw dropped at your choice of underwear, the deep red, intricately laced material covering only the bare minimum, accentuating the curve of your hips and the lean muscle of your legs.

If only you’d kept the bralet on. You’d give anything to see his expression when you rocked the set together.

“Fuck…” he breathed, standing from the chair and reaching for you as you kicked the pants from your legs. You smirked, seeing his length hardening once again.

“Hmm, like what you see?” you stepped back like a sly vixen, motioning him to come closer with a provocative finger. You saw his dick twitch in response.

“I’m going to fucking devour you,” your breath hitched in your throat as he caged you against the wall with his arms, his mouth hovering by your ear, soft whisper tickling your neck before it was replaced with his tongue sucking against your pulse point. You arched into his touch, smiling as he tried unsuccessfully to repress the small groan when your hips ground against his cock, your own clothed sex throbbing at the touch.

You’d completely forgotten about his hands until they travelled round to cup your ass, squeezing and moulding the cheeks in his palms. Your gasp spurred him on, lifting you so you could wrap your legs around his waist, both moaning as you came ever closer to each other.

Levi held you against the wall, still nipping and biting at the flesh on your neck, sucking sweet bruises into the skin. Hoisting you up with one forearm, he let the other skirt between you, the pads of his fingers finding a home against your damp folds.

“Shit you’re soaked. You’ve completely ruined these, (Y/N),” he teased, gently rubbing your clit not nearly enough for you to find your high, but enough to coerce the most delicious moans from your throat.

“Mmn, worth it,” you grinned, head tilted upwards as he attacked the hollow of your throat with his mouth. His laugh fluttered against your neck, your hands finding purchase in his inky locks.

“C’mere you,” Levi’s playful tone went straight to your heart as he held you against him, carrying you from the wall. His arms braced under your ass as you leaned down to capture his mouth, lips moving in sync against each other.

You hadn’t noticed he’d carried you into his room until you both fell amongst the bed covers, his body covering yours.

You lay there, panting, looking up into those eyes you’d come to adore. The smile so rare you sometimes didn’t think he even could. You certainly didn’t think it would be so beautiful. Your hand came up to cup his face, chest warming as he nuzzled into the touch.

“Hey,” he breathed, kissing the heel of your palm.

“Hey,” you replied with a soft laugh.

“Bye,” you looked at him, your expression puzzled at the response.

“Wha– FUCK!” your hips arched as his fingers once again dipped between your thighs, sandwiching and rubbing your clit between his thumb and forefinger, his head trailing kisses down your front, pausing briefly to pay attention to your breasts before continuing south.

His fingers hooked over your waistband and Levi looked up at you for permission as he settled between your thighs. You smiled at his continued show of chivalry, nodded in confirmation before the cool air caressed your swollen pussy.

Levi must have forgotten how to breathe. That must be why he felt so lightheaded. Why his heart was beating so hard. Why his mind was reeling.

“God, look at you (Y/N), you’re perfect,” if you weren’t so goddamn aroused, you might have shed a tear at the compliment. You’d never had anyone say anything like that to you before. You’d never had anyone call you stunning, or pretty, or perfect. He made you feel so special.

And so fucking good.

Smirking slightly to himself, Levi turned to your inner thigh, biting gently at the supple, soft muscle and relishing how you squirmed eagerly beneath his touch. He was teasing you, and you were growing rather impatient.

But he couldn’t help it. He’d dreamt of this for so long he wanted to savour the moment. Wanted to remind himself that this wasn't a dream. He’d loved you for so long, and he couldn’t even fathom the elation now he knows that you love him back. The sweet scent of your dripping folds pulled him back to reality, like a siren beckoning him to a watery death, he let your essence pull him in, before the tip of his nose rested on the pearl of your clit.

His hands dragged up your thighs, gently kneading the sensitive flesh. He stayed like that for what felt like far too long, until everything happened at once. Throwing your legs over his shoulder, Levi’s tongue lapped a strong, solid line through your centre, sending your mind reeling.

“Aaaah…! Yes, Levi, Levi…!” Levi’s mind could have been a crime investigation blackboard. Making a mental note of every single reaction you were making. The buck of your hips when he kisses your folds. The arch of your back when he suckles on your clit. The hitch in your breath as his fingers came up to slowly tease your soaking entrance. Levi pulled back slightly, peering up at you and honestly, you almost lost control at the sight of him.

His mouth and chin dripping with your juices, pupils blown with pure, hungry desire. You parted your lips to comment on the delightful sight, but were cut off by the rogue moan he dragged from your throat, his fingers gently rubbing your clit, slowly travelling further south until you felt them circling your aching hole. Nerves gently bubbled through your stomach. You’d heard what the prostitutes and escorts said about a woman’s first time. You knew it was going to hurt, if the two of you went that far tonight. You knew it wasn’t going to be amazing the first time.

Levi also seemed to know.

“Hey, I’m not expecting anything after this, okay? I just want to pay you back for earlier, and make you feel… well, good. We can stop if you want,” you whined slightly at the loss of friction against your sensitive bud, but you couldn’t deny the reassurance calming your suddenly beating heart.

“Stop now and I’ll never give you head again,” you grinned, but he could see the sincerity and gratitude behind your mischievous eyes. You wanted this, and he was more than happy to provide.

“Order received,” he chuckled, before returning his mouth to your waiting pussy.

“Fuck, yes…! Yesyesyesyes HAA-AH, L-Levi…! Right there, fuck, fuck! Yes, right there,” Levi smirked as you whined his name, realising he’d never heard a sweeter sound.

Maybe the bubble of your laughter at a close second.

That same scandalous finger still rubbing patterns into your now throbbing clit, bringing you closer to your high. His other hand once again returning to your wanton hole, gently massaging your folds as his tongue darted into your entrance, dragging a long needy moan from your mouth.

Levi gently eased his finger into your waiting heat, his eyes rolling at how tight you were. He loosened a groan as he ground his now seeping length into the sheets below, the vibrations from his mouth almost enough to send you over the edge if you weren’t clenching at the strange intrusion.

As if sensing your slight discomfort, Levi latched onto the hood of your clit and sucked, relishing in the desperate cry of his name as the pad of his fingertip started rubbing against your walls.

The clench of discomfort soon turned to a flutter of pleasure as you adapted to having someone touch you so intimately. You started to understand why some women enjoy this, and more so when Levi twisted his wrist, hooking his fingers up and brushing against that spongy spot hidden deep within your folds almost by accident. He was worried he’d hurt you, your reaction was so sudden, but your loose string of breathless moans put him at ease.

“SHIT, there, stay… Nngh, AAH, stay there… that feels, yes…! That feels so good Levi,” you threw your head back against the pillow in utter ecstasy as he continued to massage that spot, easing anothing finger in to add to the now heightened pleasure. Whilst you felt both fingers inside of you, there was no discomfort as his tongue continued to swirl around your pearl.

This was his favourite part. Whilst having you kneeling between his thighs and shattering his control was indescribable, nothing could compare to the pleasure he felt whilst eating you out like a starved man. Fuck it felt good to make you feel good. Levi couldn’t stop his constant stream of whispered groans as his cock contiued to weep precum at the mere realisation he was wedged between your legs, feasting on your sex. He continued to grind against the mattress, feeling his own release start to tighten.

Quickening the pace of his working fingers, you couldn’t decipher the pattern Levi was lapping with his tongue, moving in what you thought was random zig-zags against your almost overstimulated clit.

You felt your thighs start to shake, moans escalating into high pitched, breathy pants as the coil in your stomach tightened to the point of snapping, quivering with tension.

“I’m gonna– fuuuuck…! Levi, Lev-Levi, I'm gonna cum… Yes, oh fuck yes, YES FUCK oh– LEVIIII!” with the continued ‘come here’ motion and mind numbing pace of his fingers against your g-spot and a final, long suck of your clit, you completely came undone with a desperate, lengthy scream of his name. Knuckles draining white with your iron grip on the sheets, your thighs locked around his head as your back arched completely off the bed.

It was all Levi needed to find his own release, hearing you chant his name like a prayer and feeling you convulse around his fingers and gush around his face was enough for him to spill all over the bedsheets, a small needy whine fluttering from his muffled mouth, devoured by your leaking cunt.

You two stayed like that for a moment as you both came down, Levi allowing you to catch your breath before being forced to tap on your thighs to release him, the clamp around his head easing.

“As happy as I would be suffocated between your legs, I don’t think I want to die quite yet,” Levi’s gravelly, gently teasing voice brought your back down from whatever elysium your mind had wandered off to, feeling his breath against your face. Your eyes peeled open, too fucked out to widen completely at the state of his face. Pearly white translucent essence lathered his lips and chin, bathing him in a glossy coat until he wiped it away with his other hand.

“What the fuck was that pattern? The one with your tongue?”

“Something I thought of on the spur of the moment. L-E-V-I, A-C-K-E-R–” your giddy giggle cut him off, hand pushing his face to the side playfully.

“Okay okay I get it, you’re utterly filthy and possessive.”

“Well, I had to leave my mark on you somehow.”

“As if the marks on my neck don’t exist.”

“Oh, they do. I’ll be spelling my name like that next time,” you gaped at his cocky smirk, unable to believe this was the same man you’d spent years living with.

As if inspecting your release on the tips of his fingers, he went to suck them clean in his mouth, but you were suddenly much faster. Grabbing his wrist, you brought his hand to your face, engulfing his fingers and swirling your tongue around the soft pads.

Levi’s eyes widened, a brow raised in incredulous disbelief.

“You brat, that was mine,” he huffed against your neck, looking at his hand with a pout as you took his fingers out your mouth with a small suck.

“Hmm, I don’t taste too bad,” you mused with a smirk, hoping to get some sort of rise out of him.

What you weren’t expecting was for him to roll to the side, pulling you into his chest so you had to angle your head up to peer into his now soft, grey eyes.

“You taste divine, firefly,” your heart skipped a beat at the nickname he’d only called you twice before.

“Why do you call me that? Don’t get me wrong, I love it but– why?” you murmured, snuggling into his warmth as much as you could whilst still being able to look into his loving gaze.

Levi stayed quiet for a moment, almost as if he were contemplating something, before gently tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear.

“Because you’re a light, (Y/N). I was in a shit place, and you were a light. From the day I met your scrawny ass. You shone like some weird, feisty little beacon. You’re my firefly in the dark,” Levi was never good with words. Shit, he didn’t know how many times he’d rehearsed that little explanation, ready for the day when you would inevitably ask, and even then he still got it wrong. There was so much more he wanted to say. How you guided him forward. How you bathed him in your glow. You were so much more than his beacon.

You were his whole heart and soul.

You had been for a while.

Tears lined your eyes. You certainly weren’t expecting that. You weren’t expecting something so tender, even after your lovemaking. You weren’t expecting to see the raw, unwavering devotion in his eyes as he spoke such soft, soulmending words. His arms tightened around your waist as you nestled into the crook of his neck, breathing in his fresh, sweat musked scent.

You were both tired, content from you finding your highs in each other. Administrating pleasure for one another.

You were both happy with how far things had gone.

Then why were you both still awake?

Levi felt you lashes flutter intermittently against his collarbones, his only indication that you joined him in consciousness.

Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to. Raising your head from his neck, the unspoken want reflected in his own eyes. Your lips joined his, gently moulding against one another in a gentle, passionate kiss. Wordlessly, he rolled on top of you, caging you against the bed with his arms either side of your head as his mouth moved against yours.

“Do you want this?” Levi pulled back just far enough to murmur, his lips still ghosting your own. Your hands found his hair, gently massaging his scalp as you nodded, looking deeply into those stormy eyes, blue and silver swirling seamlessly within his irises.

“I want you, Levi. Always you,” you responded, leaning back up to close the miniscule gap between you. One of your hands travelled down his back, skirting round his hips to his half hard length. You giggled cheekily at his muffled groan when you took him in your hand again, slowly pumping as he continued to harden. You wanted this. More than anything, you wanted him to claim you, and you wanted to claim him. You belonged to each other.

Levi lined himself up with your folds, shivering as his tip grazed your wetness.

“Last chance to say no before I take your virginity,” there was nothing but sweet sincerity in his hushed voice, his thumb caressing your cheekbone.

You masked your nervousness by raising a cocky brow, a lopsided smirk pulling at your lips.

“Right back at you, handsome,” you replied, but Levi could see right through you. Though your tone put him at ease slightly, he could still tell you were anticipating what was to come.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. I’d never deliberately hurt you, (Y/N),” Levi lowered himself to recapture your lips, hoping to take some of your mind off the pain as he began to ease himself into your slick folds. You were thankful he’d stretched you somewhat with his fingers, but it wasn’t quite enough to quell the pained hiss you elicited as he slowly filled you. He would pause his movements at every sharp inhale, patiently waiting for you to accommodate his girth. It actually helped him as well, the overwhelming pleasure of your walls tightening around his cock almost enough to send him over the edge for the third time. He felt guilty for enjoying it, knowing you were in a lot of discomfort.

“I’ve got you firefly. I’ve got you. You’re doing so well, we’re almost there, I promise, take as long as you need, I’ve got you,” he cooed reassuring encouragement in your ear, letting you know there was no pressure on you. You relaxed a little, feeling the pain ease a tad as you did.

Levi felt your muscles loosen a fraction, and relief washed over him at the mere thought of you feeling a little more comfortable. Still, he refused to move until he’d heard you give him the go-ahead. You were dictating this, and he was once again more than happy to go at your own pace.

“Okay… okay. You okay?” you opened an eye to look up at his strained expression, slightly concerned he wasn’t enjoying it. You knew it would get better for you, but there was no point in continuing if he wasn’t feeling good either. But that thought was quickly extinguished when he nodded slightly erratically.

“Yeah, more than okay. I should be asking you that,” your small, huffed amusement was music to his ears.

“Go on then,” you smiled mischievously, almost forgetting about the tearing pain between your thighs. Your calmed, comfortable demeanor soothed his guilt ridden heart as he smiled fondly.

“You okay?” he gave you an eskimo kiss, gently nuzzling his nose against yours.

“More than okay,” you replied, copying his own response with an earnest grin. “You can keep going, by the way. Sorry, I should have said that sooner,” you smiled, looking away a little sheepishly. He hated how you thought that way. Hated how, even now, you weren’t thinking about yourself. He swept away your expression with a quick peck to your lips.

“No, you shouldn’t have. I want to move with you. This is all about you, don’t worry about me,” you could have cried at his words, feeling his lips against your neck. “You feel amazing,” he whispered, grasping the sheets as he continued to fill you to the hilt. You hissed again, but the pain was lessening to a dull throb now, his entire length sitting snug within your walls.

You both paused again, allowing you to get used to the sensation of being so full.

“Everything alright?” you could have chuckled at the obvious restraint in his voice, heart warming knowing he was doing everything he could to make you feel as comfortable as possible. You loved how he continued to need reassurance.

“Yeah, all good. You can move now baby,” Levi looked back at you, wide eyed and stunned.

“Are you sure? You don’t need more time? I can wait, I don’t want you to think–” he couldn’t finish his sentence before your lips crashed against his, your hips bucking as you feasted on his mouth. His eyes rolled at the friction and you swallowed the groan escaping his lips as he began to pull out, only to slowly thrust back in, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of your gummy walls gripping and massaging his length.

“Fuck… god you feel so good,” he moaned, having to remove his mouth from yours in favour of breathing. You gasped quietly, raising your legs to wrap around his waist, encouraging his hips to roll deeper. The pain had been completely replaced by a unique pleasure you’d never felt before.

“Yes… Levi, shit, yes…!” Your breathy moans fueled his gentle thrusts, keeping the pace steady and rhythmic. It worked perfectly for both of you, especially when the tip of his cock grazed the same spot you were sure his fingers were grinding against earlier.

“There! L-Levi, right there, yes oh fuck!” you whined, rolling your hips to meet his. Levi stilled, allowing you to grind yourself on his length, your mouth falling open as he continued to rub against your g-spot, the spongy texture enveloping his leaking tip.

“(Y/N), a-aah,” Levi gave up on forming words for the second time that night, loosening a lengthy, gravelly groan into your ear. You whimpered as he started to thrust again, picking up the tempo as the two of you lost yourselves in the pleasure of each other’s bodies.

He kept the angle the same, heatedly relishing in the high pitched moans with each well placed thrust.

“M-more, Le-vi, Levi, ‘need more,” your heels dug into the small of his back as if he would pull away. Snaking his hand between you, your hips bucked wildly as he started to circle your clit with his first two fingers.

“Yes, yes, FUCK, yes, shit (Y/N),” he couldn’t stop the stream of breathy grunts as your walls contracted around him, sucking him deeper than he ever imagined. “Does it– nngh– does it feel g-good?” he asked, as if you could find a voice with which to reply. Miraculously, you managed to nod frantically, uttering a guttural “yes” as his thrusts swiftened to something a little rougher, encouraged by your continued string of curses, his hips now pounding into you. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the continued squelching of his cock entering you repeatedly only heightened the sensation as you walls began to clench, you high fast approaching with the repeated rubbing of your clit and g-spot. Your nails began to claw against his back, scratching lines of fire against his skin.

“Levi... LEVI! Fuck… fuck... I’m gon-na cum. D-don’t stop, feelssogood…!”  

“Yeah? C-cum then. Cu– fuck, cum for me,”

“A-ah, Levi, yes… YES…! LEVIIII…!” Levi’s breath hitched as you held him in a vice grip, his eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy as you came around his dick, back bowed in an arch, eyes closed as your orgasm washed over you in waves Your thighs shuddered and tightened around his hips as he fucked you through you high, fingers still blurring against your pearled bud until overstimulation shattered through your nerves, muscles twitching and clamping as he continued to find his own high.

“Shit…! Shit, oh fuck… Fuck, i’m so close, (Y/N) I’m s-so– so close, ha-ah…! Nngh, i’m gonna– oh fuck, yes… yes fuck…! Imgonnacum, (Y/N)... aa-aah, fuck (Y/N)!” Levi only just managed to pull out before he came across your abs, groaning desperately as his hips bucked into your lower stomach. You reached down through your own fucked out haze to grasp his cock, milking him through his orgasm much like you did early on in the night. Thumb grazing circles across his overly sensitive tip.

“Fuck, (Y/N) stop, ‘s too much… p-please,” you grinned against his neck as he collapsed on top of you, his face turning to the side as he fell between your shoulder and the pillow, panting against your skin.

You both refused to move, limbs too heavy to even think about cleaning up right now.

“Fuck… that was good,” you breathed, arms coming to drape across his marked back. It was only then you realised how painful it looked. “Levi! Oh my god I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” you asked, gently caressing the now raised lines across the muscles on his shoulders and back, hoping to soothe what you had done. He huffed a chuckle at the concern in your tone. If only you knew how much he’d loved feeling you draw white hot lines into his skin.

“Don’t be. I’m fine, I kinda liked it,” he confessed, tilting his head up to look into your shimmering, concerned eyes. (E/C) irises that quickly swirled with cheeky intent. You poked his forehead fondly, raising a brow.

“You little masochist,” your teasing tone made him lift his heavy body off yours, holding his weight a little shakily on his elbows as he leaned down to kiss you gently, his tongue brushing effortlessly against yours.

“Mmm, it was rather good wasn’t it?” he smirked against your lips as you scoffed.

“Rather? Says the man who the neighbours will be complaining about for the next god-knows-how-long. I think even those shit eating nobles above ground heard you,” you teased, smoothing over his eyebrow, his eyes rolling dramatically as he bunched up the sheet to gently wipe his seed from your abdomen.

“Okay fine, it was really good. But you know, you weren’t exactly silent yourself, right?” you’d never get bored of this banter between you. Never get tired of the amused spark in his dark irises, the slight quirked pull of his lips.

“Shut up,” you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against your neck when you couldn’t keep up the feigned annoyance on your face. He chuckled into the dip between your neck and shoulder before the two of you fell silent, content to bask in each other’s comforting warmth.

“You need to go pee,” and maybe it was his flat delivery breaking the serene silence, but that one sentence broke you. You exploded into fits of laughter, head thrown back in hilarity. Levi looked up in bewilderment, puzzled by your sudden reaction. But you had a certain contagious spark to your laughter, and he found himself joining you in your amusement. You couldn’t tell whether it was the release of all the sexual tension between you, or whether it was the elating realisation that you belonged to each other. Whether it was the relief of finally physically admitting your mutual attraction, or something completely different, but you found yourself unable to stop the bubbles of happiness from escaping your chest, even when you’d calmed down a little.

Levi too managed to control his hiccups of mirth, at least enough to ask you a one word question.

“What?”

You adored the way he looked at you and you were sure only one other person had ever seen him look like that before.

“Nothing, you’ve always got my wellbeing at the front of that beautiful mind of yours, haven’t you?” your hands carded through his hair as he rolled his eyes again. You could tell he was trying to school his smile back to neutral, but found himself unable when faced with your grinning visage.

“Shut up and go pee brat, I’ll clean up here,” Levi reluctantly rolled off you, pulling you up with him because he knew you wouldn’t have moved otherwise. You were shaky on your legs and he held your arms until you’d regained your strength before sending you off with a quick peck on your lips, something you tried to deepen but he caught on to your antics disappointingly quickly. “Go, you insatiable minx,” you laughed again as he gently pushed you, not before glancing at your gorgeous physique.

“Oi, stop checking me out,” you grinned over your shoulder as you left the room to do as he said.

It didn’t take him very long to strip the bed and change the sheets, finding some spare cloth and cases to drape over the bare mattress and pillows, bundling up the dirty bed clothes and dumping them in a small basket to be washed All before you wandered back in. Levi could see how tired you looked as you made a beeline for him, not quite with the same savvy confidence as you had five minutes ago, the night’s activities finally catching up with you. He couldn’t say he felt any different.

“C’mere beautiful,” he sighed as you collapsed into his chest. Levi tightened his arms around your body, pulling you to the bed with him.

Lying down on the fresh sheets, he tucked you closer into his chest, a smile pulling at his lips as you wrapped your tired arms around him.

As if he would ever leave you.

Tilting his head down, he pressed a delicate kiss to your hair, smiling against the faint scent of his soap you usually used.

“I love you, Levi,” Levi’s breath hitched at the three words he’d longed to hear you say. Never in his entire Underground existence did he think he could ever be this happy. The thought provoked a rogue tear to slide down his cheek.

When he’d regained some of his composure, realising he hadn’t moved or even breathed for a little too long,  his legs shifted to tangle with yours, simply wanting to feel you against him.

“I love you too, firefly,” he felt your soft, relieved smile against his neck as you both settled into each other, drifting off into one of the longest sleep either of you had managed in a very, very long time. At some point he’d rolled the two of you over, facing his back to the door, caging you in and instinctively protecting you against the horrors that lay outside those four walls.

Neither of you woke when Isobel and Farlan returned to the house in complete disarray.

Isobel immediately suspected what had happened judging by the plethora of discarded clothing and bundled white sheets in the wash basket.

“Oh my god, Farlan look! Is bro okay? Wait, are they both okay?! Look at (Y/N)’s neck!” Isobel gawked in slightly scared awe at her brother and his childhood friend. Well, lover now, they supposed, if the scratches on his back and the hickeys on your neck were anything to go by.

“How long do you think they’ve been knocked out like this?” the taller, sandy haired man asked, raising a brow to the girl as they leant on the doorframe, both looking at your sleeping, barely covered forms.

“Honestly? Beats me. Took them long enough though. If they didn’t fuck soon I would have thrown myself out the window. You could smell the sexual tension between those two,”

“That’s gross, Issy,” Isobel giggled at Farlan’s disapproving look, the dirty blonde clipping the back of her head as he leaned forward to shut the door, giving the two of you privacy.

Levi had been semi-coherent. Too tired and comfortable to throw either of them one of his glares, the sleeping bundle in his arms had softened him to the point of gooeyness. He smiled contently against your head.

Honestly, he couldn’t blame Isobel.

If you two hadn’t done something soon…

He would have thrown himself out the window alongside her.

꧁ꨄ꧂

“So, you did know her?” Levi tried to trace the steps he took that led up to this exact situation. He was always about no regrets, but shit, if he wasn’t starting to have a few. Sitting opposite his Commander, an ankle crossed over his knee, arms folded defensively, occasionally leaning forwards to take sips from his small cup of tea he’d managed to bring with him before being almost dragged into the blonde’s office.

He rolled his eyes, setting down his teacup once again, his arms returning to their positions against his chest.

“No. I already told you,” he’d insisted on keeping up this charade of ignorance, not knowing what it would do to either of you if anyone found out. Although he knew it was useless lying to him, Erwin would inevitably find out sooner or later.

The man across his face rubbed his palm against the side of his face in slight frustration, eyes closing as he took a calming breath. Levi almost felt sorry for him. He knew Erwin was under a lot of constant stress, and he knew he was contributing to that stress right now. If it was about anyone else, he would have caved in sooner. But this was you, and he would go to the ends of the earth to protect you.

“Levi… this is serious. If you know her, I need to know. It could help us protect her–”

“Protect her? Against what? I thought the MPs were done with her now,” Levi’s façade slipped slightly as worry invaded his normally rational mind. Erwin raised a thick eyebrow, clearly noting Levi’s change of tone.

“Just because they’re done with her doesn’t mean they won’t fight to get their way. She killed a lot of their soldiers, Levi. It’s only natural they would want to harm her, and we can only offer so much protection to the criminals we seem to be accumulating,” Erwin explained cautiously, as if realising Levi was a ticking time bomb, and any wrong move could set him off. But the shorter man decided against exploding at that comment, too fixated on the idea you could be harmed further.

“But you struck a deal with Niles, right? Aren’t you commanders supposed to honour deals like that?” the ravenette asked with no small degree of irritation in his tone. Erwin seemed to be slowly understanding what was going on. It was becoming more obvious that Humanity’s Strongest Soldier was perhaps more than familiar with The Raven.

“Levi, please. Who was she to you? An associate? Business partner? A friend? A lover?” Levi’s jaw flickered at the last suggestion, telling the Commander all he needed to know. “Really?” there was no judgement in his voice, only genuine, surprised curiosity. He didn’t think Levi even had it in him to love another, especially since he’s lost so many.

“Tch, so what?” might as well admit to it now he’d already guessed. Levi’s heart clenched with guilt, already trying to formulate some sort of plan. He didn’t know why there would be any repercussions to the two of you having a relationship years ago, but he didn’t doubt there would be. There always seemed to be.

“No, nothing, I’m just… surprised if I’m honest. You’ve never mentioned her before,” Erwin seemed genuinely, innocently interested, rather than that usual tone he took when he was fishing for information. Levi relaxed a tad, reaching for his teacup and taking a good, long sip, providing himself time to think.

“It was a very long time ago now… We haven’t seen each other in a decade or so,” he admitted quietly over the rim of his teacup, attempting to hide his face behind his hand.

“Do you still love her?” Levi almost choked on his tea at the sudden, incredibly personal question. The obvious answer was yes. Yes, he still loved you. He never stopped loving you. He only realised how much he really did still love you when he saw you again.

“No,” his response wasn’t as strong as he wanted it to be, and true to his perceptive nature, Erwin noted his hesitancy.

“I think we’re well past lying now, don’t you think?” Erwin smiled gently, now knowing why this was always such a sensitive subject for Levi. Why he stormed into his office the other day demanding to talk to him. Why he was so beside himself about your treatment.

That was his past lover.

Levi sighed, placing the teacup back on the desk before running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“It’s more complicated than that,”

“It’s a yes or no question Levi,”

“What’s it to you, Eyebrows? Pretty sure my answer doesn’t dictate whether she’s safe or not just because The Raven is an ex to one of your captains,” the venom in his voice was tamed by his obvious fatigue. Erwin could only imagine how much of a toll this had taken on the ravenette.

“No. It doesn’t. But I don’t want you to think you can’t come to your friends about something like this, Levi. She’s–” Erwin cut himself off, internally debating the best way to go about this. “She’s somebody important to you. Incredibly important, if your little display the other demonstrated anything,” Levi rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue at the remark.

“I just don’t want her to get hurt. More than she already has,” it was strange seeing Levi, a man Erwin had known to be incredibly stoic and in control seem so vulnerable. It was strange to think Levi had any weaknesses. But the blonde supposed every man had a weakness. Even him.

However if Levi didn’t want her to get hurt, then he should have spoken up before Erwin struck a deal with the MPs to let her join the Scouts.

“Levi… She's a Scout now. It’s highly likely she’s going to get hurt on expeditions,”

“I KNOW THAT,” Erwin raised his brows at the sudden, raised tone, not expecting something quite that desperate to come from Levi, the smaller man now refusing to make eye-contact. “I know that,” he repeated quietly. It was obvious he was in a difficult situation.

“Then I'll ask you again. Do you still love her?” Erwin’s tone was ever patient, something Levi appreciated as he sat in silence before answering, once again unable to meet Erwin’s piercing gaze.

“Yes. Yes I do. I didn’t stop. I never stopped loving her,” Erwin’s expression softened at Levi’s words, leaning his chin against his intertwined fingers, his elbows resting on the desk.

“Does she know that?”

“Fuck sakes Erwin, are you seriously giving me dating advice?” Levi raised what could have been an amused brow, if only the seriousness of the conversation didn’t convert it into something of irritation. He couldn’t deny this conversation had gone better than he could have expected. He didn’t expect his Commander to be so supportive of a relationship between his Strongest Soldier and The Raven. But, he supposed, as much as he hated to admit it, Erwin was one of his closest friends. And his hearty chuckle only exaggerated that fact.

Annoyingly.

“No. No I’m not. I’m not one to give such advice,” another silence settled between the two men, before Erwin spoke up again. “What would you like to do about this?” he asked, willing to let Levi have some say in how his ex lover was treated within the Scouts.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how would you like to oversee her training? From what I’ve seen, she doesn’t respond well to… authority,” god, talking about this it was akin walking on a sleeping titan, not knowing what would suddenly jolt it awake enough to lunge and bite. This was more Hange’s field than anything, knowing Levi had a strange soft spot for the scientist. Not that he would ever admit it.

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s… well… Yes, she’s difficult. And yes, she doesn’t like authority. And yes, she’s perfectly capable of kicking the shit out of any of us whilst eating a salad as she did it but she’s not impossible. You just have to know how to… work her,”

“Sounds like you do,”

“Watch it.”

“Apologies. That was inappropriate,” Levi could tell there was nothing apologetic about Erwin’s tone. And he couldn’t deny that it was rather funny, conveying his thoughts with a less spiteful eye roll.

Eyebrows’ eyebrows furrowed in thought, wondering who should survey your training, and who’s squad you should join after.

“I can have Miche take her through ODM maintenance, he should–”

“No point. She knows how those things work better than you or I. She was the one who sold to us,”

“Without your knowledge?” Levi stayed awkwardly quiet for a moment.

“She was wearing a mask…”

“Seriously?”

“It’s dark down there, okay? We couldn’t fucking see her face,” Levi spat, only adding to Erwin’s humerous disbelief. “Anyway, she doesn’t need to be taught that shit. She already knows it. She just needs to be taught how to use it. But she’s a fast learner. If she doesn’t surpass Miche’s kill count in her first two weeks I'll be extremely surprised,” Erwin smiled subtly as Levi kept singing your praises, seemingly unable to stop himself from aggressively gushing about how fantastic you were.

“You seem confident,”

“I am.”

“Why?” The question caught him off guard. Why? Because it was you. He was always confident when it came to you. He could always trust you with anything because he knew you.

Or… at least…

He did.

“Look, I know you’re usually the one asking me to trust you, but just this once, trust me,” Erwin had already made the decision to trust Levi on this one. He seemed to know you better than anyone, even if he had just avoided the question.

“I was going to anyway, but alright. Miche for ODM, Hange for titan theory–”

“Terrible idea, but continue,”

“And she can join the rest of the soldiers for hand to hand. Does that suit you?” Levi couldn’t quite understand why Erwin was being so lenient with this.

“I don’t give you orders. If that’s how it is, that’s how it’ll be,” the raven haired man folded his arms once again, leaning back in his chair.

“Levi, I’m trying to be accommodating about this,” Erwin huffed, growing ever more tired with the Captain’s attitude.

“Why? Just treat her like any other cadet,”

“Honestly? Because I don’t want you to be in a constant foul mood if something goes wrong with her training,” Levi scoffed, averting his eyes from Erwin.

“Fine. Yes, that suits me. Whether it’ll suit her or not… that’s a different question altogether,” Levi’s subtle, fond smile didn’t escape Erwin’s ever-searching gaze, the man picking up on all of Levi’s tells.

“Very well. She can join Captain Francis’ squad as a temporary fix until we see where she would fit in–”

“That man’s a waste of air and you know it,” Levi really was behaving like a petulant child, huffing and folding his arms with every idea he disagreed with.

“Whilst yes, I agree with you, he’s also another Captain. You should probably treat him like one,”

“I don’t see him here with us, do you?”

“Levi…” Erwin warned lowly. Though he did sometimes enjoy the smaller man’s sarcastic quips, now wasn’t the time for such things. Before Levi could respond to the warning however, Erwin continued swiftly. “So, you’ll oversee her training?”

“Didn’t I just say that was a bad idea?”

“I find myself disagreeing with you.”

“Tch, fine. ``We done here?” he asked, tapping his foot impatiently as if he’d been waiting to ask that question throughout their entire meeting. Erwin sighed, trying so hard not to roll his own eyes before nodding and waving a hand. But before Levi could even open the door, he was stopped.

“Levi… What's her name?” Erwin asked, peering at him as if he could see right through him. Levi’s expression softened, thinking back to when she asked him to refer to her with her name rather than her alias.

“(Y/N),” he spoke your name as if saying it any louder would shatter it, the delicacy in his tone so unlike the Levi Erwin had come to know. “But call her Raven until she tells you. Hate to say it, but you wouldn’t stand a chance if she decides you have a target on your back,” that alien fondness returned to Levi’s expression, as if he wasn’t talking about his ex lover possibly murdering his commander.

“I’ll take your word for it. Thank you Levi, for being honest with me. I know there’s more to say, but I'm sure you’d rather rest than talk to me about it,” the offer was there, Levi knew it was. He knew Erwin was offering to help sort through his thoughts with him, but he needed time to…

Adjust to this new normal.

So instead he hummed non-comitally and bid the Commander goodnight.

“Night Erwin, don’t strain yourself too hard thinking about this,” it was his way of saying he was grateful for Erwin’s support. Levi always had his own special way of saying things like this.

Erwin couldn’t respond before Levi was already closing the door behind him.

꧁ꨄ꧂

Warm shower. No, hot shower. Fuck it, scalding shower. Levi kept turning up the temperature, the showerhead gurgling with each twist. He usually found, when nothing else could calm his nerves or soothe his head, a scalding shower and a hot tea worked the trick. But every part of him was alight tonight. His body, his mind.

His heart and soul.

His entire being crackled with some sort of energy he hadn’t felt in a while. He recognised it. Of course he did. It was the same energy he’d feel whenever you’d return home from your strange trips away, which he now knew was Viper teaching you how to survive. Was that how you knew how to stitch his wound that night? Was that how you knew how to effectively apply a bandage, how to suture and sew? That night when he’d stumbled through the door to find the house empty. When he’d sat at the table, silently begging you to come back just so he could see you again. Just so he would stop worrying.

That night when he’d first kissed you.

There were a lot of firsts that night, he remembered fondly. The first kiss, the first touch. The first time he’d heard you moan his name. The first time he moaned yours.

The first time he’d felt such utter pleasure, when your tongue swirled around his tip and your lips lapped at his vein. When your throat massaged his length and he spilled into your mouth.

The first time he’d tasted you, delicately kissing your swollen folds and listening to you unravel above him. Your breathy whines playing on repeat in his head.

The first time you two were joined, closer than you’d ever been before.

Gradually, the shower became far, far too hot. Looking down, Levi could both see and feel the result of his little nostalgia trip. The small whimper of his name in the cell had unlocked a torrent of repressed urges that now sprang to light.

In more ways than one.

It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. You were a mere husk of who you were. You were damaged, fractured. Spiderwebbed cracks lined your mind, threatening to shatter and yet, no matter how far down he turned the shower temperature, no matter how much cold water splashed against his toned back, images of your ecstasy creased face still flashed in his mind, his length only hardening further the longer he left it.

“Damnit…” he muttered with a heavy sigh, before wrapping his hand around his cock and slowly fucking into his fist. His hips bucked involuntarily, having not done this in quite a while now. Levi ran his thumb over that prominent vein, remembering how your hot mouth would suckle kisses along the underside. A low moan escaped his throat, lost down the drain along with the filthy cold water.

He lathered his precum over his sensitive tip, hissing at the friction as he began to pump faster, boney knuckles gripping tighter as he neared his high. His hand didn’t feel like his own. There were no rough callouses on his palms, but rather they were softer. Daintier. Smaller. He couldn’t stop his imagination running wild as he thought of you jerking him off, that playful, fox-like smile pulling at your lips whenever his back arched or his hips bucked.

“Fuck…” he groaned, fucking into his fist with renewed vigor, his balls tightening as he felt his release wash through his body, mouth falling open. Throwing his head back, Levi thrusted his hips into his grip as ropes of white seed spilled from his tip, seeping through his fingers.

He braced his arm against the white tiled wall, watching the water wash away his ivory sins as his cock softened in his hand. Guilt punctured his afterglow, self hatred a constant accomplice as he turned the temperature back up to boiling, hissing as the lava scalded his back, staining his skin an angry red. He wouldn’t have tea after this. He wouldn’t carefully dry himself off, or sit at his desk and stave away sleep.

He would collapse amongst the unused duvet and pillows of his bed, and hope his nightmares carry him to retribution.

[pbandjesse]

Today was great. For me. For my poor husband it started very very stressful. But it would get better. And I still had a great day.

I had a little trouble sleeping last night but it was better. I was very very tired when I woke up though and while I was supposed to go to the museum with James I needed another hour. So I texted James and they came in the room and told me to keep sleeping.

That sleep helped a lot. I felt more like a person when I got up.

But I was a little out of sorts. I usually do everything the same way every morning. Get up. Pull the blankets off the bed. Wash face. Lotions. Brush teeth. Makeup. Go. But I got distracted and started making sure I had everything I needed for my workshop and I was in the middle of doing my makeup and I'm like. I've forgotten something. And realized I didn't brush my teeth and was all confused. My routine was messed up!! But I would get back on track and got my stuff together. And then I was off.

I was in a good mood. I headed to the museum. I got breakfast first. And then it was 9 and I was happy to see James.

They were having a tough time though. Something happened with the group last night and they broke the computer and the audio guides thing and bumped into a bunch of stuff and it was kind of a nightmare. By the time I was getting there the computer was getting fixed. So that was something but it was kind of a mess how much things weren't working. Especially on the weekend when they are the only one there. Sucks.

I got out of James's hair though and went to set up my program. I went and found Stanley and he helped set up chairs. I got all my stuff out on the tables and soon Auni was there to help. She went to find some extension cords. I kept her little son distracted and chatted with him. He's like. 3. So not huge on conversations but is very sweet.

I was nervous!! But it ended up being such a good workshop. It sold out. And everyone was lovely. I was a little nervous at first but once I got through my intro and packet it just felt so natural.

I started with giving everyone a hoop, a piece of fabric, and a skien of black thread. We would do a running stitch, then a back stitch, a stem stitch, and then we did a satin stitch, and then showed them how to weave with a satin stitch base. And if they got that I showed them lazy french knots, lazy daisies, and flying vs. I also got to show one very nice woman a blanket stitch. And it was such a blast. I was walking around also seeing all my examples so I could show people. And eventually once everyone had all those stitches down a few were working on fixing some pieces they brought. And I even got to show a few how to use the darning looms. It was really fun.

We also just had fun talking. I got to tell stories and we had lots of laughs. One of my students from AWAH and her mom came and they did a great job. I really think everyone did so good.

And we had a beautiful community moment when one of them lost the screw from their glasses and everyone had their phone flashlights out to find it. I went and got a magnet and very soon we were all cheering because it was found!! Amazing!!

At noon I let them all know because it was technically the end of the class. But I didn't force anyone out. Soon they were cleaning up and saying goodbye though. Some helped me out the chairs away. And I was in a great mood.

Meril was in today and I was happy to talk to her. I found a basket one of my students had brought in the garment loft and so I went around to try and find them. Thankfully they didn't leave yet. And then I brought all my materials up to the front.

But then I felt like my brain was broken. I needed to return the magnet I borrowed to find the screw. And I had a picture/video in my head of me returning it. But I couldnt figure out if I really did it. And I felt like I was going crazy. I went through my whole basket twice. Unfolded and refolded all my fabric. I was so frustrated. James says it's okay and it'll show up if I didn't return it. It I felt very frazzled.

I waited until James was done checking people in. Then we squeezed hands and I said goodbye.

I went over to the grocery store. I wanted to get a few little things. I also got a rice paper wrap that was really good! Would get again.

I went home and remembered to do the next layer of waterproofing on my coat. And then I heard someone next door and went out on the hall and Ms Tina, our landlady, was there.

We ended up talking for a half hour. I wanted her to know we would be gone for our honeymoon and that Callie would be here. And she told me about her recent Rhodes scholar trip to Egypt. She's such a neat lady.

We hung out in the hall for a dog. She made a big fuss about Sweetp being a good boy. And then we said goodbye so I could go eat my lunch.

After I had one of the rolls I would vacuum and do some tidying. I want to make sure everything is clean here before we go on our trip. I also stripped the bed and put some blankets away.

My suitcase is pretty perfectly backed. But my backpack could be better. So I went through that again. I saw someone on TikTok pack a pillowcase and put their jacket and sweater in it snd use that as a travel pillow and I thought that was so smart. So I put my fuzzy pillowcase in my bag and moved some stuff around so that it will be a little more accessible. I also looked at James's toiletries and put the non-liquids in a separate bag. I also t go ubk I am going to bring one of my rumple blankets because it fits in the top of my backpack and I think it will just make me cozier.

James let me know they would be taking a little ride before they came home. I would get in bed and just got cuddly.

I would eventually make the outfits for the next few days. I only needed three because I already have an airport outfit picked. And when James was home I was very happy to see them. I missed them even though it was just a few hours.

James would go for a little walk eventually. I was cold and was just interested in being cozy.

We would have a little snacky dinner. And it was a nice evening just laying in bed together doing our own things. Though I did make them laugh very hard at one point and that made me very proud!!

Eventually I went and took a bath. Which was really nice. I'm going to probably was my hair tomorrow. But tonight was just relaxing.

Now I am ready to go to sleep. I have my AWAH group tomorrow. Which will be my last one with them because I'll be away the next two Sundays!! Wild. I hope it's a fun class!

Sleep well everyone. Have a good night and be safe tomorrow. Until next time!

[taelonsamada]

Snippet Sunday - Tarnished Truths

Good morning, darlings! Yes, I am back to annoy you with more bits from my most recent work, because it is so much fun writing these two lol Tagging @solclaw @lovelylonerliterature & @sealriously-sealrious this time around because I crave more peeks into all y’alls wonderful writing ❤️

Anywho, have a bit from a more dramatic moment involving my boys lol

~~~

Both of them held their breath as they waited in the dim room, listening to the pounding footsteps and raised voices that raced back and forth on the other side of the door. Felix held his breath as the doorknob rattled, wincing as the door shook a couple times from someone slamming into it repeatedly.

Then someone else yelled at whoever was trying to get in, and they moved on with a curse. The shifter continued holding his breath until all footsteps disappeared from earshot, letting it out in a slow, careful exhale. Looking over at where Tobias sat on the floor, he flashed him a relieved grin and a thumbs up.

“We’re not in the clear yet, but we’ve got some time to catch our breath and figure out a plan.” He whispered as he walked over, shoving the stolen gun into his belt at the small of his back and crouching down in front of the seer. “Let me see that leg.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not an idiot, I saw you go down. Gimme.” 

Felix stared at Tobias without blinking, smirking when the seer scowled and gave in, turning to face him properly with a wince. Nodding at the sight of the dark spot spreading across the navy blue pants, he hummed softly, holding his calf gently in both hands to look his leg over. “Are these expensive pants?” He asked, fighting back a larger grin at the confused look he got.

“No, wh - Hey!” The sound of ripping fabric filled the room as Felix tore the bloody fabric, exposing the deep gash that tore through his thigh just above his knee.

“Oh, hush, you said they weren’t expensive.” He chided, tearing the fabric back a bit more and taking hold of his leg again. “Mmm… well, I’m not a healer, but I don’t think you’re in danger.” He muttered, setting his leg down and tugging his jacket off, spreading it out on the floor next to Tobias. Straightening with a wince, he strode over to one of the nearby shelves to start digging through the contents. “Good thing this is a hospital.”

Walking back over, he flashed a grin at Tobias as he spread out the supplies he’d grabbed onto his jacket. “Don’t worry, I’ve been told I have a very gentle touch.” The eyeroll he got in response made him feel better about the oracle’s mental state.

Flopping down onto the floor beside the other man, he picked up his leg and draped his thigh over the shifter’s crossed legs, pulling back the torn fabric once more. “If we can get to Argent soon enough, she can probably close this up without a scar, as long as we get it properly cleaned and dressed. You’re gonna need stitches til then, though.” He warned, all playful banter and snark disappearing as he looked the wound over once more. 

It was shallow enough that while it was bleeding steadily, the rate was slow. None of the important veins he knew were in the thigh had been damaged. It still took up a fair bit of cloth and gauze before he had it cleaned up enough to start stitching it closed. 

Tobias was watching him intently as he threaded the needle, and he found himself trying not to sweat under the high level of focus he was being given. Eventually he looked up at him, waiting, and let out a quick breath at the nod he got. 

He had to give the seer credit for only twitching slightly with the first few stitches. Felix knew personally how much they could suck. Normally he would be talking to him through the process to try and distract him, but he didn’t want to risk alerting anyone who was still looking for them. 

The shifter would never admit it out loud, but he was also doing his best to concentrate at the moment on keeping the stitches neat and lined up the way Argent taught him. Not because such a task was difficult, but because Tobias’ leg was tensing and shifting under his hand, and being able to feel the strong muscle flexing was conjuring up thoughts and images that he most definitely should not be having at the moment…

[watermelonlipstick]

The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked: 

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589 

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

           Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

           You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

           “You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

           A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

           He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

           Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

           Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

           Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

           “Is what mine?”

           “The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

           He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

           “You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

           “It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

           “I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

           You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

           “Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

           Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

           “Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

           “Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

           “Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

           From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

           “Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

           “Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

           “I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

           He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

           “Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

           “Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

           “Nice try.”

           He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

           “Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

           You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

           It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

           When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

           “Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

           “I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

           “Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

           Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

           Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

           Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

           His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

           He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

           Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

           “Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

           Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

           “You knew?”

           “Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

           Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

           “Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

           “No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

           “Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

           “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

           “You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

           Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

           “Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

           “Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

           “Hey, could you—” you start.

           “Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

           “Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

           “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

           Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

           You roll your eyes at him.

           “Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

           Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

           “I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

           “Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

           “If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

           “Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

           “I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

-

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