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bluerosejuliet · 2 years

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Bridgerton Rebirth Idea

This prompt was inspired after reading the fabulous works of @thekatebridgerton and @daughter-of-sea-and-wisdom . You guys are amazing and thank you for inspiring me!

Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth grew up together in modern times in the same orphanage. None of them were ever adopted and so they remained close even after they got their own places. Although their personalities are different, one thing they share in common is their love for a book series called: Bridgerton. While this did attract them all to the series there was a bigger element that kept them all entranced: the second love interest. While they all know from the summary of each book who the main love interests are, they find themselves more attracted to the secondary love interests. The chemistry between them and their respective Bridgerton were so good that it made them heartbroken when they didn’t wind up together. Even worse is how the love rivals aren’t even evil, they just stand by and smile sadly as their loved one marries another and lives happily ever after.

Daphne adored the slightly flirtatious conversation between Simon and her character, going so far as to skip the scenes with the main couple to get to his parts. She was honestly sobbing when her character married Prince Friedrich, not because the two lovers had come together after so many obstacles, she could care less about that. What got her was how the Duke of Hastings gave her a bracelet to wear for her wedding day, not telling her that was an item always worn by the Duchess of Hastings for generations. “For though Daphne Bridgerton might be becoming a princess that day, she would always be the Duchess of Simon’s heart.” That line made Daphne ball her eyes out.

Anthony on the other hand nearly threw his book out the window. While he understood his character’s attachment to Siena Rosso, with Kate he was able to let his walls down and the banter between the two was spectacular. She understood his commitment to his family and the trauma from his fathers death. Siena being the runaway daughter of a Baron felt like a weak plot point put in so the two characters could get married. He actually did throw his book when his character didn’t even bother to chase after Kate on the day she was to go back to India, instead focusing on a minor argument he had with his new wife Siena. “As Anthony Bridgerton kissed his wife amid the thunderous applause of the theater, Kate Sharma looked towards the rising sun on the horizon and felt her heart lighten as well. She may never love another as she loved Anthony Bridgerton but she would cherish the memories he gave her as she looked towards the future.” When Benedict came to borrow the book from him, Anthony threw it at his face.

Benedict didn’t understand why Anthony was so upset until he got through his own book and considered burning it afterwards. Sophie, in his humble and unbiased opinion, was an angel that his character did not deserve. After saving her years before from a bad situation, Sophie has been a constant in his life. She always tells him what she thinks, takes care of him when he’s sick and encourages him in his art. When he thinks he’s found his lady in silver, a mysterious painter who turns out to be a shy wallflower, she goes undercover as a ladies maid to help bring the two lovers together. Modern Benedict wants to scream when his character declares his love for his fellow artist even after he knows she’s not his lady in silver. “Sophie Beckett never revealed the truth behind the lady in silver or the mystery model to the Bridgertons. Instead she was content to act as governess to the family's children, knowing that she helped make two wonderful people wonderfully happy.” He stopped reading after that book, muttering how the author is blind to romance.

Colin had been the most optimistic out of everyone, thinking his character would surely end up with their sweet childhood friend Penelope. I mean the two have been friends since they were young and Penelope helped him escape his mothers nagging each season and would write to him constantly throughout his travels. His character even has a line in Benedict’s book about how Penelope is the one of the few things in his life that he can not lose. He really should have read the back cover summary. Perhaps then he would have been prepared for the return of Marina Crane nee Thompson, his character's first love who broke their engagement due to pressure from her family and married another man, even giving birth to his two children. His heart sank as Penelope helped the two wayward lovers come together once more even as her own heart was breaking. “Penelope smiled sadly amid the crowd of well wishers as Colin and Marina headed towards their honeymoon. While Colin Bridgerton would never be hers, he had taught her that she was someone worthy of love and perhaps one day she might come to love another as much as she loved him.” He donated the book to a library the next day, and then spent the rest of it watching the Great British Bake Off while eating a tub of ice cream.

Eloise was never one for romance novels but something about Sir Philip Crane stood out to her. He was nerdy and awkward but a wonderful uncle to his brother's children and a fabulous correspondent. When her character had decided to enter into a marriage with him and the two even seemed like they would be the endgame, she felt a bit smug that she could hold this book over the other’s heads. Afterall, Philip is mentioned on the back cover and has a blurb so she really doesn’t see how Theo Sharpe’s return is going to change anything. Oh how wrong she was. Eloise had to check to make sure there wasn’t a sequel to her book, one that continued with the current story, after her character leaves Sir Philip the day before their wedding to head off to Gretna Green with her first love. “He stood there in the doorway, long after Eloise’s carriage had disappeared from sight. For so long his father made him believe that no one would ever love him and yet Eloise Bridgerton had managed to prove his father wrong. Perhaps his father would think him a fool for letting her go so easily but Philip knew that to truly love someone meant putting their happiness above your own. And he may never love again as he loved Eloise but he would never regret even a second spent in her company.” Eloise offered to hold a book destroying event at her and Fran’s apartment.

It's a well known fact that Francesca loves a good love triangle and her book delivers. She’s kept reading each book in the series for glimpses of her character with her childhood friends John Sterling and his cousin Michael. Though her character’s crush on John is obvious, Francesca kept her fingers crossed that Michael would be the one she picked. I mean think about it! After years of pining after sweet oblivious John Sterling, she enlists the help of his cousin Michael to help get him to see her as a woman. Their lessons turned very heated at times and she was confident in who her character would choose. Only for John and Francesca to declare their undying love for each other and fall into bed together within three chapters. It honestly blindsided her. The author kept pointing out how Michael loved Francesca and hinted at it in every other book but mentioned very little of John's feelings till halfway through! The worst scene though was when Michael walks into the stables only to find Francesca locked in a heated embrace with John! “Michael thought of the story of King Solomon and the baby, could recall the vicar dramatically telling the story now. He knew he could still declare his feelings for Francesca, reveal what had been in his heart since they were young. But he would not force her to choose and would not destroy his relationship with the two most important in his life. Rather than confront the couple, he slowly backed away and headed back towards the lake.” Francesca was practically in tears, whimpering and begging the character to go after Michael. Unfortunately, the book ends with the main couple married as Michael goes off to fight in the oncoming wars, his future uncertain.

Hyacinth and was more confused when reading her book. What was the point in her character spending so much time helping Gareth St. Clair just so she can marry her brother Gregory’s friend, Richard Abernathy? It literally makes no sense! Okay so she understands that the character had a crush on Richard after Gregory introduced to him the family but kept messing up around him making her worried that he’ll think she’s too wild. With Gareth she was able to be herself and he appreciated her brilliant mind. Even when he’s helping her impress Richard, he tells her that a real man will love her for who she is. Oh sure Richard tells her he loves her just the way she is but it still felt like her namesake was holding herself even at the end. “As the happy couple launched into their first dance as husband and wife, Gareth watched them feeling a bit detached. All this time he’d been searching for answers, for the possible hidden treasure when he’d had a diamond in front of him all along. And just like his family's treasure, Hyacinth was now lost to him forever.” You can bet that the moment she finished that book, Hyacinth started writing fanfiction on Tumblr to fix the ending.

Gregory was the last of them to start reading the series and his friends did not prepare him! All they said was not to read the summaries but he decided to just skip to his book. The set up at the start seemed obvious. Lucy Abernathy, in love with her brother's best friend Gregory and the two are in laws now after Richard marries Hyacinth. She’s sarcastic and funny but sweet at the same time. But no, instead Gregory falls in love at first sight with Hermione Watson as they work together to save Lucy from her uncle's schemes. “ Lucy Abernathy had entered the season expecting to marry one man while being in love with another. And though the man she loved was now heading on his honeymoon with her best friend, she was glad that something good had come out of this mess. ‘Be happy you two,’ she whispered into the wind, knowing that her friends could not hear but hoping her prayer would still be heard.” Gregory may have sent Hyacinth a request on tumblr to fix the ending.

At one of their weekly gatherings, the friends are sitting in a bar ranting about the series when a woman interrupts them.

“Are you by chance talking about the Bridgerton series? I’ve heard it’s quite the hit,” she asks as Eloise snorts.

“Oh, parts of it are. Fair warning though the main love interests suck,” she snipes as the older woman raises an eyebrow.

“Is that so? How disappointing, I do love a good love story,” she sighs as Francesca smiles sympathetically.

“Believe me, it would be a far better love story if they ended up with the other love interest. The main ones are more bland than anything else,” Francesca replies as Hyacinth hums in agreement.

“I could write a much more exciting love story than what was given,” she sighs and the woman smiles oddly at them.

“Perhaps you could, my dear, perhaps you all could. Thank you for humoring me but I must be off,” she says before walking out. That night the friends all retire to their homes early.

However when they wake up the next morning, they discover themselves in an old fashioned home wearing old fashioned clothes. Even more curious is they have memories of living in this house and of the lovely brunette woman who is apparently their mother Lady Violet Bridgerton. The moment they hear that name it clicks. They’ve somehow been reborn into the world of Bridgerton and are remembering their memories from their past lives in modern London.

Later that night they meet in the library and figure out that they have a few months before the start of the first book. Without saying anything, everyone comes to a similar conclusion: this time they’ll make sure their characters end up with the right person.

I’ll probably write more of this if there is interest and feel free to send me any questions or requests. Even if it’s not about this AU. I may also post what the original books summaries were for the series so people have a better idea of what the original plots were.

#Bridgerton #bridgerton au #saphne #kathony #benophie #polin #philoise #franchael #hyareth #grecy #isekai

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cryinginthebackseat · 1 year

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breaking sugar - ch i

AO3

Fandom: Attack On Titan

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Mikasa Ackerman

Word count: 10.671

Summary: So, it goes like this then: if he can shut the door, he can run away. It should be easy. He can escape this. But it’s the leaving that’s hard.

Warnings: Swearings, a large chunk of lemon

Author’s Note: my first anime fanfic ever. kinda went above and beyond with this one and the smut. so far it clocks in at an egregious 17k-ish on my docs and i'm nowehere near done with the story, cause it’s purely self indulgent but self indulgence = self care.after mulling over on how to post this for eons, instead of making it into a one shot, i decided to divide the story into two parts. i hope i can post the next chapter soon.this is part one.

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I’m building memories on things we have not said. - Fiona Apple

“How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.” - Pablo Neruda

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In the morning, the agony and guilt often coalesce, merging like earth stones. One darkness bleeds into the other.

Like every story that ends with guilt, it all starts with a decision. Some would call it karma, reaping what you sow; like plucking roses with a blindfold on and your fingers end up dripping crimson petals at your feet and it’s worse knowing that you could have avoided it all from the beginning.

But no one’s really good at this, isn’t it? Making the right choice? There is very little gravity when it comes to weighing between what’s right and wrong, the good choice and the bad one, and too often we let the latter collapse in on ourselves.

The point is, it’s frustrating how we simply can't see beyond our own, introverted cocoons. Constantly digging around in the same old hole.

The point is, there’s a knife lodged in his chest, engraved with her name.

And he knows he’s too far gone.

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But now, there’s only the night.

And tonight, she comes to him.

The knock on his door has never sounded more like thunder in his head. He considers ignoring it. He always tells himself he’s smarter than this. That he’s not a suicidal maniac, that label is reserved only for Eren fucking Yeager.

He opens the door anyway, clad in a white shirt and black trousers.

Their eyes meet and there’s a stretch of small smile that tugs the edges of her mouth. Her cheeks- her entire face- an infernal red like the scarf she likes to wear.

He stands before her, leaning against the door jamb. His arms folded over his chest.

“Finally learned how to knock?” he drawls teasingly, watching the way her gaze falters but she doesn’t blink; he does. He straightens up and lets his eyes roam her from head to toe. “You look beautiful, Mikasa.”

Mikasa gazes at him with those large, butterfly-eyes that never fail to clip his wings and tug him back down to Earth.

“Thank you, Levi,” is her response.

The Levi in question, watches her in return, mesmerized.

He has always watched her, right from the very start. Before the Female Titan, really. A long time ago.

“Can I come in?”

Levi doesn’t answer her– he doesn’t think he has the capacity for it. Words are superfluous, anyway, when it comes to this, so he merely nods in response and steps aside, letting her pass through the doorway. Half of her body brushes against him as she does that. His heart does something strange at the contact, making it feel as if it would fall apart at the seams.

He really is too far gone. He knows well he’s crossed the Rubicon now. It’s only a matter of time before his Rome collapses, might as well let it bury him underneath it.

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Levi Ackerman first met Mikasa Ackerman years ago.

On the battlefield, her eyes, as if by accident or design, met his.

Odd that her eyes reminded him of arrowheads. It was even odder that he found them beautiful. So beautiful that he had to classify them as dangerous and that’s horrible. Horrible because her stare had stirred something deep within him in a way he didn’t associate with his adrenaline rush.

And couple that fact with this one: Levi couldn’t seem to get a read of her expression.

Eventually, he forced himself to look away.

(Later, he would often revisit this strange, little exchange between them in his head. Had he known she would want to bite his head off after he’d kicked Eren’s at his tribunal, he wouldn’t have bothered— but now, now Levi thought of the weight of Mikasa’s stare against his and that tight tangle of confusion as it was draped by something else).

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“Can’t sleep?” Levi questions once the door clicks shut behind them. Mikasa stands in the middle of the room, jangling nerves and breathing too loudly.

“Yes. It’s just one of those nights, I think.” She shrugs, her voice steady enough and he hums in return.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I’m sorry, I was held up by Eren.”

Levi arches a curious brow. “I didn't know you two are on talking terms.”

She shakes her head. “We aren’t. He just swung by my quarters, saying he wanted to talk but I managed to shake him off.”

“And you decided to come here, of all places.”

“Of course. I don’t want to be anywhere else,” Mikasa tells him all this glibly, casually, a night-blooming confession passed over like a carafe of wine. Every time, it’s a clean strike against his heel.

She feels him drawing closer.

She touches the uneven thud at her throat.

He never fails to elicit that far-away longing.

Levi is behind her now. Something coiled tight in her stomach, a stretched band ready to snap at the very primitive idea of him touching her– why hasn’t he touched her?

“Now, that you’re here…” He says. Low. Rumbling. His mouth skates against her ear. She leans back against his chest, closing her eyes shut as his arms circle around her waist. “What, then?”

“I think you know.”

Levi turns her around. She opens her eyes and sees him, gimlet-eyed and smirking, all dark and predatory. Mikasa thinks she likes this particular look of him. It makes something inside her twist, something like power, knowing she has this hold over him.

His hand replaces the one on her throat. Mikasa tilts her head back and gasps noisily in the dim room.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Levi kisses Mikasa, and it still confuses her greatly, how the earth upends and shakes itself apart every time he does that.

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The girl was a creature of habit, which made finding her outside the headquarters relatively easy.

That late afternoon, that summer, during an unexpected hot spell, Levi found Mikasa in the greenhouse. She had finished tending the garden and was now reading at the table.

He stood over her. Mikasa lifted her head at him from her book.

His brow arched. Her neck was bare. It was the first time he’d seen her without her scarf.

“Can I help you?” she asked flatly. Her fingers turned to the next page in her book without looking away from him. “Sir,” she added, as if an afterthought.

Levi’s face dipped into a frown. “Why on earth did you do that?”

“Did what?”

“That.” He nodded to her book. “How are you supposed to read it if you look ahead?”

She shrugged. “I can always revisit the book later.”

“That’s absurd. And a damn waste of your time.”

“I don’t really care.”

“You’re not supposed to read that way, brat,” Levi pointed out.

Something like a scowl invaded her gaze and Mikasa, perhaps out of spite, perhaps she only meant to establish that he held no power over her or a combination of both, flipped another page. All with her eyes still glued to him.

Levi stepped closer, but he didn’t know where to land his eyes, they kept flicking from hers to her neck and her mouth. If Mikasa noticed this, she yielded no words, instead craning her neck to meet his stare. He had forgotten how crucial eye contact was, and now, looking at her, he was fighting back with everything he could against her overwhelming offense.

“I think I can read however I like, Captain,” Mikasa said offhandedly. And then Levi placed a hand in the center of her book and pressed it down flat against the table, the spine parted to the force.

Her hands were still grasping hard on the sides of the book, holding it open the same as his hand did in the center of her book. Their fingertips nearly touched. Levi hadn’t realized this until he dropped her gaze, looked down and swallowed. Her fingers were small and slender next to his, he realized. She could make powerful men start a war for her with just her touch if she wanted, he thought, make them bend her will.

He raised his eyes to her again. Mikasa blinked, once, twice and then pulled the book shut. He retracted his hand to his side, and his thumb and index finger ghosted over the back of her hand. He saw her cheeks flush and breathed heavily through her nose. Levi took a ragged breath of his own.

He reached for something to say. “You’re not wearing your scarf.”

“It’s too hot for a scarf,” she admitted quietly, a hand idly touching the bare skin of her throat.

“I see,” Levi replied dazedly, eyes following the shape of her fingers on her skin.

The bell toiled in the distance, pulling him back from the ruins of his mind. Levi shook his head, chased away that bashed-in look to him, like she’d clubbed him in the head or something. He couldn’t do this. He came to the conclusion he’d have better odds facing ten abnormal titans than whatever the fuck he’d tried to do.

He looked out in the direction of the sun then cleared his throat. “Carry on, Ackerman,” he said, even-toned, and then he was gone.

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He thinks, amidst his lust-induced haze, that kissing her feels like running headfirst into a wall of fire.

Her fingers caress his face, but her kiss is far from gentle. Her teeth knock his and it’s bruising and hot-blooded and dominating and fuck, she’s going to kiss him until he spirals and he finds himself kissing her back just as fervently, and trails his lips down her jaw, the arch of her neck. Nipping on her skin just so he can hear his name rolling off of her tongue again and again and again.

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How does it start?

It’s all Erwin’s fault, really.

Or the MPs, he can’t really tell anymore.

Somewhere down the line, Levi knows he’s made the wrong turn, he lets his hands slip on the reins and the horses are speedrunning into the chasm and try as you might, you can’t change the ending. The predetermined outcome is no longer predetermined.

For example: an ashy letter had arrived on Erwin Smith’s desk on one gray and windswept morning. The envelope was pristine. On the front was her name written in an elegant cursive, a glaring testament to their prominence in the hierarchy. But it was the green wax seal on the back– imposing green unicorn, its mane glowing bright in the pale sunlight– that had caught Levi’s undivided attention.

“I want you to take care of this,” Erwin had said in that heavy, commanding tone of his that meant business.

“I doubt shooting the messenger would get the message across, but if that’s what you want.”

Erwin afforded Levi a tight-mouthed grin. “Causing another national conflict just right after we ended one, Levi? How very ambitious of you.” He harrumphed and dropped the smile. “But no, I was talking about Ackerman. I need you to tend to the girl.”

They were in his office. Behind his desk, Erwin’s face was pinched tight, acute exhaustion masquerading as stoicism while Levi looked at him dead-on with narrowed eyes. Pointy chin and curtained dark hair, his confused mouth asked, “What do you mean?”

Erwin didn’t say anything at first. One hand pulled open his desk drawer and took out a bottle of whiskey, placing two glasses on the table. He had that uneasy lies the head that wears a crown look on his face.

“Considering Ackerman’s recent highly-publicized falling-out with Yeager, Arlert has been suspecting that she will take the offer just to get away from him,” Erwin said after a pause. He poured on his, then Levi’s. Then poured more for himself. “We can’t let that happen. Not when the Operation to retake Wall Maria is drawing close.”

Levi reached for his glass and took a biting sip. When Erwin had summoned him to announce he had a discrete project in mind for the Captain, this had been the last thing he had in mind, but he would not be mystified. He was a soldier, first and foremost. He would obey and perform the task he’d been assigned without much fuss.

So naturally, the words that came out of his mouth were: “So, what do you want me to do?”

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Perhaps, there were many ways this could have gone.

(No, there was no way this could have gone differently. When the pieces of the board have been placed, when you know the names Mikasa Ackerman and Levi Ackerman are attached to the pieces, the possibility narrows itself down to that singular vanishing point in the middle of the page).

(To think of anything else is simply absurd).

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The main issue (one of the many, at least), that Levi recognized almost instantly, was that he might have overestimated his ability to carry out the task. He didn’t have a plan, not even the bare bones of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he operated purely on instincts. The heist, probably. And look at where it had led him.

Still, he visited the greenhouse and they ended up meeting each other there for most days. She would be tending the plants, and he would walk in and help her. Then they would sit at the table, him across from her. They would drink tea. Some afternoons they would talk and bicker and play chess, some afternoons they would simply ignore each other and read their books in silence.

That afternoon, he rifled through his pockets for a cigarette and lit it. She peered up at him from the pages before her.

“What does it taste like?” Mikasa asked with that wide-eyed wonder, undiluted curiosity that had a penchant to spin him on that dizzy edge.

Levi leaned forward to flick his cigarette on the ashtray, if anything to distract himself.

“You never smoked before?” Mikasa shook her head. “It tastes a bit like how they smell. Sort of like licking a burning newspaper or swallowing ash.”

She made a face. “That’s disgusting.”

Levi’s mouth curved up, he hid it behind his hand, his cigarette. “I don’t really do it for the taste. No one does– maybe except for those disgusting ass-hats at the Military Police. Then again, there’s no accounting for taste.” He paused, cast a cursory glance at her, feeling inspired.

“Well, maybe not everything. Since they want to bring you into their fold and all,” Levi added, pivoting the conversation, trying to segue into the topic he’d been wanting to bring to the table.

She ignored it altogether. Instead, she asked: “Can I try?”

“What?”

Mikasa nodded towards the cigarette. “Can I try smoking it?”

A sooty brow quirked. “You’re not serious.”

Mikasa shrugged a shoulder. “It’s better than watching you hogging it to yourself, at least.”

“It’s my last and I’m not sharing, brat.”

“Now, you’re just being rude.” She folded her arms. Her face, a callback to that implacable and petulant ankle-biter she’d often worn at nineteen.

But she was hardly one now, wasn’t she? A kid. At twenty-two, Mikasa was that still stubborn, moonless-eyed sprite; a self-contained statuette situated on an ornate, little pedestal in a gilded parlor, meant to be shielded and worshiped by the world. As an objective observer, he’d been well aware of Mikasa’s beauty, alright.

But he digressed.

“Tch. Have I ever not?” Levi retorted. He delivered the words like something he could be proud of. Her scowl deepened. “Claws in, cadet. But my answer is still no.”

“Not even if I beg you for it, Captain?” Her face was stern, ungiving, but the question was less genuine and the implication of that made Levi freeze in his seat. The conversational equivalent of being struck in the knee.

Simply put, the question coaxed the stirring he’d felt into something darker. Levi released a shaky breath.

He shouldn’t feel this way. This was wrong. He shouldn’t have felt anything at all.

The Captain raised a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Really Ackerman, you would beg just for a hit?” he gritted out, his voice wavered.

“But I will not be getting on my knees, if that’s what you mean,” Mikasa said. This impossibly stubborn creature.

Under the table, his hand had balled into a fist so hard it blanched his knuckle, nails digging crescent moons into his skin.

There was a scratch at the back of his throat that made it hard to breathe. The water was getting dangerous. Get out of here, his head said. This was a four-dimensional catastrophe in the making.

And yet…

“That’s a shame. That’d be quite a sight of the century, I’d say.” The words were out of his mouth before Levi could even reconsider them. He was crossing a very dangerous line here, but his mind was caught between the safe choice and the stupid choice at the moment, with the latter taking the lead. Maybe it was the hour, maybe it was her, but his self-control was this close to crashing straight into smithereens.

“Is that what it takes?” she asked him.

He blinked stupidly. “What?”

“For me to smoke your cigarette? Me on my knees, begging?”

He felt his mouth move.

"Yes,” he said, despite his better instincts.

Mikasa remained muted. Her face was that much impossible to read, though her eyes were dark, hooded. She was watching him, thinking.

And then, unexpectedly and briskly, Mikasa stood up. Determination flashed over her features, and there was a danger to be found in that. She made her way to the center of the room and got down on her knees, the floor dirty beneath her crisp, white pants.

And then: “Would you let me smoke your cigarette, please?”

Something nameless spun inside of him. Very slowly, Levi rose to his feet and approached her. There was a catch in her breath as he openly stared at her, in a way he never had. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t stop. His brain stalled. Levi didn’t know why she was doing what she was doing- if she was even aware of what she was doing, but Mikasa was drowning him. Head underwater, he didn’t know if she’d let him come up for air.

Her eyes fluttered as Levi stood before her. Mikasa looked up at him, at his eyes, feigning impartial and challenging. He inched closer. His hips were at eye level with her face. Her eyes flicked to his belt buckle for a millisecond, before they swept back up.

He took a deep breath and it sounded more like a tremble, the heady rush that comes when one’s about to commit either something brave or disastrously reckless or both.

He raised his hand with the cigarette to her face. Her breath on his skin was hot.

“Open your mouth,” Levi ordered, and so she did. Her lips parted open and curled around the tip, heavy in its suggestiveness. His fingers pressed gently against her mouth. She took a light drag, all with eyes still on him. Her cheeks flushed, her neck. Her eyes were entirely dark. He wondered if she would look as poised when she had his dick in her mouth. Walls. He was imagining fucking her mouth and that’s insane. The smoke touched the back of her throat, but didn’t make it all the way down. When Mikasa breathed out, she intentionally blew it in his direction.

By the time she was done, both were shaking. Levi yanked his hand back from her, but left the cigarette between her lips and she let him– he didn’t think of her that foolish, he knew she’d let him– and turned his back to her. He glanced down, his cock was pushing against his pants, rock-hard and obscene and what the fuck had he done?

“You can have the rest of it.” His voice was thick, like he had a mouthful of blood. What have I done? “I’ll see you at dinner.” And he went for the door. He didn’t look at her– he wouldn’t. He left, the idea of staying in that greenhouse for another minute made his head pirouette.

Levi made it to his quarters. He couldn’t stop thinking of what happened. What he had allowed to happen. He fell onto his bed, on his back, one arm over his face, the other skated lower and ran his fingers over the pre-cum gathering there. When Levi came, all he saw was Mikasa- on her knees, begging “please”, mouth warm around him- as he gasped her name.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He would just like to reiterate: anything that happened, it wasn’t his fault. Levi is not above blaming other people for his own problems, but in this case, he really was just following orders.

“I want you to tend to the girl,” Erwin had told him, weeks ago, a month, last Thursday. Levi couldn’t tell anymore. Time’s all nonsense when the whole world is falling apart, anyway.

“I need you to ensure that her loyalty to the Survey corps is not compromised, by any means necessary. They’re expecting her answer by the end of this month.”

“By any means necessary?”

“Yes.” Erwin had looked him square in the eye, the message in his eyes was clear. “I’ll leave the hows and all to you, but I trust you to carry out this assignment in the most likely manner, Levi.”

Erwin hadn’t said anything else after that. He needn’t to. Even though it was non-specific, the implication was hard to miss. Levi had felt it, the beat and skip, the sudden rise of his pulse as he drowned the rest of his drink, winced at the burn and stood to leave.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dinner at the mess hall was interminable.

It was seven o’clock and his plate of turkey sandwiches was barely touched. Hange wouldn’t stop talking his ear off on his right, something about a successful experiment they had with Eren, but Levi wasn't listening. There was a distant buzzing in his head, the rapid opening and closing of his own heart overwhelming him.

“And then Eren threw these barrage of punches and kick the remainder of–”

“I think I lost the remainder of my appetite listening to you.” Levi got up from his chair. He glanced around the room, searching for that one particular face he’d dreaded seeing. Her usual seat was empty. His relief barely reached him. “I’m gonna call it a night. Don’t forget to bathe before you hit the sack, you filthy genius.”

Levi didn’t bother to wait for Hange’s response and headed back to his quarters, willing his mind blank.

Sometimes, Levi wondered if he was stuck in some sort of pain and pleasure feedback cycle. It was pleasurable to casually think about fucking Mikasa’s mouth, but the pleasure brought so much pain, the kind of pain that put its barbed fist down his throat and into his stomach and swished its contents around every time he remembered what he needed to do.

Not that fucking her mouth would be detrimental to the mission, probably, but by allowing what had happened to happen in the greenhouse, Levi guessed it was only a matter of time before the sand began its first trickle down the glass.

In more ways than one, Mikasa Ackerman would be his downfall.

Because she was well and truly under his skin. If he was frank with herself, he knew she’d been there for a long time.

He found the door to his room was ajar when he reached his isolated wing. Levi stilled in the doorway. He could see the candles were lit. More than that. He could hear movements inside. Someone pacing. He walked in only to freeze.

It was Mikasa. Fucking Mikasa was pacing back and forth in his fucking quarters.

The anger was slow-coming, but it was there, along with his confusion. He wanted to know why she was here. He wanted her to leave. He wanted her to stay. He felt like he was being tugged in every direction.

He kicked the door close with his foot and marched towards her.

“Brat, you better have one good reason why you’re trespassing into my private quarters or I swea–”

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Mikasa snapped. She turned to face him, full-on, manic and too-bright eyes. Levi looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Are you even listening to yourself? You’re the one who barged into someone els–”

Mikasa stalked closer to him. Levi clamped his mouth shut, blinked in surprise at her.

“I mean here,” she interrupted him again, pointing to her head. Frustration bled into her voice. “You aren’t supposed to be in my head. Why are you up here?”

He did not reply to her for a long time; it’s the outwardly he could give her. Nerves thrum through him, something that threatened to be uncapped and his jaw twitched. He thought of his mission, the first time he saw her, his cock in her mouth, that day on the field when he’d witnessed her take down a cadet twice her size, the ramifications he would have to deal with if he acted on this foolishness.

It was not within Levi’s nature to heed his id, but she made it so hard for him to think logically.

“What are you…” he began to say, only to stop himself. Levi’s stomach made somersaults. He’d fought thugs from the Underground, an army of deadly titans. This was not a matter of life and death and she was nothing but a girl, but—

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” And just like that, Mikasa incapacitated him. Her voice barely above whisper but it was the loudest fucking gunshot in his ears. She really might as well have shot him.

Levi closed his eyes. His face must be showing something, or worse, Mikasa might know him that well, because when he opened his eyes again he could see it. Her face softened, like a shade being pulled from her face. He gave her a brief shake of his head. “Ackerman…”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Mikasa breathed again. “And I’m so tired of it. I thought it should not be bad if it’s someone else.”

Levi didn't move, his mouth went flat and hard. “But it’s only bad if it’s me.”

“You’re not supposed to be in my head, Levi.”

Levi was struck with three things all at once. The first was that Mikasa had said his name. And he didn’t know how to process that. Only she could speak each syllable of his name like any other four-letter word you can bastardize into a sin. The second was that his heart was pounding so hard in his chest, like, potentially coronary failure fast. The third was that Mikasa was close, too close, there was nowhere to look but her; she was here and she smelled so good. Sweat and clean and irresistibly female, a hint of gardenia; she’d picked some of the flowers from the greenhouse to her room, he assumed.

He did the unthinkable. Levi gripped the back of her neck, sudden and fast and pulled her to him. Mikasa gasped. Their lips hovered over each other, a promise of a head-on collision. She formed a fist, bunched his shirt between her fingers. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Moved back up.

“And neither should you, Mikasa.”

It was easy then, to kiss her. To drag her to his bed. His hand yanked off the many layers of clothing she wore, and she, his cravat. Grabbing his shoulders, pulling him even closer. Shoving her tongue into his mouth. A rough desperation to her movements that he reciprocated easily.

She fell to his bed first. Mikasa mewled under him, pulling him on top of her as Levi drove into her with no plan of stopping.

The discerning would call this a victory. He had her right where he wanted her. Erwin would likely get to keep one of his best soldiers after all, and Levi would get to prove yet again he was best at following orders.

The discerning would be wrong.

The discerning didn’t know shit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

INT. CAPTAIN LEVI’S QUARTERS - NIGHT

Afterwards, they laid still in his bed. Mikasa, still damp with sweat, now on top of Levi, bare and suffused with color, wound her arms around his neck; his wrapped lazily around her midsection, his legs intertwined with hers under the covers. There was no sound safe for the steady thump of his heart in her ear.

“So…” Mikasa gulped, nervous and fidgeted, but she trudged on. “What now?”

Levi was silent in reply at first, merely staring at the ceiling. The room had grown darker, the air stuffy and hot because they couldn’t risk throwing the windows open, but his silence was what choked her most.

“I honestly don’t know,” he answered her, eventually. Except his voice was strained. “What do you want?”

Mikasa disentangled herself from him. Levi’s face fell. He looked almost crestfallen. Maybe he thought she was about to get up and leave, but she quickly amended that and rolled to her side to face him. She cupped his face in her hands. Something she couldn’t categorize flashed quicksilver over his face, but it was gone just as it appeared.

“I…” She really shouldn’t be considering this. He was her superior, for God’s sake. They shouldn’t have done what they’d done. They shouldn’t do it again.

But Mikasa, underneath it all, was a slave to her own heart.

“I think I want to try this. With you– if you want to, that is,” she admitted nervously. She thought, with a startlingly dizzying clarity, that she could shatter into him and call it a victory, even if it meant losing any semblance of her self-control around him. “What do you want?”

For a moment, Levi only looked at her. He seemed uncertain of himself, like vaulting over the wrong fence or donning someone else's gear. Fearful, even. His gaze kept shifting back and forth between her eyes and lips, and it made her anxious.

Then:

“You,” he answered after a long, miserable, lingering pause. Relief spread through her. Mikasa couldn’t stop smiling as she leaned in and crashed her mouth against his.

“Okay,” Mikasa took his hand, clutched it tight. He responded in kind. This is madness, but at least they’re in this together, she thought. “Okay. You have me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The admission has haunted his waking hours and his nightmares. Levi doesn't know what he admitted that night, he can’t tell which is which anymore. He feels like he doesn’t know much these days.

None of this ideal– only in a sense of morality scheme sort of things, though, not in terms of the part where he gets to fucking rail her, because the fucking is really that mind-blowing actually.

Which probably explains why he keeps doing it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mikasa’s back is now against the wall of his room and Levi stands in front of her, mind dizzy with pleasure, sucking on her lower lip, speaks without thinking too much, telling her that he wants to fuck her, hard, that he’s been wanting to fuck her all day; he’s gone full confessional today, it seems.

He will deal with the agony and guilt in the morning, as usual, but tonight, his mental back and forth, the voice that tells him why he shouldn’t be doing this is far away, trapped beneath the layers of aching lust.

“Is this what you want?” Levi asks in a drawn-out whisper. Mikasa’s fingers grip his hip, hooked at the waistband of his trousers. His thighs are pressed against hers. Then she reaches down to palm the tent in his trousers, and his brain nearly damn short circuits.

“Yes,” she whispers against the column of his throat and Levi is so hard he could barely think. Also, because what she does next is getting down on her knees, right in front of him where he stands, frozen. Realization struck him at what Mikasa is about to do. Despite the pleasant hum in his head, he can still hear her, muttering the word please against him— against his cock. He braces against the wall.

Mikasa rubs her face against the crotch of his pants. She untucks his shirt, shoves it up and drags her lips, her tongue over his toned stomach, making one of those needy, purring noises that drive him absolutely fucking wild. His body jerks against her, against her face and heaves a deep breath, as her hands work on his belt and get his trousers open and god, that just makes him harder.

The head of his cock is already wet, swollen and throbbing with anticipation. Mikasa leans in, darting her tongue at the tip. Levi watches with a harsh, guttural sort of groan as his member fully sinks into her mouth.

“Oh fuck, Mikasa.” His eyes sear into her and he nearly bangs his forehead against the wall, jaw dropping open. Mikasa drags her hands up his thighs to his hips. They buck forward into her grip. Her mouth around him is that much heavenly, that much hell (it’s only hell because this is so much better than how he’d once imagined it would be– on her knees, begging “please”, mouth warm around him) and his thoughts cripple.

A hand traced down the side of her face, trailing down the hinge of her jaw as her mouth works. Mikasa looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her chin catching on the zipper of his pants. She takes him further down, swallowing him up with a slurp. The wet, filthy sound of her mouth as she sucks on his cock only flares the desire within him higher.

His fingers snag in her hair, pulling the strands deliberately, his grip tight at the root, his fingernails briefly scratching at her scalp. She lets out a wet, gagging noise around his cock, saliva trailing down her chin. He lets his head fall back to avoid the overly stimulating sight. His thighs tremble when she hollows her cheeks. The sound is maddening as Levi fucks her mouth, harder and wetter, her hand now gripping at the base until her lips brush against the side of it.

Levi can’t think intelligently, it’s that sort of mind-boggling sensation where the world around him somewhat blurs, swallowed by the noiseless vacuum of slow motion and Mikasa is his only focus point at this juncture.

He thinks his eyes might have rolled up into his head; her tongue is back dragging around the tip, deliberate and insistent. He’s past any coherent speech, he’s about to come.

Levi tugs her by her hair and pulls her to her feet before it could happen. Without any gentleness or whatsoever, he spins her around, pressing her front against the wall and glides his hand down from her shoulder, hiking up her nightgown until the hem has ridden up past her hips. He yanks away her cardigan, dropping it to the floor. He feels her body shudder before him. His teeth drag down the nape of her neck and he slides his other hand down between her thighs.

He rubs leisurely at her, through the underwear and then under. Mikasa's head tips back at the skin-to-skin contact and moans shakily. He, on the other hand, is quiet, rendered unimaginably speechless. Just a taut, marveling “Fuck” before driving two fingers deep into her.

“God, Levi.” Mikasa makes a choking, groaning sound, reaching back to grab a fistful of his hair, pulling, burning his scalp. It’s the pain more than anything else that goes straight to Levi’s cock, and he hisses and tenses behind her. Her hips buck against his cock and his hand. He exhales hard in her ear.

Levi nibbles at her earlobe. Pushing his fingers deeper and groaning along with her, telling her, as if drunk, “Now, tell me this,” he starts, voice dropping a whole octave. His rhythm is merciless and rough, and his free hand roams over her body, from her hip to the ridge of her ribs, her breast, her throat. “Do you want to come, Mikasa?”

Her breathing undulates. Her hips begin to rock hurriedly, desperately reaching for that high. Her cunt pulsing and clenches against his fingertips and dripping wet, slicking up his palm. Mikasa lets out a needy moan as an answer. A small laugh escapes him, smug and low.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” he says, a dark insistent mumble. The wet smear of his mouth as he presses his cheek against her, and she gasps. “Say it,” he continues. "Say it, or we're done here." To prove his point, Levi’s fingers slow down, torturous enough that Mikasa whines at the loss of the sensation.

Mikasa snarls and tries to twist her hips, but he only holds her down. Stilling her movement. Finally, she relents: "Yes! Please, Levi, please, please, please let me come.”

Levi inhales quickly. And he gives her what she wants. What he also wants. He crooks his fingers inside her, reaching that spot that makes her legs quiver and sucks down air as he repeats the motion. Any sounds she’s making turn into winded, breathless cries as he feels her orgasm wracks her higher and higher until her body spasms and she is left panting violently in his arms.

He doesn’t fully expect it when he pulls away from her. Mikasa uses whatever strength she has and turns around to face him. She pushes him back towards the direction of his bed, her breathing over loud and labored, her gait unsteady but when his eyes find hers, the desire and determination behind them are simply unmistakable.

The raw animal ferocity that flashes over her face. The way she shoves him sitting down to the mattress with a strength that makes her an Ackerman, is a huge turn on and alarmingly staggering. Mikasa barely gives him time to catch his breath when she straddles Levi, grabs a fistful of his locks and kisses him quite, categorically insane.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Brat, what the hell are you doing?”

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor when he arrived. Exactly a day before she would be getting on her knees on the same dirty ground, submissive and begging and his cigarette wrapped around her glistening mouth.

In her hand was a hammer, and the other a sugar cube she’d produced from a small jar he assumed she must have had ‘borrowed’ from the kitchen.

Mikasa carefully placed the cube on the dingy breadboard.

“Breaking sugar,” she said, then he heard a soft, sudden impact, and saw some sugar dust coating the floor, her hair, clothes and her face.

“What?”

“Breaking sugar,” Mikasa repeated, only half-heartedly. Not when she was reaching out for another cube from the jar. “I heard from Armin they could emit flashes of light if you crush them.”

Levi studied her intently, as if she were a well-phrased headline or a foreign stamp.

Mikasa, he deemed, in his quiet and dignified way, was a walking contradiction. She’s brash and lethal, yet delicate and tender, which jarred Levi in a way that he would never admit aloud. That every time he thought he had her all figured out, he found her already walking two steps ahead of him and she was looking at him over her shoulder, smirking smugly like she’d tied his shoelaces the wrong way and the ground was slicked with rain and he was falling behind with this acute fairy-tale sense of doom whenever you know you probably wouldn’t make it to the finish line.

Maybe that explained why Levi didn’t expect this little display of antics from hers.

“I presume Arlert didn’t mention the part where you’d have to be in the dark to see it?”

She paused mid-swing. “Oh,” she said, suddenly growing sheepish. “He didn’t.” Mikasa stared at him, keeping her focus on his eyes, imagining his likely response. “And you know this, how?”

Levi rolled up his shirtsleeves on his arms and wandered over to her. He flopped down across from her on the ground.

He took a sugar cube and held it between his thumb and forefinger.

“When you’re stuck with the only resident mad scientist in the corps, you begin to pick up a certain knowledge from them, I suppose,” Levi mused cooly, staring at the cube, almost fractured in his touch, the fragments that had begun to dust his fingers, wondering to himself why did he bother to get himself all messy like this.

“I’ve liked always doing this, ever since I’ve learned what they’re capable of,” he continued. “I would look at people stirring their tea and think I knew a secret– that sugar was more than sweet.”

Mikasa told him, “According to Armin, it’s not the sugar, it’s the crystal. The structure, you know. If you crush a crystal, you get a light.”

Levi nodded. “The phenomenon is called triboluminescence. In this case, when you crush the sugar, some of the energy you use to push down on the sugar causes the positive and negative charges in the sugar molecules to separate. The opposite charges rush back together again- because they attract each other- and the energy released is converted into visible light.”

His eyes riveted back on Mikasa, face perfectly composed as ever. For a moment, she blinked, then something flitted in her gaze, but before he could place it, it was gone.

“I really didn’t know that,” she admitted, then shook her head, smiling faintly. “But then again, I didn’t bother to pay any attention to other subjects back then except on how to kill titans.”

“Tch. There’s more to this life than just fighting down those freakish giants, you know?”

“I know, it’s just…” she sighed. “You know how it is, we are the strongest of them. I feel like I can’t lose sight of what's important if we’re to protect them.”

“That is true, but while we may be servants of humanity, we’re also human,” he said quietly. “Life doesn’t revolve around the war, Mikasa. A world awaits, and if you want, at least a portion of it could be yours for the taking. You just need to have the strength to hold onto both sides. It’s not going to be easy— heck, nothing is, but life is so much more meaningful when it’s not one dimensional.”

There were those bottomless, doe-like eyes, that narrow-eyed study she did, looking at him. And Levi felt pinned, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was being observed, processed and assessed, although he could give a rat’s ass about what other people thought of him, he was desperate to know Mikasa’s two cents.

He cursed inwardly. Shit, he was getting uncharacteristically uncoordinated over a belligerent soldier with a savior complex.

“Oi, what are you staring at me for?”

“Nothing.” She was quiet for a moment, as though unsure of what to say. “I guess if I’d known just how clever you were, I would have tried being nicer to you.”

Levi snorted, relief disguising as apathy, and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be a brat,” he said, a faint hint of amusement crossed his face. She mirrored his expression, mouth quirked up and eyes glinting like melted iron under the afternoon lights, then licked her lip. There was no intention to seduce, to dazzle- there was nothing because her eyes translated nothing of the sort, yet Levi’s stomach dropped nonetheless. His smile faltered, eyes falling to her lips for a breathless second and he knew he was trapped.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The rest of their clothes come off quickly. Mikasa’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt and quite literally tear off the material like paper. He hears some of the buttons clanging on the floor.

“You’re sewing all that back tomorrow, brat.” Levi feels her breath against his mouth as she giggles.

“Whatever you say, grumpy.”

Her mouth then moves down to his jaw. His neck. His collarbone. And Levi is rendered weak. He glides his hands over her thighs, bunching up her nightgown. Mikasa, understanding his intent, leans back and pulls it over her head with intentional slowness. The sight is insanely erotic. She drops the garment on the floor, and he shrugs his own shirt off. He’s only just tossed it across the room before she pushes him flat onto his back.

Levi, primed supine on the bed, gazes up at her. His eyes track up her body as she hovers over him; her eyes spangled with lust, her neck flushed pink, hair messy and fuck. He imagines he’s looking much worse for the wear, absolutely ravaged by desire, but he could care less. Because she is leaning down on him and goes for it– she licks along his top lip and nips. He makes a sharp, eager sound, and sucks on her tongue in return before devouring. He kisses her greedily, very much uncoordinatedly.

He angles his hips between her thighs and grinds his cock against her clothed, sensitized cunt; still slick from post orgasm.

Mikasa gasps at the contact. Her body jerks slightly. Levi clasps her waist, holding her against him and sets a rhythm, deep and steady. His attention is rapt in the low light as he thrusts upwards in time with her movements. She sits up. She plants her hands on his pecs, pushes down and rolls her hips faster against his cock, rapid, rough and does it again. He snarls under her, muttering strings of expletives and her name.

“L-levi,” she cries out in return, a husky edge to her voice that has him smirking. “Please.”

Levi waits until Mikasa throws her head back before he swiftly scrambles up, grabs her. Guides her to the other side of the bed, knocks her onto her back. When he positions himself atop her, her eyes have considerably widened.

“No, I get to be on top this time,” he mutters against the side of her face, that teasing lilt is back in his voice.

Mikasa closes her eyes and mumbles his name again, thick and slow, which he surmises is her conceding with him. He grins. Dragging his attention downward, he runs his mouth over her clavicle, a mixture of tongue, teeth and lip as he explores the expanse of her chest.

She makes one of those pleasurably appreciative faces when Levi kisses the outer side of her breast, inward; draws one pink, pert nipple into his mouth and sucks and bites.

“Do that again,” she says.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please.”

And Levi obeys. He licks his smile against the same sensitive, spit-slicked bud, biting down harder, drawing a strangled gasp from her.

“Too hard?”

“No, I like it,” Mikasa manages to say and holds onto his shoulder and drags her nails up to the undercut part of his head. “I like it a lot.”

A breath of a chuckle before Levi speaks, low and a playful rumble: “What else do you want me to do?” He asks, his mouth already hovering over her other breast, hands skimming down her sides. She arches into him. “Tell me.”

He lavishes on the other nipple, mouth obsessive. Another gasp. Her nose nudges against his hair. Levi pulls back and moves up again, his breath hot against her throat, back up to her mouth.

“I can fuck you with my fingers again.” And aforementioned hand worms its way back down her body, her skin overly hot against his. His hand suddenly stops, refuses to move beyond her hip bone, his fingernails prick lightly at the flesh there and she shivers. “Or I can use my mouth and eat you out until you won’t stop shaking,” Levi promises, more a growl than a murmur, against her parted lips. He thinks he might like playing the role of a torturer more than he would ever admit. “Or I can do both. All you have to do is tell me.”

“No, I want… I want,” Mikasa can barely get the words out. “Your cock. Please. I want your cock inside me.”

Levi makes a low noise deep in his throat. He can’t resist her even if he tries. She’s like a celestial body with her own gravity well, trapping him in her orbit.

Without wasting another moment, his hands move to her underwear and he peels them off. He moves out of the bed to kick off his unmade pants. He’s nearly breathing as hard as she is, his blood racing, boiling and frenetic as he shuffles his way back on top of her again.

He threads his fingers through her hair and kisses her, then reaches down, aligns his cock between her opening, and slides his dripping erection up and down. Goosebumps take over her body as he feels her breath leave her in shuddering gasps.

Levi pulls back, and can feel his spit still connecting his lips to her.

“You want me to fuck you like this?” he asks, sex-fogged and fucking thrilled, his composure threatening to break.

“Yes! Just like this, please.”

That does it for him. Levi slowly pushes himself inside her and fucking fuck, sweet mother of fucking Titans it’s so good, like really fucking good. If paradise does exist in this fucked up corner of the world, then it has to be this soft pink matter between Mikasa Ackerman’s thighs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is what he chants when he brings his cock deeper. He peers down to watch the inches disappear inside her, the very pornographic image nearly wrecks him completely. It’s all sensory overload. “Shit, Mikasa. Do you have any idea how good you fucking feel?”

“You feel— you… Good– oh my god,” Mikasa stammers, before melting into a soft moan and throwing her head back against the pillows.

That earns her a chuckle from him, then he withdraws slowly before thrusting back. His hair has fallen over his eyes. His face is pressed to hers, his nose against her cheekbone, exhaling noisily.

Her arms loop at the back of his sweat-coated neck as he snaps his hip forward. Shoving his dick back into her with violent impatience. She immediately tightens, all of her clenching and squeezing, spasming hot and wet. Levi hisses. She spreads her legs wider, face contorting in pleasure. An unbidden, out-of-control realization shoots through him that only increases how awful, how good, how fucking perfect what her body does to him feels.

“Please,” she pants between the steady thrust of his hips.

“Please what?”

“Harder. Please, fuck me harder!”

Levi happily obliges by slinging her legs higher over his waist and slams back into her. He deepens his strokes, fucking her at an impossible, hard pace, his cock nearly slips out of her completely with the motion. He’s ruthless with her, almost brutal, giving exactly what she’s requested and fuck, the sound of her cunt squelching around his cock, wetter than when he worked on her with his fingers, will undo him.

“F-fuck, that’s good,” Levi stammers, mind truly lost. He tries to breathe but it feels caught in his chest.

Mikasa squeals with overwhelming desire and angles her hips up towards him. Her blunt fingernails bite into his biceps. He hisses in pain and moves to pin her hands above her head, tight enough she can’t wriggle free from his grasp.

But Mikasa isn’t Mikasa if she doesn’t go down without a fight. She raises her head, as if to kiss him, instead she nips at his chin. Levi grunts in surprise. The minx has the audacity to smirk at that. In return, a hand slides down from her wrist to grab her tight by her jaw. Tilts her face to the side just as rough. His mouth on her jawline is less a kiss and more of a bite. She groans shamelessly at that.

“You really do like it rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says followed by a gasp-chuckle-moan noise. “Yeah, I do.”

The echoes of slapping skin and her slurry of high-pitched moans ricochet all across the room. He stares at her, intently, and he can see it there, in her eyes, the depths of her own desire reflecting back into his and it makes his dick twitch inside her, feeling like his whole body tangles in vines. His rhythm grows messier, more uneven as his own climax races up a steep crescendo. He feels her constrict harder around him and a near-feral growl sounds in his throat. He knows he’s not going to last much longer.

Levi presses and rubs his thumb to her clit, his other hand remains caging her wrists. Mikasa practically sobs and writhes under his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me,” he says and she does again. She’s all flushed, her pupils blown to hell, making a wet sound that is half a swallow and half a mewl. Hyperaware that is his body making her make all of these carnal reactions and he still doesn’t know what to do with that. “What do you want?”

“I want… I’m gonna– ah,” she scrapes out, loud and bitten off. He feels her wrists move, trying to escape his grip. “I’m so close.”

“Yeah?” Levi only holds her tighter. “So, what do you want? Tell me.”

Mikasa heaves out his name, although it comes out more as four unintelligible letters. An evil, satisfying lurch in his stomach as Levi watches her toss her head side to side, her breath coming out high and quick yet the words he’s desperate to hear don’t leave her mouth.

“You know what I want.”

“Do I, now?” Levi mumbles against her, only to slow down for a few teasing thrusts and draws his thumb away.

“You’re evil,” she chides.

“I am,” he agrees, but only because he's denying her what she wants. Nothing more. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear it.” He emphasizes by running his teeth over her nipple. “Let me hear you beg for me.”

Mikasa inhales quickly.

“Please Levi, I want to come!” She finally whines, her voice impatient and near baleful, but also pleading. Begging him. “Let me come, please.”

That’s it. That’s what he likes to hear, her ceding complete control to him. Letting him fine tune her body until she is rendered hopelessly supple and boneless under him.

Levi brushes his lips over her jowl and up to her ear and doubles his efforts on her clit.

“Then be a good girl and come for me, Mikasa,” Levi breathes– no, commands really.

He wrenches a noise out of her, her eyes widen in an approximation of a shock as the command registers.

“S-shit, Levi!” she cries out against his shoulder. “Oh, god. Levi, Levi, Levi, Levi—!” Tremors seize her frame and then she comes apart underneath him, arching her back and digs her heels into his back, it almost hurts to breathe.

Her body won’t stop shaking under him while her orgasm tips him over the edge. Levi finally surrenders to the white-hot pleasure that has been building at the base of his spine and quickly pulls out.

He brings down both their hands, grabs hers, places it around his cock and guides it frantically up and down. He groans, and he thinks he is saying her name, but he can’t be sure, he’s lost now as he comes so hard onto her stomach he practically forgets his own name, but hers is gonna be branded in his head for a very long time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's worse that Hange had already warned him about this.

“I’ve just been with Erwin. You know what he told me?”

They had apprehended him as Levi stepped out into the main hall. He had just about to turn around the corner when he caught the greasy ends of their ponytail and their inside-out, coffee and god-knows-what stained white shirt and frowned.

Now, Levi slumped back into the chair. They were back in his office, drinking tea and lounging.

“I can’t even hazard a guess. He’s issuing a mandatory bath routine for a certain section commander, maybe?”

Hange, naturally, being the only individual who could take in Levi’s sharp-edge derision like a wooden blade to the chest, simply chortled. “Ah Levi, you’re so funny. At least once the war is over you could try comedy as an alternative lucrative career path if all else fails.”

Levi snorted. “In your dreams, four-eyes. Now what did Erwin tell you?”

“He informed me about your… mission.” And Levi’s blood turned cold. He didn’t know how to react to that. He didn’t think Erwin would divulge the mission to anyone. “Is that why you left the mess hall earlier last night?”

He pressed his mouth firm, but not enough to be considered a scowl. He lifted his tea to his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you do. Unless you have amnesia from rearranging Mikasa’s guts last night–” Levi choked on his tea and coughed. “Then you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Fuck you,” he croaked. Coughed again, dangerously close to wheezing. Tea trailed down his chin, neck. His shirt was ruined. He grimaced in disgust at himself. “Fuck you,” he tried again, voice still strained. “Fuck you. Has anyone ever told you that you’re batshit crazy?”

“Nope, just you.”

Levi set his glass down and then pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. He decided he must have done something immorally sick in the previous life to have met Hange Zoe in this one.

“So, you have no problem with that?”

Levi lifted his head at that. “With what?”

“With the mission?” they elaborated, the smile had slipped off of their face. “Manipulating her into staying like this?”

His shoulder twitched. He wanted to run away from this conversation. He didn’t trust it. “You know I’m only doing what’s best for the corps.”

“Are you?” The maniac certainly knew how to hit him with hard-hitting questions when they wanted to.

“I am,” he replied and met their eyes, undaunted. Like his morals depended on it. “I am. And as much as I appreciate you playing the mother hen, it’s unneeded.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Hange took one last biting sip of their tea and rose to their feet. They made a beeline over to the door. Their face tight and curled with disappointment. Levi remained sitting, suffering in silence. He didn’t know why that left a sour taste in his mouth, but it did.

“You’re treading on a dangerous line here, Levi,” Hange told him when they were at the door. They glanced back at him over their shoulder. Genuine concern etched on their features. Something the Captain had never witnessed before. “Be careful.”

He wasn’t looking at them anymore, but rather at that one point only he could see, eyes unseeing. “Yeah, thanks for pointing out the obvious, fucker,” Levi said, but not without a resigned smile and a great deal of kindness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next day, he finds Mikasa sewing the buttons back onto his shirt in the greenhouse. Fair’s fair, she did ruin it.

Levi enters and collapses onto the chair next to her.

“I think you missed a button there, brat.”

“Shut up, shorty,” Mikasa says, but there’s no trace of her usual bite. He laughs around the cigarette in his mouth, welcoming the mockery. She thinks she can get drunk to the sound. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks. It’s the new powder detergent I bought last week.”

“I really like it.”

“Feel free to borrow it the next time you do your laundry.”

An idea suddenly latches onto her head. She smiles. Her hands stop sewing. She deposits his unfinished shirt on the table, earning her a questioning look from the older man.

She inches closer to him. She places a lingering touch on his thigh.

“What if I make you do my laundry instead?” Mikasa whispers in his ear, in full possession of her power, a beautiful, coquettish dangerous thing.

And Levi, now more or less used to being on the receiving end of this side of her, smirks, leans in, voice low, as he whispers back: “And how are you going to do that? Are you going to get down on your knees and beg for me again?”

“There are more ways than begging to make you bend to my will, Levi.”

Levi hums. “Maybe. But you’ll be doing it, anyway.”

“Is that a threat, Captain?” she asks breathily.

“No,” Levi rumbles, places his hand at the base of her neck and lifts his cigarette to her face. Her mouth, as if against her will, parts open. “It’s a promise.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Usually, they play a few rounds of chess after they come down from their high.

Just him and her, in his bed with a board between them. Both are still coated in each other’s scent.

Mikasa seems to constantly lose to him, somehow. Levi thinks it’s ironic considering he’s the one who tends to get distracted by the livid bite marks littering her body, courtesy of him; by her lips, the first disaster. He keeps thinking of everything he wants to do to her the next time he has her again. It’s easier than thinking about anything else. He thinks about eating her out again, fucking her over the desk in his office. Maybe he can gag her so she’ll keep quiet. Maybe he’ll take her in her quarters, on her stomach, while her comrades are sleeping in the next room.

Mikasa huffs gladly as he captures her rook. He lifts an eyebrow at that.

“Brat, are you losing on purpose?” Levi asks, pushing the black king.

“No, I’m just not putting in as much effort as I’d like to,” Mikasa says and withdrawing the white queen in return.

“Don’t tell me the sex is slowing you down.”

She smiles gently. “That, and I’ve come to realize I don’t mind losing if it’s to you.”

“Really? Since when?” Levi hears himself ask. The anticipatory anxiety sets in as he waits for her answer.

She pauses, as if measuring her words carefully; reconsidering her next move on the board. Then: “Since I found out standing in front of you is like looking in the mirror,” she admits quietly.

Her voice stops him, holds him absolutely still, until he can execute a move to look back at her. His heart feels like it is being cleaved open. He holds onto his king. He’s losing sight of the game, of himself.

“I didn’t think it could be like this,” Mikasa speaks again, hands knotting on her shirt– his shirt– with the mildest of bashfulness.

Levi exhales shakily. “What do you mean?”

“I had never felt it before.”

He feels the back of Mikasa’s fingers caressing his cheek, and the intimacy of this feeling smothers him.

She’s blinking away the wetness on her eyelashes as she smiles at him and something ungovernable brews in him. Enough to break the spell. To make this wrong. Real.

So, it goes like this then: if he can shut the door, he can run away. It should be easy. He can escape this.

But it’s the leaving that’s hard.

Levi heaves a sigh. His own fingers glide under her chin. His thumb strokes the soft flesh there. Everything about her makes him want to do something unforgivably stupid.

“I hadn’t either,” he tells her this anyway. He doesn’t hesitate. Something like defeat filtering into his voice. He can’t help himself, not when she, too, is the very still image he sees in his mirror.

It’s Levi who closes the space between them. Again, he really can’t help himself. Helping her lie against the sheets. The game forgotten.

Checkmate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I want you to tend to the gir-”

Does it even matter at this point?

#rivamika #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot #levi x mikasa

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sweetearthandnorthernsky · 2 years

Text

sae’s terrible-awful-horrible-no-good-very bad-isengard-adventure (or, oc-tober day 5: thunder)

The grinding of Isengard’s great machines is an unceasing cacophony, the grating of metal on metal and shouting of Uruk-hai and the wailing of prisoners and Saelinriel wants to clap her hands to her ears but she can’t , not with the chains about her wrists and the Uruk that has been assigned as her guard constantly watching every movement she makes.

So, instead she summons up her pride as a descendent of the Elendili , no matter how far back it is, and reminds herself Isengard – no matter how frightening it is, with the machines that shoot plumes of smoke and the pits where the smithying is done and where it is too hot to breathe, and where she fears she will never see the sea or the stars again – will not break her.

She won’t let it.

It’s been a few days since Saelinriel and Lothrandir have been brought to Isengard, or that’s her guess, because she hasn’t seen sunlight since then.

She does her best to turn to the West before swallowing the moldy bread they give her for food – and she wonders if Lothrandir is receiving better fare, but remembering how defiantly he’d sprinted away from the wagon (and from her , but she doesn’t want to think about how much that hurts when now is when she needs a friend most) she doesn’t think so.

Later she is summoned before Saruman himself.

He is almost like Gandalf in appearance, but sharper than he was, if that were the right word. There is an edge to everything about him, even the seemingly soft folds of his robe that hurt her eyes to look at for too long. Saruman's voice is mockingly cruel as he mentions Nár and the Grey Company's errand in Enedwaith, and her stomach twists uneasily.

"What do you want from me?" Saelinriel manages, trying to keep her mind shut the way Morinel had taught her after Mordrambor but it is difficult.

"Your friend Lothrandir is at my mercy. If you tell me what I want to know, he will not be harmed."

Oh, that is a cruel choice.

She wouldn't be able to live with herself if Lothrandir got hurt on her behalf, but she would never be able to forgive herself if she gave Saruman - the traitor - the information he sought.

"Tell me everything you know about the Ring."

She blinks, frowning as she stares into the fireplace behind him. What is he talking about? The Ring of Barahir? Surely one as learned in lore as one of the Wizards should know the history of the heirloom of Elendil's house. "What?"

He laughs before going deadly serious and her blood goes cold as if ice drips through her veins and she feels sick. This feels too much like Mordrambor, too much, too much—

"Gandalf knew something of it, and you knew Gandalf." Saruman's voice is melodious and calming. "I know the Ring was in the hands of a halfling. Where is it now?"

Stray puzzle pieces are put very quickly together and she can feel herself going pale as Frodo’s face and the Company and the solemnity of their errand flashes through her memory.

"I don't know," she lies.

Saruman is not convinced.

She is sent to Morflak, (once Saruman and Gun Ain, the young girl from Forochel, are finished with her) an overseer on the Outside where there is fresh – fresher, at least – air, and through the billowing smoke she can see the faint light of the sun struggling through the heavy clouds.

Her back aches and she thinks Saruman's ‘interview’ might have opened the wounds on her back but there is no time for her to worry about that.

Saelinriel keeps her head down the best she can, and soon she – somehow – earns Morflaks trust, and her shackles that have been cutting into her wrists and rubbing them raw are undone.

The air is harsh against her wounded wrists and it adds — slightly — to the pain, but she has endured worse, and pushes it deep down because Morflak unsettles her in a way no other foe of hers has managed quite yet.

He towers over her — clad in armor, with the pick of any weapon the forges make — and Saelinriel is small, garbed in thin rags with only a sharp iron spike she scavenged from the armory, hidden in her boots.

As she scurries about the surface on errands for Morflak and his cronies she can hear the thundering crash of the machines still — even what feels like — miles above them as the earth seems to quake beneath her feet.

Metal pounds against metal as she goes about her business, making herself as small as possible in the process.

She’s never felt so vulnerable — even when facing Mordirith or Mordrambor — or alone.

Saelinriel pauses once, during her rounds, in front of a large building on the northernmost most part of the Ring of Orthanc. She approaches the great doors, beneath great green-blue glass window, but before she can go in she hears ruckus coming from within.

She can’t stay, as much as she wants, she would risk getting caught and that — Her back still stings and she’s not eager to repeat the process again.

Before Saelinriel returns to Morflak, she pauses and gazes south, trying to see through the smoke and smog, as she wonders if Dagoras still holds his camp within Nan Curunír or if he too was lost to—

No, she cannot think like that , not now.

(She’s barely managing as is.)

During the night, Isengard is neither still nor silent — it’s like trying to sleep in a thunderstorm— but there are moments when she’s alone, and while she is trying her best to sleep — against her will — her thoughts turn to the fate of the Grey Company.

But the thought that troubles her most, that returns again and again unbidden, is that she and Lothrandir may very well be the last living members of the Grey Company.

(And for how much longer? The cynical part of her whispers and she tries to ignore how much it frightens her.)

Saelinriel is sent to carry food (slop, really) down to the depths of the dungeons and give them to some prisoners. Baldgar and Acca are their names and – they claim to – have an escape plan. She’s skeptical at first, but then what better choice is there?

From what she can gather, the plan is as follows: Acca knows a secret way out of the Ring but to escape, both Baldgar and Acca need a way out of their cells, and all three of them need a big enough distraction to keep the Uruk-hai occupied.

And, since Acca and Baldgar are otherwise occupied, it is down to her to go and get the ingredients and do most of the preparation.

Saelinriel goes about her errands in the forge as normal – as Baldgar and Acca suggested to keep appearances up – with the task of gathering some of the powder that is used in the creation of black fire, a powerful weapon.

(Her hands shake the entire time and she is almost certain Sagrúrz is onto her, but no blows come nor heat from burning metal.)

From there, she returns to the surface and sprinkles the powder into piles near the war machine when Thak, one of Morflak’s friends – did Uruk-hai have friends? Maybe subordinate was a better word – notices her lingering near the war-machine and calls out to her and she freezes as he approaches - taking huge thundering steps.

He eyes her hungrily, confident that he has caught her doing something suspicious, so she appeases him: she starts talking.

Angrily she tells him that it is Morflak's will that she walk around Isengard unguarded, and if Thak wishes to question the will of Morflak, she can bring the two together. All of Thak's bluster vanishes in an instant.

He leaves and she returns to Baldgar and their plan is set into motion.

Acca volunteers to light the powder, and she cannot quite believe the kindness -- can it be called kindness when it ends in such a cruel end? -- of a stranger and she and Baldgar press on.

She balks at leaving without Lothrandir, but Baldgar's eyes -- fierce and intent and understanding -- find hers.

If Lothrandir lives still, Saruman has kept him very close. We cannot hope to gain entrance to Orthanc. He speaks the very thought that has lived in her mind since the moment Lothrandir ran away.

A lump creeps into her throat and she hates the idea, but the others-- they are captured by the Falcon Clan who has no need of them while Saruman -- she thinks -- is using Lothrandir for information.

Her throat burns and she nods.

Minutes stretch past without the signal.

Something is wrong.

She and Baldgar go to see what happened and find Morflak, standing over the body of Acca.

He looks up at her, an expression in his eyes that she has never seen before and her body trembles as Baldgar calls for her to distract Morflak and-- he is taking swings at her and she only just avoids the razor sharp blade.

While she is ducking and moving faster than Morflak ever could she manages to pick up a dull orc blade -- terrible craftsmanship and she hates that she is distracted enough to focus on that and not the very real threat before her -- and a dull board.

It is nowhere near as good as her Noldorin sword and Gondorian steel shield but it will have to do.

It must.

Saelinriel keeps up for a little while but soon, she is rapidly losing the battle as the Orcish steel shatters her shield to splinters and–

Thunder roars in her ears and she knows no more.

#formatting got a lil mixed up because there aren't the right amt of spaces between some of the lines however i am Too Tired to fix it #i'm extremely lucky i got this done in time so i'm counting it a win #my fic #sae stuff #i'm also putting all the prompts on ao3 but only my favorites go here because..#idk why actually that logic feels kinda backward but--#oh well :)#mild mention of torture ig? if that's not your boat?#like it's literally glossed over and hinted at but!!!!#wanna make sure #og post

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strwberri-milk · 2 years

Text

On Truth and Justice

RagBros || Angst, Diluc + Kaeya Backstory || 1 917 words

There's a reason they say liars are on fire.

He’ll always wonder how things turned out like this.

If he tries, really, really hard to think about it, maybe he can place where it all began.

But then if he starts to think a little more, analyse the parts of his life from dusty memories he finds himself beginning to falter. It starts to hurt and antagonise him, reminding him that he’s caught between a rock and hard place and has been since the day he was born.

As a boy he always wondered if one day the rain could cleanse his sins, wash away the taint he was born with by sheer virtue of being born who he was.

But, he supposes that’s simply what it means to be born a sinner.

Kaeya shakes his head and sits up from his chair, getting ready to do his rounds with a yawn. A nap in the middle of the day was well needed of course and being in Diluc’s office afforded him the privacy he wouldn’t normally be able to get. It’s not as though Kaeya wasn’t working – Diluc wouldn’t be back until later in the day, escorting their father and his shipments which meant Kaeya was helping out by doing some of the loose jobs Diluc entrusted to him. It wouldn't be too difficult a job he feels.

He stands in Diluc’s office, fingers running over the meticulous filing system Diluc employs. It makes no sense to many but to Kaeya it’s perfect. He did help create it after all. The sorting and organising is simple enough and Kaeya moves onto the next thing on the list when the door slams open.

“Kaeya! There’s been an emergency! Something happened to Master Raginvinder’s party!”

His world freezes.

It doesn’t feel like his horse could move any slower. The thundering of the hooves of the charge Kaeya took with him is only quieter than the thundering in his chest. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, gagging and choking him and made only worse by the jostling of his body as he tries to get to the shipment as fast as he can.

The knight that alerted him got the news far too late in Kaeya’s opinion. There’s no telling what state anything or anyone will be in. The only thing that gives him any sort of reprieve is that Diluc is there. Diluc’s strong, he’s smart, he’ll know exactly what to do.

As long as Diluc’s there, Kaeya knows everything will be okay.

Or at least he thought it would be.

It’s bad, so, so bad, so beyond anything Kaeya could ever conceive. He thinks he does end up choking a little, his heart vying to be thrown up and ridded from his body so that it can stop feeling this never ending fear and panic.

He thought this would never happen. That the world he lived in had given him a new try at life, that when he was abandoned by someone who asserted himself as Kaeya’s father and told him that he was some “last hope” for whatever godforsaken reason that was just a bad memory.

Just once. Just losing his family once, that should have been enough.

Diluc sits on the ground, holding what Kaeya can tell is just the body of their father. Diluc’s father. There’s red pooling underneath Diluc’s body, sticking to the scarlet strands that both father and son wear proudly as a symbol of their family name, the one Kaeya was asked to wear but couldn’t for fear of shaming it. Diluc’s white uniform is painted by it and Kaeya is overwhelmed by the urge to blot at it the way the maids would their clothes to rid him of it. It seems so out of character for Diluc to be so dirty, for Diluc to be dirty in any way.

Kaeya finally steps off his horse, walking closer to the pair. Diluc hears him, turns to face him with a look of desperation. He can hear something leave Diluc’s mouth, see the way his lips move and the urgency in the tone but he can’t perceive any of it.

The world was playing with him, reminding him of an intimate truth that would never leave his breast. He must carry this weight with him his whole life, his existence must live around this notion that he’ll never fully understand. It’s sick and twisted and disgusting, but more disgusting is the cold relief that slips into his chest.

He’s glad. A fucked up, sadistic part of him is glad that Crepus is gone. Crepus’ death means Kaeya’s decision is easier, just the slightest bit easier. It means he has one less person to disappoint, that perhaps with the death of this father he can make his father happy, the one that looks like him that understands what it means to carry the burden he does.

If Kaeya was a good son he would have been here sooner. If he was a good brother he would have comforted Diluc. If he was good at anything at all he wouldn’t have been left here, he wouldn’t love the city that he was meant to deceive, he wouldn’t love the people he’s met, the life he had, the warmth that only Diluc and Crepus somehow had that took away this awful feeling that swirls deep in his stomach whenever he remembers that he is an outsider.

His presence is an anomaly, his birth a sin and he will never be allowed to forget it.

Kaeya looks cold, face almost impassive now that he’s understood the scene in front of him. It was a reminder to him, to the plush life he tricked himself into thinking he could live, a reminder from the universe that created him where he stands.

Cooly he smirks, Diluc’s grief beginning to shift to anger.

“This world is truly…fascinating.”

Kaeya stares at the wood that separates him from his home. Well, it won’t be his home in just a bit. He takes a good look at it, memorising the notches in the wood and the little dents and marks he and Diluc left on it so many years ago when they would play outside. If he closes his eyes he can hear the happy giggling of Diluc as he shows a smaller, more hesitant Kaeya how to throw paper hot air balloons over the ledge.

The memories are all he’ll have to soothe him after this, fear beginning to claw at his throat as he remembers what he’s here to do. With a sense of finality he raises his hand to the wood, knuckles rapping against it lightly.

He steps away from the awning, letting the torrential rain fall over him. It makes things a little easier, the tears he wants to shed falling down his face with the droplets from the sky.

After a moment, Diluc finally comes to the door. Kaeya feels himself faltering a bit, beginning to hesitantly step back. He could play it off, come inside to what is supposed to be their home and reassure him the way a brother would.

But, the weight on his shoulders won't let him, tongue betraying him as he meets those tired eyes, a scarlet that once burned so brightly until it died with their - no Diluc's - father.

"Diluc I-"

He chokes, brushes it off as a cough and an awkward joke. Diluc is quickly losing his patience, clearly not expecting Kaeya to have shown up like this.

“If you’re here just to stare at me then be done with it,” Diluc spits, rightfully mad at the boy in front of him.

“At the very least you could mourn with me instead of running off.”

Diluc meets his eyes and realises that Kaeya’s not there to do that. His brows furrow and eyes widen in shock as Kaeya feels time slow around him. The words finally come off his tongue, the revelations that he’s hidden so close to his breast for years upon years and they come off too easily.

He’s almost glad for it, glad for the way he can easily tell Diluc this truth he’s wanted to for years, to meet his end at Diluc’s hand but his body won’t let him. Kaeya reaches for his own hilt, quickly parrying the heavy swing of Diluc’s claymore. He can feel Diluc swing again and again, flames angrily swirling and eating at his clothes, his skin and the burn that he feels is nothing compared to the despair of what his truth has brought him but it’s one of the few things that he owns. He can feel skin tear but feels himself tear skin, more red mixing into Diluc as he ignores the dripping down his clothes that isn’t rain, body moving sheerly out of instinct rather than desire as metal meets metal, then skin.

Kaeya jumps back, putting distance between the two but of course Diluc can easily close the gap in seconds. He can feel the pressure of Diluc’s body pressing down more and more as the blade of the claymore weighs down on his swords. He wants to let go, to let Diluc cut him down to protect the city of Mondstat, the home he’s grown to love so so much but he can’t. Even at the end he can’t do things right, trying to survive when there’s nothing more he wants than to curl up in a hole and die.

The flames that erupt from Diluc’s blade threaten to engulf Kaeya and he knows for a fact that this is the end. He’s made a clean break with the brother he loves dearly and with this will simply become another poorly timed tragedy on the young man’s birthday.

But he already knows he’s going to do this wrong.

He feels his muscles straining against the claymore, can see the cracks beginning to appear in his sword. If only he could just let his hands drop, let the weight of Diluc’s rage and the heat of his flames swallow him whole and become a stained memory that only a few think back to.

Kaeya can see his reflection in the blade of Diluc’s sword, eye meeting the dishevelled face and in his last moments he can only scoff, disgusted with the person he grew to be. His eye closes as he makes peace with the end of his life, glad that his sins will be burned away by eager flames of justice.

He feels his blade finally snap, bones vibrating with the impact and waits to feel the bite of steel when all of a sudden a different kind of feeling bites at his skin.

Diluc is blown back and Kaeya can hear him landing on the ground several feet away from him, looking down at his hands then up around him. The light bounces off the air of him strangely and he reaches out to touch it, muscles complaining as a cold he’s long forgotten soaks itself into his clothes.

Taking a step back he tries to determine what just happened, hitting his back against what seems to be a shield made entirely of cryo. But who could have done this? The cold seeps into his bones, making his teeth chatter and he brings his hand down to his waist to see if he can find something to warm himself up with.

His whole world freezes again when he feels something that wasn’t there before graze lightly against his fingertips.

#genshin impact fanfic #ragbros #diluc #kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #diluc and kaeya #genshin impact #genshin

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tired-beholding-bitch · 2 years

Text

and never stray too far from home

alternate title: hi hello may I remind you that the concept of jonmartin with a cat exists ❤️

on today’s episode of “tired discovers the notes’ app and its magical properties”, yet another cute ficlet because my commute takes a long time and these make me happy alright. it was never meant to be 3k long but alas.

you know what though, we managed to get to the end of the week and we all deserve some fluff I feel like.

✨ if you prefer, here you can find it on ao3 ✨

enjoy! 🥰

In an unexpected turn of events, it isn’t Jon who brings the cat home.

It happens on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday evening.

It’s raining outside – in fact, it’s pouring, the sky growing so dark with black clouds he has to turn on the overhead lights in the living room, thunder loud enough to rattle the glass inside the window frames. It sends faint shudders through the walls and down his back, his teeth clenching against it in response.

Jon is– concerned.

He’s alone. Martin is due to come back any time from his shift at the bookshop, and he has been working on it and he can go hours without seeing him, these days, and it’s fine.

It’s fine.

There are some things – things like kitchen knives, and eye patterns on home decor items, and thunderstorms – that make up the stars of a fragile constellation, stretched out between them in the wide, metaphorical piece of universe connecting them to each other. Some parts of it, riddled with bright fracture points and pressure cracks, need special care to be navigated safely.

Some stars belong to only one of them.

(Martin has no issues putting lotion on his hands when they crack in the winter. He always, always makes sure to wipe it off completely before touching him, and he never buys any lavender-scented kind.

Their knives are kept separate from the rest of the cutlery. They go grocery shopping for the week on Friday evenings, after they both get home, and when they first arrived, Jon used to chop all the vegetables at once, on Saturdays, while Martin was at work, to store away neatly and have on hand ready to be used.

It’s getting better these days. It doesn't mean Jon will use the big vegetable knife, tucked away in its own drawer and wrapped in cloth, if Martin is in the kitchen with him.

There are many more things just like that. They work around all of them, some times more successfully than others.)

Thunderstorms are… bad. For both of them.

Something about this one is worse than usual. Jon can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, that makes the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. The inevitable inky blackness of the clouds, maybe, or the way lighting crackles in geometric fragments across the horizon, shattering the sky, and the more he looks on, mesmerised, the more shadows and lights blend in a shape that could almost – almost – blink back at him.

It won’t. It won’t. The memory of the words, dragging themselves out of his mouth, still draws blood at the back of his throat. He knows it won’t, and he knows it never will again, he knows that.

He rips himself away from the window and pulls the curtains closed nonetheless.

It is, he realises as he tries to set up some documentary on his laptop – something safe and boring about early candy-making machinery –, very much about Martin not being here. He should be, already, the clock ticking on steadily towards six.

Jon is, just as steadily, crossing from mildly concerned into definitely worried territory. He is also, however, trying to implement the breathing exercises his therapist has been going over with him, because he can feel panic creep along his spine with its frantic, skittering legs, and it wouldn’t be conductive to anything at all to have a breakdown in the middle of their living room at five forty-eight on a Tuesday.

Coincidentally, that’s when Martin decides to barrel into the flat like he’s being chased, fighting to close his umbrella on the way in and failing quite spectacularly.

He’s holding the half-destroyed umbrella in one hand, glasses sitting askew on his nose with their golden frames a bit crooked, while keeping something close to his chest with his other arm. Jon looks on, amused, as he lets the umbrella drop on the floor, biting back a curse, and he stops dead in his tracks when he catches sight of him on the couch, laptop precariously perched on his legs as the documentary still drones on softly.

He’s… soaking wet. Completely, thoroughly drenched, with rainwater trickling down on the carpet from the lapels of his coat, his hair sticking to his face in dark swirls. It really shouldn’t be as charming as it is.

The immediate relief he feels at the sight of him – water on the floors and everything, smiling at him like he’s just as happy to see him, too, like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness Jon, curled up on the sofa wearing three pairs of socks and earplugs to block out the thunder, which makes his heart skip just a little, his cheeks grow a bit warm – is overshadowed only slightly by curiosity.

What he’s holding, very carefully, tucked in close against him, is an extremely tiny bundle of cloth.

Interesting.

The plot thickens as Jon stands in order to investigate, shuffling towards him while studiously avoiding the growing puddle quickly pooling around his feet, and the cloth moves.

He looks up just in time to see Martin start to say something, looking down at him fondly. He hastily takes off the earplugs, and manages to catch the end of the sentence, just barely.

« …couldn’t leave her there–» he says, vehemently, like he’s trying to convince him of something, except Jon isn’t sure what he’s being convinced of, exactly. He could most likely be persuaded into it, in any case, whatever it is – he can count the times he has managed to say no to something Martin asked on one hand. And, actually, that’s quite generous. It’s... more like on three fingers, and one of those was because he refuses to taste anything with strawberry jam in it on principle.

But when he looks on, uncomprehending, forehead creasing in confusion, Martin simply sighs, possibly about to start explaining from the top again.

Then, with perfect timing, the bundle meows.

And-- oh.

The kitten can't be more than four or five months old. She emerges from the folds of fabric, and her bright green eyes blink up at him from a very, very upset little face, her wet fur mussed and dirty with dust, or soil, or some other ungodly substance. She's a lovely calico, orange and black spots painted like brush strokes on her head and back, her nose a pretty shade of pink. One of the black marks is right over her left eye, giving her the look of a rather ruffled pirate.

Jon falls in love on the spot.

«Oh.» he says, this time out loud. He brings his fingers up to let her sniff him, taking care to remain very still otherwise. First impressions are important and he's not going to scare the cat.

She proceeds to do so, and then immediately bares her little teeth at him, ears pointing back in distrust. He snatches his hand away before she can bite him, but he doesn’t take it too personally – it must have been a harrowing trip, all the way to the flat in the rain from wherever Martin found her.

He does not coo.

He’s an adult man, and he has some dignity left, and whatever sound might have escaped him at the sight of a very tiny, very cute kitten curled up in his boyfriend’s arms and wrapped up in his jumper can not, in good conscience, be classified as cooing.

Neither can the surprised noise he makes when Martin carefully thrusts the bundle towards him.

«I am freezing. Please hold her, I’m going to take a shower and… then I guess we’ll figure something out?» he says and, yes. Yes, that’s probably a good idea – he’s shivering, standing there in his wet clothes, thin undershirt clinging to him in a way that must be unpleasant at best and awful at worst. Even so, when Jon meets his eyes he’s wearing a quietly fond expression that he will tease him about later.

He tries not to hold out his arms too eagerly, but it’s a losing battle, hands wiggling with impatience the longer he goes without an armful of cat.

Once she’s safely secured in the crook of his elbow, Martin kissing his cheek in passing as he leaves, he realises there is much more fabric than there is cat. She’s surprisingly warm, however, more than he expected her to be, and though the small triangles of her ears are still flat against her skull, her eyes are focused and wide, a bit alarmed at the sudden change in positions.

Well, he can work with that.

He walks oh so slowly to the kitchen, taking great care to not jostle the kitten too much as he’s moving, and goes to work to retrieve their last can of tuna from the back of the cupboard without dropping her.

It’s quite an ordeal – what with the tin having ended up, somehow, behind all the boxes in their pantry – but eventually he manages to get the fish on a plate, setting it down under the table. He lowers himself to the floor as well, grimacing when his knee twinges painfully but unwilling to give up.

Then, he places the kitten down next to him, and he waits.

She doesn’t seem inclined to leave the safety of her temporary blanket, for a while – she glares at him, distrustful, her whiskers trembling as she hisses softly whenever she deems his staring too bothersome.

Eventually, however, the promise of food is enough to lure her out – one tense step at a time, stopping every few seconds to scan her surroundings. She hunches over in front of the plate with one last warning glare in his direction, least he gets ideas about what his place is in this transaction.

Then, she throws herself on the tuna like it might be the last meal she’ll ever eat. Jon’s heart twinges just as painfully as his knee did, as he looks at her with his chin in his hands.

«There you are. That’s a good girl, there.» he murmurs, low and fond, and he can feel a smile pull at the corners of his lips when her ears twitch back towards his voice, keeping track even as she wolfs down her food at frankly alarming speed.

God, how he loves cats.

He’s considering trying to approach her again, hand already halfway outstretched as she finishes eating, training an intense stare to his fingers when, suddenly, she tenses all over. And bolts.

Of course, she doesn’t decide to make for the convenient hiding place provided by Martin’s sweater, still crumpled on the floor next to them, but she disappears, instead, into the narrow space between the wall and the refrigerator. Naturally. It wouldn’t do to make life too easy for the humans trying to feed her and dry her off, would it.

Martin finds him like that, sitting cross-legged on cold tile – a choice he’s sure he’ll come to regret later – and glaring at the spot like he could convince her to come out through sheer force of will.

«Ah. She made a run for it, didn’t she?» he asks, and Jon humphs in confirmation, rolling his eyes as Martin chuckles, threading a hand through his hair. He leans into it, relishing the touch with a tired sigh, which in turn prompts a teasing «You are rather like a cat, too, aren’t you.» that wins him his own share of glaring.

He doesn’t deny nor confirm. Martin only snickers again, joining him on the floor with a groan. Oh, they are making bad decisions tonight – his hip has never been quite the same, either, after they arrived here. There is a very good chance it’s going to give him grief just as much as Jon’s knee, later, but he melts into his side anyway, deeming it a problem for future-Jon once again.

They stay like that, contemplating life and questionable choices on the kitchen floor, for quite some time.

«We should really clean.» Martin mutters, under his breath, examining a particularly stubborn stain of something that might be tea on the ceramic in between his feet. Jon burrows his face deeper into the soft fabric of his sleep shirt, grumbling.

«Tomorrow.» he says, muffling it into his shoulder, and he feels Martin stretch to kiss his temple, softly.

«Tomorrow.» he agrees easily, because he, in fact, does love Jon. He makes a noise of assent, and the comfortable quiet settles over them once again, broken only by their breathing.

That is, until he clears his voice and plasters himself just a touch more firmly against Martin’s side.

«I was a bit worried, earlier.» he says, because he’s working on expressing his feelings and accepting they aren’t a burden on the love of your life, Jon and his previous concerns are something he really didn’t want to share, which means he probably should.

He gets another kiss, the gentlest pressure on the crown of his head.

«I’m sorry, love. It took longer than expected to catch the little lady – she had gotten herself tangled in a fence.» he murmurs, and Jon does not get butterflies at the term of endearment and he especially does not get them at the softness in his voice at the mention of their guest.

They have been talking about getting a kitten for a while, now. Martin never got the chance to have one, before, and the idea of sharing that with him – all the little, silly things that make up living with a cat, something so simple that has been out of reach for so long – fills Jon with warmth all the way to the very tip of his fingers, makes him tender and pliant with yearning.

Still.

He hesitates, just for a second, before looking up to meet his eyes, tentatively setting the idea in the open.

«I was thinking… how about Corsair, for a name? She- no, don’t laugh, Martin, she looks like a pirate! Very dignified, she is.» he tries to defend his reasoning even as Martin’s face scrunches up in an actual laugh, at last, loud enough that it probably isn’t helping their current predicament.

Jon doesn’t pout, either. He is also very dignified, so whatever expression of discontent he’s wearing when his boyfriend finally stops laughing at him isn’t a pout.

It doesn’t seem to stop him from kissing it away in earnest – it’s light, fluttering kisses all over his face, interspersed with the occasional chuckle, that make him smile against his better judgement. Really, he’s lucky to be so cute and so hard to stay mad at.

«Once we catch her, you can call her whatever you like.» he says, and, yes, that’s fair, he supposes.

It still takes them longer than they both like to admit to get up.

Catching her, as it is, proves to be quite the feat.

They try everything from leaving the room, hoping she’ll decide to go back and finish her tuna, to making all kinds of bargains with the darkness behind the fridge.

In the end, of course, it’s heating up leftover chicken to entice her with the smell that works. They should have tried that first, probably.

But at last, Martin makes a triumphant noise and holds her up in front of him, grinning. She’s even grimier than she started off, and scowling at Jon with such intensity he has no doubt she would try to murder him, if she wasn’t so thoroughly immobilised.

When he approaches her with a damp rag in order to clean her off a little – a bath, they agreed, is out of the question for today – she doubles her efforts to wiggle free, yowling like they’re actively torturing her.

Her paw bats him on the nose as she moves, harder than he expected. He makes a surprised sound, reeling back, and Martin snorts, before getting hit in the face in turn, as God intended.

She’s a threat.

Eventually, though, through impressive team effort and a lot of patience, they manage to get the worst of the dirt out of her fur – enough that she actually looks almost white, rather than the ambiguous grey-brown she was before.

Predictably, when Martin sets her down again, she darts away to find another hiding place, a little blur of wispy fur and hissing noises. Jon looks over to where she disappeared with what he’s sure is an unbearably fond look already, and smiles when Martin hugs his waist, resting his chin against his temple.

«Corsair, you think?» he says, and Jon knows she’ll stay.

They don’t see her at all, after that, but neither of them expected to.

Jon prepares a plate with the chicken and a bowl of water in the kitchen, in case she gets hungry again, and they spend a lovely evening lazing about on the couch, planning the necessary shopping trips for the next day, and letting her adjust to their presence and the new environment on her own terms.

It makes it all the more surprising, when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a familiar sound.

It makes him smile even as he tries to re-orient himself in the dark, turning over to glance at Martin. And sure enough, when he does, there she is – curled up right on his chest, her nose tucked in the crook of his neck.

Purring. Rather loudly, too.

She must have been cold, he thinks.

When he wakes up again, in the morning, she’s still purring.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jonmartin #teaholding #listen #i just think somewhere else they should have like #3 cats #all found in increasingly sadder/weirder situations #and get as many cat snuggles as they can stand because they deserve it alright #(i'm working on like 4 wips simultaneously and this kind of escaped containment but. yeah.)#(guess it's time for a customary weekend serotonin hit)#(i will not judge your coping mechanisms if you don't judge mine)#this is a normal amount of sad the actually sad somewhere else fic is still in the works #you're safe for now #enjoy 💕!#tma spoilers #tired writes

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ventiskies · 3 years

Text

when he accidentally injures you | Xiao, Albedo, Bennett

a/n: hello anon!! im doing well, thank you!! hope you are too !! thank you for giving me the chance to add characters HHHH ive been DYING to write for Xiao, Albedo and Benny so i took the opportunity to! hope you like it !! also,,, this is probably my longest post !! i loved writing this <3

pairing: Xiao x gn! reader, Albedo x gn! reader Bennett x gn! reader

warnings: vague mentions of injury and blood

Xiao

★Xiao and you had been on a stroll, something you casually did together whenever Xiao was in a good mood. the adeptus wasn’t one to get out of the confines of Wangshuu Inn, so every time he does, you cherish it and spend it as if it was your last

★but this particular stroll didn’t go as planned, at all

★the two of you had left Wangshuu Inn in the morning, when the weather had seemed as if it would be sunny the whole morning, but it had betrayed you the moment you had set foot in Minlin, the skies had loomed with darkness and occasional rumbles of thunder

★Xiao could have easily teleported the two of you together, but a sudden attack with a ruin hunter had caused him to get distracted

★he could easily defeat the creation with a simple use of his elemental burst, but you were in the vicinity and he didn’t want you getting injured, despite the chances of hitting you were low, he wasn’t going to take the chance

★he had strictly told you to stay back and out of sight, making use of the terrain to jump and strike at the core with his polearm whenever the hunter was aiming to him, but he should have known you were stubborn

★the moment you had ran into the fight, arrow pointing to the ruin hunter, the said war machine had immediately turned towards you, all four of its arms aiming missiles towards you

★Xiao had been too slow, and when he had realized it was aiming towards you, you had already been sent back flying after the hit

★your name fell on his lips, his eyes widening in anger when he had seen what the creature had done, and without any hesitance Xiao summons his elemental burst and sends the creature falling to pieces

★“y/n,” Xiao mutters, worried that he would be met with the sight of you dead, “y/n, where are you?”

★you gave a weak groan, unable to raise your head after hitting it on the sharp rocks. Xiao made his way towards you, and the rain started pouting

★Xiao knelt down and cradled your head gently, seeing the gash on your head. you were most likely suffering from a concussion as well from the way you were unable to look at him in the eye, and your hands grabbing your forehead as if it had exploded

★his eyes showing evident worry, and this was the first time he had felt so scared

★he knew he was powerful, and he was beginning to regret even taking you out of the safety of the Inn. this shouldn't have happened, he was with you because he wanted to protect you,

★and here he was being the cause of your injury

★“y/n, can you hear me?” he asked, and when you hissed the moment he placed a gentle hand on your head, he curses lightly, unable to keep himself calm as he always had anymore, “hold on,”

★Xiao had lived for years and had suffered watching deaths and injuries of the people he had been close with since he had became the adeptus of Liyue, but for once, he had felt a different type of hurt when you had been injured this time

★because this was his fault; what if it had happened again?

★he had teleported the two of you back to Wangshuu Inn, and had asked Verr Goldet to help you just because he was afraid of hurting you further

★and she knew more than to question what happened, especially after Xiao had told her with the weakest voice she has ever heard him use, and pleading eyes to take care of you.

★when you had healed completely, you noticed Xiao had distanced himself from you more than when you had both met the first time, and it had worried you to no end

★it had came to a point where he would disappear whenever you tried to search for him at the balcony, and you were getting upset that he was running away from you because of the accident that was caused by your stubbornness; and the fact that you knew Xiao blamed himself had only made you more guilty

★”Xiao,” you gently said, walking outside with a bowl of his favorite almond tofu, “I miss you,”

★he had to contain himself to avoid disappearing on you again after he heard the words. Xiao wasn’t much of an emotional person, but the memories from the accident had left him afraid of getting close to you again, in fear that he would hurt you once more

★but when he had met your glossy eyes and saw the pained expression you held, he knew that it was only going to be worse is he had avoided you

★”y/n-” Xiao started, but you had only dropped the almond tofu and ran into his arms, hugging him tight as if you were afraid to let him go

★and (with reluctance), Xiao had hugged you back, twice as hard

★it would take time for him to get back to his usual self and trust himself to go out and adventure with you again, but for him, you would wait your lifetime.

Albedo

★An experiment going wrong was a part of alchemy. It was something Albedo would expect to happen fifty percent of the time he conducts something for the first time

★He has gotten a handful of injuries from it that he had sometimes forgotten that people outside of the realm of alchemy wouldn't know what it would be like to expect a burn or scars after the first test

★So of course, sometimes even the smartest people could be careless

★Albedo had brought you to his lab in Dragonspine, claiming that he had found a rare plant and wanted to see if it was able to withstand heat

★Putting it in a flask, he had placed it on a test tube holder and your curious eyes had caught sight of the glowing pink tube

★“What’s this?” you stepped closer to inspect the glowing flask, and Albedo wordlessly looks at you with a fond smile. your curious gaze at his work had always made him feel happy; you truly were endearing

★Albedo turns on the burner, and the moment the fire had hit the flask, the substance had instantly exploded, causing you to recoil back and grab at your face when the substance had burned your face

★instantly, Albedo had abandoned his failed test and attended to you, trying to pry your hands away from your face

★“My love, I’m so sorry,” he says gently, trying to see the damage that the explosion has gave you, “please look at me,”

★you felt tears well in your eyes, the burns on your cheeks combining with the coldness of the snow stinging your face

★when Albedo had successfully pried your hands away , he grabbed them gently and looked at you, “we- we need to see the deaconess,” he mutters to himself, feeling his heart ache seeing you holding back tears, never in his life had he regretted conducting an experiment so badly;

★he had wished he was able to take the pain away from you, he absolutely despised seeing you so hurt

★after you had healed, Albedo would make a rule that you weren’t ever allowed in the premises of his laboratory ever again, and that you were banned from joining him whenever he was conducting experiments

★it had hurt you when Albedo had adamantly decided on it, but you knew that it would only hurt him more if you tried to fight him about it

★he was still blaming himself for the incident; despite him knowing that errors were completely common in alchemy

★his greatest fear was hurting you, and if he was given a choice, he would rather have you far away as possible from anything that could lead to potential harm

★(and that especially meant that when the time comes and he loses control and destroys Mond, he hopes you would be far away from him as possible, too)

Bennett

★Bennett knew he was bad luck, he knew that was mostly the reason there wasn't anyone on his team. no one wanted to get hurt and gain nothing on an adventure. no one wanted to bring a bunch of medical supplies for when an accident that was bound to happen, happens

★no one but you

★you were the only member in Bennett’s team; you were a duo. you didn’t wield a vision, but that didn't make Bennett think of you any less, in fact, he thought you were the bravest person ever for being just a feet away from him outside of Mond, and now you were a team member of his

★injuries were common for you. there would always be some sort of scratch or bleeding whenever you went out on an adventure with the pyro vision holder. if there wasn’t a monster encounter, the two of you would accidentally trip and fall into a lake

★but when the latter happens, Bennett would have a fire for the two of you, and settle in an empty (at least, you hope was) hilichurl camp nearby to warm up in

★it was the norm now, and despite Bennett wanting you to just choose another team because he couldn't handle seeing you in pain from his luck, you had always reassured him that the unexpected turns of events because of his luck was just what you had loved about adventure, and you always trusted him to take care of you whenever something like that happened

★but of course, it was only a matter of time until it was Bennett himself who had hurt you

★you were both fighting a cryo abyss mage, the bastard’s protective shield already broken by Bennett’s elemental skill, causing the creature to start crawling on the ground pathetically

★you were sure its health had already decreased a significant amount that one slice could kill it off instantly, and you had wanted to give the final blow

★but Benny seemed to have a different idea

★the moment Bennett had saw you coming, it had been too late for him to stop, because the same moment you had ran towards the abyss mage, he had raised his sword and sliced the creature hard to the point that his sword had accidentally sliced your stomach as well

★thankfully, your clothes were thick enough that the cut hadn’t been deep enough to get stitches, but it still hurt so badly that you had fallen to the floor, clutching your stomach

★“y/n, what happened?!” he asked, too worried to remember that it had been him who did it, “are you okay?!- wait, no, that was a stupid question, let me see,”

★Bennett was an excellent team leader, but sometimes, he could be a little oblivious

★he gently lays you on his lap, taking out supplies from his belt. he had saw a glimpse of red, so he takes out towels to wipe the blood

★he had gently asked if he could lift your shirt, and when you had weakly nodded, he assessed the damage

★and that was when he had saw the burns by your cut

★burns. the abyss mage was a cryo one, and there wasn't any source of fire where you were but him

★Bennett felt his breath hitch, hands holding the towel clenching in fear. what had he done?

★“no, no, no,” he says in slight panic; this was exactly what he was afraid would happen, “no, no, y/n I’m so sorry. I was supposed to protect you,” his voice broke, gently pressing the towel on your wound to soak up the blood, and when he heard you hiss in pain, he felt tears well in his eyes, “I’m so sorry...”

★he knew the cut wasn’t deep, and you were going to be okay, but the mere thought that the fact you couldn't move and were in pain was because of his doing had caused Bennett to be unable to focus

★you were taken to Barbara immediately, Bennett carrying you bridal style the whole way back (he had been silent, while you had tried to start a conversation with lighthearted banter with him, he had only given you a half hearted laugh before focusing on his journey back) and was healed with a simple swish of the deaconess’ hands

★but afterwards, Bennett had started to spend less time outside of Mondstadt, saying that he had preferred to read at the library with you, and that was extremely unlike of him

★you knew it was because he was blaming himself for what had happened, so you had to let him know that you were fine, and that you knew that it was bound to happen anyways

★It would take a lot of reassurance for Benny to agree to even step a foot outside again, but in the end, it would be worth it to see his adventurer spirit once more

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alexaplaysgames · 3 years

Note

Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 3 years

Text

My Little Secret part 13

Summary: After a rather tumultuous night in Saint Denis, you’re left confused and with more questions than answers. That however doesn’t stop you and Arthur from enjoying one another.

Warnings: Obligatory smutty chapter.

Word Count: 6,673

A/N: Been working on this one for a while. Since I haven’t written in a few months I’ve gotten a tad rusty and needed to take my time with this. So here it is!

“How’d it go?”

Arthur’s quiet, raspy voice immediately snapped you back to reality, blinking as the thunderous clang of the door swung shut behind the two of you. Greeted with the faint vibrations of club music radiating through the floor, you turned to look at him.

He met your gaze with an even stare. “They didn’t scare ya, did they?”

“No, not at all,” you said as you shook your head. “They asked me about my home life, what I did for a living… they seemed real interested when I told them what I was going to school for.”

Curiosity crossed his face. “They mention why?”

“No…” you said, trying to rack your brain. The whole ordeal felt fuzzy, almost dream-like. “Honestly… I can’t remember much.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks. You’d taken one step further before realizing, and you turned to face him. “Arthur?”

“They glamored you,” he stated darkly. “Means they said somethin’ they don’t want ya to remember.”

Your heart sank at this. “So…does that mean I failed?” you quietly asked.

“No, no,” he assured you. “If ya did, they wouldn’t have let ya back out this way. Hell, they wouldn’t let me see ya. They’d take precautions to make sure you wouldn’t know ‘bout us ever again.”

Well, that provided you at least some relief. This however only raised more questions. You remembered their faces, or their vague shapes. Names sounded muddled as if attempting to speak through water. Some memories came clear, you conversing them about yourself. Your job. Your schooling. What your hobbies were. Moments after, darkness.

“Has… has this ever happened? Partial glamors?” you asked.

Arthur sighed before answering, “Very rarely. Hell, I ain’t heard o’ this in a while,” He murmured, his head ducking slightly as his blue eyes swept across the floor ahead.

“So… what does that mean for me?” you continued, frowning at him.

Arthur’s eyes shot back to you, the furrow in his brow easing when he noticed your concern. He placed his hand on your shoulder, sliding it across your arm to gently tug you closer. “Nothin’ bad, sweetheart. Like I said, you wouldn’t be here if things went sour,” he glanced behind him at the closed door. “I’ll have a word with ‘em ‘bout it, see if I can’t figure out why. For now…” he turned to face the hallway again, starting forward. “Lemme take ya home.”

You nodded silently in agreement, somewhat comforted by his words but still apprehensive about what this could all mean. What exactly happened back there that they didn’t want you to remember?

As Arthur led you down the remainder of the hall, the distinct click of the door opening caught your attention. Turning your head to glance behind you, the familiar sight of Charles appeared from behind the door. He hurried forward, moving quite silently despite his thick frame.

“Arthur, hang on!” He called out, reaching the two of you before you could even blink. Vampire swiftness was still something you’d have to get used to.

“Charles?” Arthur turned to face his former companion. “Need somethin’?”

“No,” Charles responded, his eyes briefly flicking to you. “But they do. They told me they need you to go out tonight.”

“Ain’t happenin’,” Arthur answered almost immediately. “I need to take her home.”

“I know, I told them that,” Charles sighed. “Even offered myself in your place, but they were adamant about having you on this case. Sorry, Arthur. I tried.”

You turned your attention to Arthur, the annoyance plain in his weathered face. His blue gaze swept over you, his lips parting as if to say something, but words seemed to fail him.

Charles cleared his throat. “If I may, Lucia has prepared some accommodations at the hotel tonight,” he explained. “If you’re okay with it, Arthur, I could take Y/N there.”

Hotel accommodations? This night was becoming even weirder. You didn’t really want to leave Arthur and yearned nothing more than to crawl into the comfort of your own bed, especially after learning what happened to you just moments earlier. Your head was spinning, unless that was a byproduct of being glamored. Those fuzzy images danced in your mind’s eye as you tried to grasp on any sort of information.

Arthur’s heavy sigh caught your attention. He shook his head slightly before looking at you once again. “Sorry, sweetheart. As much as I wanna get outta this, I can’t.”

You just simply nodded in response. The idea of staying in a hotel wasn’t a nerve-wracking thought, especially in the middle of Saint Denis. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Charles to drive you over an hour back home. At least they were thoughtful enough to allow you for a place to stay instead of having to call for a ride. You supposed it could be worse; dumped on the side of the road out here.

“You got work, or anything to do tomorrow?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you answered truthfully. “If you need to go, then go.”

Arthur’s eyes searched yours for a moment, as if trying to seek a different, nonverbal response. Finally, he spoke, “Alright, jus’ know you won’t be back home ‘til nighttime, unless ya call a taxi.”

“I’m fine with that,” you affirmed. “Wouldn’t want you burning up on your motorcycle in the morning.”

His lip tugged into a faint half-smile. He reached up and placed his hand against your cheek, sliding his thumb briefly over the swell of the bone. “I’ll be joinin’ ya before dawn, though I expect you’ll be asleep by then,” he muttered as he leaned in to place a quick kiss on your lips.

Matching his smile with your own, you gave him another nod. He turned to face Charles, murmuring a thanks before stalking back down the hall. He yanked open the door and disappeared behind it as it swung closed with almost excessive force. With the slam echoing loudly against the bare walls, you sighed and looked at Charles.

Charles smiled once you met gazes, an apologetic look written on his face. “Sorry for the sudden change of plans,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed. “So, uh… what hotel accommodations were made so last minute?”

“A vampire-owned hotel,” Charles answered. He held up one hand to gesture to the exit while he placed a hand on your shoulder. He noticed the bewilderment on your face. “It’s not what you think, I promise.”

---

It certainly wasn’t what you were thinking at all.

With the image close to an old, haunted mansion surrounded by decay painted in your mind, Charles led you back out through the nightclub and back into the thick night air where a fancy black car waited for you. He drove through the liveliest part of the city, stopping at what you’d known to be only the most expensive hotel in the state of Lemoyne. A single night for their cheapest room ran into the thousands.

And it was owned and ran by the vampires.

With it being so late, you expected low activity. Your mindset changed when Charles brought you into a bustling lobby. With so many moving around, you weren’t sure who was human and who was vampire.

Seamlessly weaving through the crowd, Charles brought you to the front desk. Within moments you were checked in, and the receptionist flashed you a brilliant smile with her fangs gleaming beneath the golden light. You probably would never get used to that.

Afterward, Charles swept you toward the elevator. Traveling up a few floors you found it was much quieter than the lobby, only one or two people milling around, giving you a swift glance before disappearing into their rooms. At this point you couldn’t tell who was human or vampire.

Charles led you to your designated room. He stopped just before the door and turned, offering you a small smile. “This is where we part ways, will you be okay from here?” He asked.

You nodded in response, sliding the key card from its holder. “I’ve stayed in hotels before, it’s no different.”

“I know, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable being here,” he replied. “You are surrounded by vampires after all.”

“As long as they don’t break into my room and drain me overnight,” you were only half joking, but you couldn’t help but to wonder…

Charles chuckled, his face folding into an expression of faint amusement. “It won’t go that far, there are more civilized vampires here than you think.”

“And I know Arthur would protect me in the event they weren’t,” you affirmed, mostly for yourself. “Whenever he comes back…”

“Sooner than you think,” Charles assured you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, he does quick work. He’ll be back before you know it.”

Of course Charles would understand, given his past with Arthur. You suddenly felt compelled to ask more questions about their relationship, but how would you even approach that? Aside from the obvious, there was a glaring difference between you and Charles.

Before you could even begin to think of anything to say or ask, Charles stepped back from you. “I’ll be stepping out, hope you enjoy your night.”

“Thank you, Charles,” you say. “Thank you for going out of your way to bring me here.”

“You’re welcome, it’s not an issue at all,” he responded. “Arthur feels deeply for you, and I can see why. I’m glad he’s found happiness with you.”

That warmed your heart to hear.

“I’ll be heading out now…” he spoke. You expected him to turn and walk away. He however leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “By the way… he loves baths.”

You blinked in confusion, giving him an inquiring look. “Huh?”

Charles gave another small smile, the corner of his lip twitching into the slightest of smirks. “Something left over from our old lives. Back then, hotels employed women as bath ladies to help wash anyone who requested it. It’s one habit he didn’t let go of.”

Your confusion only heightened. Was he insinuating that you wash Arthur down? As seconds ticked by, the realization dawned upon you. A flash of heat invaded your face and you ducked your head to avert your gaze. “Uh, thanks for that information…?”

Charles softly chuckled in response, before murmuring a quiet goodbye. As his figure left your peripheral vision, you turned to face the door of your room once again.

The inside was more modernized than you expected it to be. Used to the classic architecture of Saint Denis, this was a stark difference. It reminded you of a type of penthouse seen only in media. A monochromatic scheme of black and silver decorated every facet of furniture and décor. Massive windows sat on the opposite side, only partly covered by the blackout curtains. A king-sized bed with a wine-colored comforter sat in the middle, and upon it seemed to be a pile of neatly folded fabric.

Curious, you approached the bed and found that it was a pair of silk pajamas with the hotel’s emblem embroidered on the left breast. A few chocolates were placed intricately on top of it. Underneath sat a soft robe.

Damn, did every guest get this sort of treatment?

After familiarizing yourself with everything, you showered and wrapped yourself in the robe. You then turned the TV on and relaxed on the bed, too comfortable in the robe to change into the pajamas.

Mindlessly flipping through the channels, you couldn’t settle on one. As much as you tried to focus, your thoughts were just too wired. This whole night set you in a tizzy and you weren’t exactly sure how to make head or tail of it. Arthur said you were partially glamored, and for reasons unknown. He assured you it wasn’t a bad thing, but there was still the question as to why. Did you say something, or did they? What vital information was shared that you had to be wiped clean of?

You also had to wonder what job was so important they needed Arthur to do that very night. He did say he was sort of like a bounty hunter, which meant dangerous work. You’d seen him in action, and knowing his former life as an outlaw meant he was probably one of the toughest guys around. You still couldn’t help but to worry however.

How likely was it he could get seriously injured?

With a silent scold to yourself, you shook her head in attempt to shake that thought. He’s been alive long before your grandparents were even a thought. This was his job, and he spoke as if it was just a normal 9-5 to him.

Time blurred together as your brain continue to flip-flop between everything that happened tonight. The TV was mere background noise as you tried and failed to focus on what was airing. You were watching a movie at some point, when focusing back in there was now a documentary. The movie apparently ended an hour ago and it was now 3 am.

Jesus, I need to go to bed. You thought to yourself as you shifted to finally change into the provided nightwear. Though you still felt wide awake, attempting to sleep was better than getting lost in incoherent thoughts in a seemingly never ending cycle.

Just as you slid to your feet and began to untie the robe, the click of the lock sounded. You froze instantly, your eyes snapping to the door as it opened to reveal Arthur.

The tension eased from your body as he stepped in quietly, his eyes quickly scanning your body before meeting your eyes. “Sweetheart, thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I was about to try,” you answered, abandoning the knot. “I don’t really feel tired.”

Arthur stepped in further and the door closer behind him. “It’s been a long night for ya, I expected different,” he chuckled slightly.

“Yeah, but I keep thinking back to what happened. It’s such a weird night, my brain doesn’t want to simmer down,” you sighed and plopped your butt on the edge of the bed. As Arthur came closer, the fabric of his jacket flitted from his torso. It was just a few inches of movement, but enough to reveal blood stain on his shirt. Your eyes widened. “Arthur?!”

“It ain’t mine, don’t worry,” he said quickly with a surprisingly casual tone. “Jus’ a messy job.”

“What did you do? Kill more fledglings?” You asked curiously.

“More or less,” he shrugged the jacket off, letting it fall to a heap on the floor. Crimson splatter painted his bare forearms. “Ain’t ever gonna be a clean job, as much as I try.”

“And… you walked all the way up here like that,” you stated, gesturing to him.

“There are less used entrances, and humans would be asleep now,” he explained, giving you a slightly cheeky smirk. “Most of ‘em anyway.”

“Well, maybe I can rest easy now that you’re back,” you pointed out with a small smile of your own. “But I was worried about you too.”

His face softened at your words. He stepped toward you, reaching out with a cleaner hand to caress your chin. “You don’t gotta worry, I always return.”

Leaning lightly into his cool palm, you said, “Don’t jinx yourself.”

Arthur gave a small chuckle. “I ain’t as vulnerable as you think, sweetheart. I promise you that.”

You hummed softly, grazing your fingers against the back of his hand. “I hope so.”

His smile was warm and comforting, a moment of silent intimacy exchanged between the two of you. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, he backed off and crossed the room over to where the bathroom door stood ajar. “Gonna shower, I’ll be out in a bit.”

You nodded, silently watching him disappear behind the door. Within half a minute, the telltale sound of water pattering against porcelain filled the quiet space. You were a little more awake now that Arthur came back, regardless you were going to return to your abandoned attempt to rest.

Standing back up, you began to fumble with the knot on the robe once again.

Charles’ voice suddenly passed through your head. Arthur loves baths.

You paused once again. A quick, single thought loomed. You glanced at the closed bathroom door. However, this wasn’t the 1800’s. Indoor plumbing has greatly improved since then. It would probably be redundant.

But what harm was there in trying?

You and Arthur hadn’t done anything yet. Aside from a few makeout sessions and the occasional brush against more sensitive areas (mostly accidental), seeing each other naked was still something to check off on this list. Neither of you pushed for anything, especially since you weren’t sure how to proceed with a vampire.

Perhaps it was time to find out.

Padding across the room, you rested your hand on the knob and turned it, half surprised to find it gave way. Taking a deep breath you pushed it open, met with a growing wall of humidity. His silhouette formed a soft outline through the shower curtain. He twitched from behind the curtain.

He spoke out your name softly, a touch of concern ringing his voice. As quiet as you were, he had impressively acute hearing. “Are you alright? Need somethin’?” He asked.

“No, I…” you trailed off. Almost hesitant to try, you took a deep breath and added, “I just wanted to join you, if that’s okay.”

A couple of seconds ticked by, the water the only sound. You wondered if he was going to refuse.

But to your surprise, he didn’t. “Sure,” he finally answered. “Come on in.”

You smiled to yourself. You’d loosened the robe enough to allow the soft billowing fabric to fall from your figure. Shrugging it off the rest of the way, the only thing separating you and him was the shower curtain. Stepping forward, you reached out and tugged it aside.

Arthur’s face entered your field of view first. Then, his broad torso. Soon all of him was revealed to you, his wet skin glistening beneath the bright light. Rivulets of water cascaded down his body, faintly tinged red from the blood that still remained.

God, was he built like an ox. Your eyes slowly scanned him up and down, stealing an extra second to gaze at the appendage sitting at the base of his waist. You met his gaze just seconds after, hoping he didn’t catch you staring inappropriately.

He smiled and stuck his hand out to you, beckoning you in with a slight curl of his fingers. You slid in without an issue, dampened by stray drops. Your heart was beginning to pound. It wasn’t the first time you’d been nude in someone else’s presence, however knowing he was more than human still struck a sliver of anxiety into you.

His blue eyes shifted for the briefest of a second, taking in your full figure but like you, not letting his curious gaze linger for too long. “You’re gorgeous,”

Heat crept into your face. “You are too,” you bashfully replied, your arms naturally loosely curling around yourself.

“Out of the two o’ us, I think you take the cake on looks, darlin’,” he spoke softly, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Oh Arthur, I can’t take all of the credit…” you murmured to him. You wanted to touch him but a small part of your brain still was hesitant. Your one hand reached forward, opting to take his hand. “I still think you’re one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met.”

He hummed quietly in response, squeezing your hand in his. “Guess you’ll need to keep remindin’ me.”

“And I have no problem with that,” you stepped somewhat closer, allowing your words to feign bravery. In reality your heart began to pound, and you knew Arthur would be able to hear it. He however gave no indication of knowing, not even a simple acknowledgement. What was wrong with you? It wasn’t like this sort of intimacy was new. “I, uh, heard you like baths.”

Arthur released a small a chuckle. “I’m guessin’ you and Charles had a conversation.”

“You could say that,” you shyly spoke. “Would you mind if I…?”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” he assured you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Don’t want you feelin’ forced.”

“I want to,” you affirmed. “And I don’t feel like I’m being forced, Arthur…” you reached down to grab a bar of soap. “As long as you want it, I’m happy to provide.”

The wrinkles of concern softened, the smile returning to Arthur’s face. “I guess I can’t say no then.”

You matched his smile, beginning with rubbing the soap between your hands. With mittens of suds, you reached up and slid them against his shoulders. Slowly you worked down his arms, refraining from squeezing his biceps. They were thick and solid, even at resting position. As many times he held you in his arms, you never really thought twice about them. How strong was he really?

Your hands brushed against his, receiving no reaction as you lathered more suds against his work-worn palms. You realized for the first time how warm was skin was. Obviously a product of hot water, however it stirred up a feeling of nostalgia of having a warm body to cuddle with.

Not that you minded his lack of a temperature on a humid night anyway.

Once he rinsed his arms, you moved to his torso. An expanse of more muscle, formed pecs and the tease of an ab outline. While his body wasn’t akin to a typical model, he was certainly built from whatever hard work he was subjected to in his previous life. He once explained vampirism kept you in stasis of how you were as a living being, as well as negating any physical ailments you might have had at the time. You had to wonder what toll his once terminal illness held on his mortal body.

With your brain detached from your mind, you were brought back to reality when you realized you’d ran your hands along his chest and torso more times than necessary. Quickly you shifted your attention. If Arthur noticed, he certainly didn’t seem to have an issue with it.

You were careful below his navel, an obvious place sitting in the corner of your eye as your fingers danced around his waistline. You focused on a bit of blood still against his hip. Even as you tried to avoid the tiny thought that was slowly growing in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but to wonder…

Once again you’d spent a little too long in one spot. Snapping your attention down, you instead brought your focus to his legs.

“Haven’t enjoyed this in ages…” you heard Arthur quietly say.

Peering up at him, you noted the content look on his face. “Charles did tell me there were women who were paid to do this,” you stated.

“Long time ago,” he responded with a tone of reminiscence. “Only time I could truly relax outside o’ gang duties.”

“I guess the introduction of indoor plumbing and showers probably did away with them,” you joked lightly, your fingertips running along the groove of his thigh muscles.

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled. “Thank you for this, darlin’.”

Flashing him a smile, you replied, “you’re welcome,” before moving down to his calves. Making quick work of them, you rinsed off the suds before standing back up. “Turn around,” you instructed.

Arthur did just that, exposing his back. As your eyes swept over him, you couldn’t help but to think everything about this man was built perfectly. The soap bar ran smoothly across the plains of muscle, every ridge and every dip. It was tempting to climb this man like the tree he was.

Those lingering thoughts seemed to stir something within you, a minuscule spark burning deep in your gut. You shook your head, silently scolding yourself. No need to become all hot and bothered over this. Though since he was facing away, you glanced down to take a peek. He had a decently nice butt, toned and not completely muscular, yet not flat.

How fun would it be to grab it while he…

Nope.

You stopped that mental train in its tracks. What was wrong with you tonight?

You rinsed off the soap for him this time, allowing yourself one final quick gaze before he turned to face you again. The smile he had on his lips never lifted as he reached up to caress your cheek. “That was real nice,” he complimented. “I could, uh, wash ya next, if you’d like.”

“I showered earlier,” you responded, reaching up to hold his hand with yours. “But maybe next time.”

A low hum rumbled from his chest in response. “Next time,” he agreed. His thumb smoothed lightly across your cheek, trapping your face in with his other hand. Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss on your lips. You’d expected it to be quick, except he held you there, slowly drawing you in until your skin just barely brushed against his abdomen.

Your fingers flexed at your sides, itching to bring yourself even closer. Prior nerves have since been quelled, yet a different storm began to roll in. The urge was growing more prominent, though you still had to wonder if it were even possible for him.

Finally Arthur released you, slowly retreating to stand upright. The nearly nonexistent space between the two opened slightly as his hands slid down to hold you gently at your waist. He stared at you unblinkingly, blue-green orbs reflecting darkly through the partly obscured light. His gaze was soft, loving, it was almost too overwhelming. Your eyes averted from his, heat once again making its home on your face as a shy smile formed.

Though unintentional, your gaze seemed to drift toward there again. A brief glance lengthened when you realized his appearance changed. Now, he stood more prominent, somewhat elongated in a half-hardened manner.

Oh.

He stepped back immediately as if he realized where your attention settled. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Don’t mean to seem like a pervert.”

You peered back up to his face, noting the apologetic embarrassment written clear across it. It wasn’t even apparent to you that vampires could feel embarrassment, let alone sexual thoughts.

Then again, he did once explain how he still had human emotions. He’d proven that a hundred times over.

“You’re not,” you start. “I didn’t even know vampires could even…” trailing off, your eyes once again sinking below before looking back to him.

“We can,” he confirmed. “Jus’ been a while, guess I let my thoughts wander too much.”

Somehow learning this information was a relief, though it wasn’t for a selfish reason. You took a step toward him. “It’s been a while for me too,” you reached out to entwine your fingers with his. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Arthur’s hands squeezed gently around yours. The smile from before slowly made another appearance, though holding a bashful nature. “You’re too good to an old bastard like me,” he murmured to you.

You giggled at his words. “I think it’s well deserved…” you shuffled even closer, rolling onto your toes to kiss him again. A wall of solid muscle brushed against your soft exterior, drawing you in for more contact. In a moment of confidence, you broke through the last strings of hesitation and pressed yourself to his body. His hands immediately released yours, finding their place once again on your waist. Absent was the tender grasp from earlier, his hands seemed to have a firmer grip on you.

That wasn’t the only part of him that seemed to firm up.

Somehow, you were feeling adventurous.

Placing your palm against his hip, you wanted to test the waters. Your fingers traced a nonlinear pattern against his skin, drawing closer to the front of his body. You half-expected a reaction only to find none, at least for now.

The heart of your palm smoothed against the plain of his lower abdominal muscles, soft to the touch yet still solid, he showed no signs of tension. Curls of hair intruded your fingertips. Lower you sunk until you found what you were searching for.

You waited for a flinch, for him to pull back. He provided nothing of the sort.

With one smooth glide from hilt to tip, it only then occurred to you how robust he was. A certain thickness that your fingers could not fully reach around. Your own thoughts further progressed to a deeper, more carnal desire. The singular thought of taking him all at once stirred even more excitement deep in your core.

Pulling back from the lip-locked embrace, you smiled sweetly at him, pumping your hand slowly to milk that slack-jawed, half-lidded expression. He only stood there, thoroughly enjoying your touch. Thumbs smoothed against your skin only further encouraged you.

How would he taste?

You knelt down, giving him a thorough once over, drinking in every inch of him before arriving to his face. Drawing up a sensual gaze to offer him, you asked in a sultry tone, “May I?”

Arthur gave you one small nod. That was all you needed.

Darting you tongue from between your lips, you toyed with the pinch of skin underneath. It earned a shudder as you circled your tongue around the head, your eyes never leaving his face. Inching further, you engulfed him slowly, pleasantly underestimating how much space he occupied. He could easily reach the back of your throat.

You began to bob at an eased pace, allowing your tongue to do most of the work. The small sigh gracing your ears encouraged you further, faster.

Fingers smoothed against your scalp in small circles. His deep voice growled your name. He tangled himself within your locks, holding you there yet not forcing you to make him deeper. You appreciated that, rewarding him with haste.

Without a pause, you reached up to fondle him, offering a gentle massage. He seemed to enjoy that, hips twitching forward with restraint. It amazed you how careful he was.

His rough voice filled the shower, a mixture of swears and your name echoing against the confined walls. You pushed even further to take all of him, as difficult as that was, yet the way he gasped indicated his appreciation. The hand on your head curled into a fist, loosely holding your hair.

You did it again, gauging for further reaction. He groaned much louder, expelling a raspy “fuck,” before peering down at you with a subtle, yet pleading gaze.

Arthur was clear with what he was asking, and you hummed to him in approval. His smile widened, placing his hands on either side of your head before thrusting. He began with cautious and slow movement, able to fill your entire mouth with such small effort. You held still for him, allowing for him to use you in such a dirty manner. Soon his pace increased, burying himself even more with each passing second.

He praised you, smoothed your hair, tangling his fingers within it once again. He muttered sweet sins that would make a preacher blush. His grip on you tightened, and he whispered to you, “I’m close,”

Your eyes swiveled up to meet his, rubbing your hand against his thigh as approval. A hazy smile crossed his lips, taking your permission to give one deep thrust. With one sweeping movement he brushed against the back of your throat. You fought back a gag, keeping yourself still for him.

Yet he was fairly quick, pushing himself deep only a few more times before releasing a guttural moan, hips stuttering to a complete stop. It almost surprised you when a cool liquid spilled onto your tongue. When he stepped back and freed your mouth, you savored the taste and swallowed.

Arthur’s satisfied sigh caught your attention. “Ain’t had that in a while,” he mumbled, reaching down to caress your chin. Blue eyes glossed over with a lazy, star struck look. “Thank you.”

You stood up and smiled at him. “Only doing what a good girlfriend should do,” you said with a slight giggle.

Arthur chuckled lowly at your response. The tip of his thumb ran across your lips gently as the smile on his face turned thoughtful. “‘Spose I oughta return the favor,” he spoke, reaching behind him to turn off the water.

A flash of heat crossed your cheeks at the mere thought. Before you could say anything, his arms wrapped around you. With ease he lifted you from the tub, earning a squeak of surprise from you as he stepped out. A sudden shift from humidity to air conditioning was an indication of where he carried you. The chill on your wet skin was soon forgotten when he laid you on the plush comforter of the bed. Arthur’s grip on you soon lightened, wandering hands appreciating every dip and curve of you.

Lips caressed your neck, your collarbone, your chest. A trail of goosebumps followed, awakening senses burning within you. Each new touch drew in your craving for him even more. A soft moan slipped out and he hadn’t even properly touched you yet.

His presence hovered over your center, thick arms sliding beneath your legs to securely hook them. You peered down, watching as he adjusted to kneel between your legs. Eyes flicking up at you, he smiled and quietly asked, “You alright with this?”

You nodded to him. “More than alright.”

His smile widened, heading dipping further, his soft breath ghosting across the sensitive skin. Wetness upon your slit, you twitched in surprise from the chilled sensation in such a sensitive area. The initial shock soon replaced with an all-too familiar tingle that you’d only been dreaming about these past few months.

“Arthur…” you sighed out, closing your eyes and fully immersing yourself within your pleasure. He was much more dexterous than thought; ripples of ecstasy soon overcoming your body. Your legs trembled within his grasp, moaning louder when fingers decidedly explored your inner walls.

His tongue worked in tandem with his touch, an almost overwhelming sensation radiating from your core. If it hadn’t been for his other arm keeping you still, you would have bucked into his face. His name left your lips more times than you could count; a string of sighs and praises following. Your body craved more of his touch, more of him. The mere thought fueled you further.

Your peak was building much quicker than you anticipated. Your hips ground against his mouth selfishly in attempt to chase that high, though in a matter of seconds it vanished.

Giving a pleading whine, you peered down at him with a look of questioning. He smiled apologetically and smoothed his palm across your inner thigh. “Easy, darlin’, it ain’t a race.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, silently scolding yourself for that. The prior thought soon was overtaken, however, as Arthur trailed his fingers across your abdomen. He soon continued his ministrations, allowing for the bubble to build again. Arthur seemed to work even slower now, watching you with intense baby blues. A deep flush settled in your cheeks, turning your gaze away only for him to target a particularly sensitive spot. A toe-curling, squeal inducing rush cascading through your whole body.

“Fuck,” you gasped out. “Arthur, oh g-god…” you stammered, covering your mouth as if others would hear. He eased off, returning to his normal pace before attempting it again. “Arthur!”

His only response was a low hum. One hand trailed upward, the rough of his palm nearly tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach. Soon cupping the mound of your breast, he began to knead the soft flesh. Your eyes flittered closed, a sharp intake of breath when he pinched your nipple. He rolled the hardened pucker between his fingertips, torqueing gently. You hissed out his name once again.

It wasn’t much longer until your peak started to swell again. Fighting the urge to buck your hips into his mouth again, your back arched, hands fisting the comforter beneath, head tilted back, lewd moans sounded to the ceiling above.

Arthur was relentless, drawing out your pleasure with careful expertise. Absent of a quick build, every passing second was almost agonizing. You yearned to chase it, to vainly use his mouth. God damn him for holding you like this. Your high was imminent; your muscles trembling beneath your skin in desperate need to release.

And release you did. One complex drag of his tongue finally brought you over the edge. Every nerve sung as your body contracted, energy expelling in a high-pitched moan. He continuously lapped at you in a lazy manner, drawing out your climax until overstimulation took over, wriggling and trembling beneath him in attempts to pull away.

His arms slid from your legs just a moment later, and he crawled up onto the bed. Propping himself up on one arm, he smiled down at you.

Your returning smile was weak. With your heart racing and breath short, it was almost like you’d run a marathon. “T-thank you,” you managed to squeak. “Haven’t had a…a release like that in a long time.”

Arthur chuckled once. A hand wandered onto your stomach, lightly rubbing small circles against your skin. “Happy you enjoyed it, sweetheart,” he murmured to you.

You lay there, allowing him to trace patterns on your skin. Your heart slowly returned to normal, the last of your high finally dissipating into fatigue. Even as tired as you were, your body craved even more of him…

Your eyes opened to him shifting on the bed. He reached over you to grab something – a flash of pale silk appeared out of the corner of your eye, the provided pajamas.

“Thought those were for me,” you quietly said to him.

“They are,” he responded, placing them next to you. “Put ‘em on, then we can get underneath the covers.”

You gave him a look of confusion. “But I wanna continue…” you moaned to him, rolling over to face him completely. Your hands cupped his face to kiss him.

He didn’t hesitate to return the gesture, though quick and chaste. He pulled back slightly, offering an apologetic smile. “You were startin’ to fall asleep, sweetheart.”

“No I wasn’t,” you started to protest, interrupted by a deep yawn. “Just need a pick-me-up…” you began to sit up, wanting to straddle him. Arthur however placed a hand on your upper arm. An action absent of any sort of force, yet it stopped you in your tracks.

“It’s 4 am, you need to rest,”

“I used to pull all-nighters for school,” you pointed out.

Arthur sighed and shook his head, moving his hand from your arm to cradle your cheek. “That ain’t necessary, love,” he spoke evenly, boring into your eyes with such smoldering intensity. “You’ve had a long night, and I don’t wanna mess up your sleep schedule.”

You contemplated his words. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. The post-orgasm fatigue was just enough to finally simmer your brain down, and your eyelids were growing heavier. “Alright, I’ll go to sleep…” you resigned with a pout.

He smiled, softly running his thumb across your cheek. “Plenty o’ time for that, I promise.”

You hummed in response, your brain beginning to succumb the creeping fog. You managed to sit up, Arthur helping you into the ever-so comfortable silk set. The fabric felt like heaven against your skin, and soon you were tucked beneath the plush blankets. He settled in beside you. Through the heavy drowsiness, you had to smile to yourself. This was the first time you’d be sharing a bed with him, differing sleep schedules be damned.

His arm draped loosely over your waist, his body fitting against you perfectly. Even with his lack of warmth, you were comfortable enough not to care. His lips brushed against the nape of your neck before he whispered,

“Goodnight.”

#Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan x reader #vampire Arthur #vampire AU #Charles Smith #back on my bullshit

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serendipityjxmn · 3 years

Text

Mr. President

Chapter 23

TW: Brief smut

Words Count: 2.5k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 24

“I can’t believe I’m engaged now. Can you believe it? A whole week before he kept annoying me and all of a sudden he brought me a ring.” Irene rolls her eyes. The two of you met for lunch nearby the company. You haven’t seen her in a while and it feels nice to catch up with everything. Irene is one of the few of the very little friends you have.

Her longtime boyfriend had finally proposed to her. You almost scream finally when Irene broke the news to you. You genuinely feel happy for her.

“So, guess that’s it for today’s catch up session.” She grins at you.

“Um.. actually do you mind if I come up for a moment?”

“Uh duh~ of course not! You miss him already?” She teases.

You try to stifle a smile. “A little bit.” You do miss him a little.

When you reach your old desk, Irene excuses herself to the restroom. Feeling excited, you head towards Jimin’s room. But that feeling dampens quickly when he’s nowhere to be seen. Pouting, you head back to your old station.

You’re about to text him about his whereabouts when you see him comes with a woman next to him. They stand not far from where you are but you don’t think they notice since you’re slightly hidden behind the wall.

They stand there for a moment as they talk and you wonder who the woman is. You don’t think you’ve encountered her before back when you’re still working here.

They laugh about something and she briefly touches your husband’s arm. If Jimin’s somehow uncomfortable with that, he’d done a perfect job hiding it. You feel your inside boiling, perhaps just a little.

While they’re still talking, you head into Jimin’s office. Storming into the room, you huff, feeling furious.

But then something catches your eye.

Taking a few step towards Jimin’s table, you notice the name plaque with his name written on it, the one you made. Drawn to it, you move closer and reaches for it, heart fluttering a little.

And then you notice the picture frame next to it. It looks strangely familiar so you move around the table and there’s no mistaking that it’s the portrait you made. The portrait looks so out of place in his sleek and modern office that you suddenly feel like laughing.

The picture next to it does a little something to your heart. It’s your wedding picture but it’s just you, smiling brightly.

How are you supposed to be mad at him when he does this?

You pout.

And then suddenly the door opens. Jimin enters and immediately sees you but he only frowns for a moment before gesturing the woman in.

Your eyes narrow slightly.

It would all be fine, really, because you’re a professional, only if she keeps her hands off your husband.

Jimin then gestures her to sit across him. She bows, her neck a tad bit too exposed. You notice Jimin looking away for a split second, working hard to hide his uncomfortable expression.

The way her skirt is too short and the way she crosses her legs, you can see through it all.

Well, Mrs. Park to the rescue.

Biting your lips, you walk over. She finally notices your presence when you come near. You hold a hand out to her.

“You are..?” She asks.

“I’m Mrs. Park.”

For a fleeting second, you see her face registers surprise as she shakes your hand. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Park. I’m Jinah.”

Jimin’s arm snakes around your waist as you take your place beside him.

“And you’re here for..?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m here to discuss about a new publishing project that us as Glory Publishing is currently positively reviewing. You might be aware that Mr. Park is planning to acquire Glory Publishing.”

Oh, you knew about this one. Jimin told you this before. His company had been looking for potential publishing companies to branch out and Glory Publishing is one of them. But they didn't make the cut. Yet here they are trying to convince Jimin that they're looking at the next big project.

Your husband has made it clear that their company didn't make the cut but they're very persistent. You briefly wonder why he still accepts appointments with their party. Perhaps out of goodwill.

You clear your throat. "I thought our representatives had made it clear on this issue. Your company has issues with ethical problems and we’re doing our best to avoid future problems.” Perhaps your confidence is boosted a little with Jimin playing with your hair behind you.

Jinah seems flustered, perhaps not expecting you to address the issue. She tries to have a look at your husband but you immediately covered him.

And he just grins behind you, lips caressing your hair because he swears he loves you so much when you’re protecting him like this.

“If you don’t have anything else,” you look at your watch, “unfortunately the time is up. I have to ask you to leave because my husband is very booked and busy. If there’s any further issue, I hope you can contact our representatives instead.” You hold a hand out to her and she takes it, although her expression is furious. Without another word, she storms out.

As soon as she left, you let out a relieved sigh, suddenly not believing you just did that. Jimin tries to stifle a smile at your reaction. You got up and move towards Jimin’s desk and he follows you from behind.

“I have a very good secretary it seems.” He whispers to your ears, making you gasp. He then stands in front of you.

You gulp. Too close, too close.

He sits on the edge of his desk. “And how should I reward you for that?” He smiles.

Suddenly, he pulls you onto his lap and you let out a squeak.

His eyes fell to your lips and it looks so, so dangerous.

Oh no. “Jimin, it’s the office.”

“So?”

“You can’t do anything to me.” You try to run.

“It’s my company.” He catches your wrist effortlessly.

Your eyes widen. “It’s gross.”

He quirks one eyebrow. And you catch his off guard moment to run away. Pretty sure your husband’s laughing at you now.

A grin appears on your lips when you’re reminded of that evening’s event. Jimin really has a gift of making your heart rate spike up. You have no idea how to handle when your husband’s being flirty. You’re in the kitchen, having just finished washing the dishes. You set to make a cup of coffee for Jimin and then heads to his study. You softly knock before entering to see him talking through a phone call. He glances up upon your entrance and mouths a thank you as you put the cup down in front of him.

You look around his study for several moments, briefly remembering the first time you’re in here and your husband has just come up with the marriage contract with you. You smile fondly at the memory. It feels so long since then. And look at where the two of you are now.

You’re just about to dismiss yourself when something catches your attention.

Something’s weird.

You think as you stop and stare at the vast painting before you. It looks strangely familiar. You think hard for a while but is still unable to remember the source so you resolve to thinking that perhaps it’s been hung there from the start.

“You remember this painting?” Jimin suddenly asks as he comes to stand beside you.

And suddenly it all clicks in your head. It’s the painting you both saw at the art exhibition. The Isle of Sorrow.

You feel like you’re in a sort of treasure hunt today with everything that you found.

“I bought it the day we saw..” he says carefully.

Your heart starts to race. “I didn’t wanna scare you.. so I kept it hidden.. I didn’t know why I bought it back then.” He laughs at himself then smiles sheepishly. “Perhaps I was already in love..”

You don’t think you can control the pace of your heart anymore.

Especially not when his face is inching closer and closer to you, closing the proximity between the two of you.

And then he takes your lips by surprise although you’ve been anticipating it. It’s slow and languid but it’s enough to suck the air out of you. You think you’ll always marvel by how soft his lips are against yours. When he pulls back, you’re all sorts of breathless.

“Y/N.” He says firmly.

You look up at him expectantly.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you straight in the eye.

“I love you.”

It takes a moment for your brain to process and to make sure you didn’t mishear it. And your eyes water immediately.

“I think I’ve fallen for you since back then.. even before.. you said you love me. But I wasn’t sure what it was back then and I tried so hard to deny what I was feeling.. you were constantly on my mind.. I keep on worrying when you’re not in front of me, I feel so angry even at the thought of another guy touching you, I want to destroy anything or everything that hurts you the slightest.. including me.. because I know I’m the one that hurts you the most.. and it almost cost your life.. for me to realize that I burn for you.. my day and my nights.. that I’m actually in love with you.”

And the tears run down your cheeks. It’s all so overwhelming and something that you can’t describe because you’ve been waiting for so long for him to reciprocate your feelings and then he finally says the words but you both had been through so much and it just somehows feels like a very long journey.

A tear escapes Jimin’s eyes too but he’s quick to inhale a breath and recomposes himself. He then wipes your tears and gives you a moment to recompose.

“There’s something I want to do.” he says, eyes staring at you seriously. “I.. I know I’m a lot to put up with.. and I know I’ve done.. worse things. But I want to do this.. I want to be.. with you.”

And suddenly he takes out something from his right pocket and kneels down in front of you. You gasp as you watch him with widening eyes.

“I promise to love you, cherish you, honor you, and to hold your hands always in times of good and bad. I vow to stay faithful, loyal and honest till we both grow old. Will you... start this marriage anew.. with me?”

Your heart beats even faster, tears almost threatening again when you realize he’s reciting the wedding vow six months ago, except that this time it is full of sincerity.

And your heart continues to thunder against your chest when he opens the small velvet box, a ring with a simple crystal centrepiece encased in it.

And it suddenly dawns to you that he’s the only man that you’ll ever love in your life.

So you nod. With your eyes glistening in tears.

Jimin gives you a full smile. And then he takes the ring out and gently put it on your fourth finger. That’s when you realize he already puts his on, one that matches yours on his finger too.

When he raises to his feet, you don’t waste another second to pull him into a hug.

You love him.. with all your heart. Is all you could think.

When you both pull back, he looks at you fondly.

“I just thought that you deserve a proper proposal..” he grabs your hand and guides you to his study desk. You watch in confusion for a second as he bents down to pick up something from behind the desk and your eyes widen when you see a bouquet of red roses. “Hearts..” he says as his finger points to his heart, “and flowers.” He hands you the bouquet.

He smiles as you remain speechless.

“I.. honestly I’ve had this for a long time, ever since you’re still in the hospital.. and I tried to find the right time but I don’t know.. I gave up trying to find the right time because I think there’s no such thing as the right time.. but I want to do this..”

You raise your fingers to cup his chin tenderly. “It’s.. perfect.”

You watch as his eyes lit up from your words. And then his face inches closer. You know he’s about to kiss you again but this time, you’re ready.

Your eyes flutter close as his lips finally meet yours and it’s as if your lips are made for him when they moulded perfectly against his.

He tilts his head slightly and this time he pulls you even closer. His lips presses against yours more deeply, drawing a whimper from your throat, a sound that causes him to grunt.

The kiss escalates quickly, growing more and more intense, making your feet curl against the plush carpet.

His hands move downwards from your neck towards your shoulder. And when one of his hand brushes against your breast, you let out a squeak in surprise.

Jimin pulls away immediately, eyes finding yours. His expression concerned, perhaps wondering if he’s gone too far from your comfort zone.

“I’m sorry.” He says quickly, still a little out of breath.

You bite your bottom lip. You don’t want him to stop. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just.. I’m not used.. I’m.. I’ve never.. I’ve never done this before..”

He looks at you softly. “I know. And I promised you to take it slow. So I’m not gonna do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Okay?”

You nod. He smiles and releases you and suddenly you’re afraid he’ll go away so you grab his shirt quickly.

He raises his brow at you.

“We.. we can.. we can continue.. to kiss..” you say and you feel like you’re going to die from embarassment.

Jimin smiles wickedly, almost wanting to clutch his heart physically because he finds you too adorable. “Wow okay. Kiss me then.” He says playfully.

You look up at him, eyes round in determination and he finds it so adorable it takes everything in him not to initiate the kiss first.

Closing the proximity, you tiptoe slightly and press your lips firmly against his.

You feel him smiling against your lips and you can’t help but smile too. This time, you try to take control.

Your fingers card his hair as you pull him tight against you, deepening the kiss. A moan escapes his mouth and you’ve never heard something sound so sinful before.

It almost kind of sparks something carnal deep inside you.

And then your hands are on his chest, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. His hands are on each side of your waist, palms flat against your skin, not making any move to explore anymore and you want to change that.

You want him to know that you’re ready.

So you press yourself against him and practically grinds against him, making him groan.

“Baby-” he says but you cut him by taking his lips again. Tongue fervently exploring his mouth.

“Jimin-” you call him, breathless. “Take me to bed, please.”

A/N: *fanning myself* im actually blushing aaaaaa yall know what's coming in the next chapter ;)))

on the side note, I am having mixed feeling right now. I can’t wait for this story to end and show it to you guys but at the same time I’m sad that it’s coming to an end because there’s really not much chapter left 🥺

Buy me a cup of coffee here! 💜

Link to Chapter 24

Posted on 210607 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

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archaxwii · 3 years

Text

A Safe Place to Stay

Warnings: This story contains safe, soft, consensual, non-sexual vore. As well as g/t content. If you do not like any of that please do not read.

This is the part 2 to my first Skephalo vore fic. Sorry for how long this took to come out, I originally meant for this to be out like 2 weeks after the first one but life got really busy and my motivation has been completely shot, but hey it's here now so pog. —

Skeppy was having a bit of a rough day today. He'd come back from his bi-weekly therapy visit from Puffy, and he clearly wasn't handling the old memories being brought up too well.

Bad had been working on cleaning and rearranging the mansion a bit when Skeppy came up behind him, deciding to leap on his back and cling to him like a heavy, diamond sloth. Luckily he was in his smaller form or Bad would have fallen face first on the floor... he still would've appreciated a bit more of a warning because if he hadn't realized it was Skeppy on him he would have grabbed him and flung him straight into the nearest wall.

Bad really wanted to be upset with Skeppy, but it was very clear that he was actually distressed and Bad didn't want to make him any more miserable.

So now he was currently sitting on their shared bed with a tiny Skeppy lying on his chest.

For a moment Bad almost thought Skeppy had fallen asleep, since they were having a rare moment of silence as he gently pet (pat? petted?) his head similar to how you would soothe a cat. He wouldn't have minded if they just stayed like this for the rest of the day, but Bad did still have things he wanted to do today.

"Are you ever gonna let me get up, Skep?" He gently asked, not stopping his petting.

Skeppy was silent for a moment before attempting to bury his head furthering into Bad's chest, whining," Nooo, stay and cuddle with me please..." Bad couldn't tell how serious Skeppy was being, but it hurt to hear nonetheless.

"But Skeppy, I have stuff I need to do today! I have a meeting with Ant and Ponk soon, and we need food, you wanna be able to eat tomorrow right?" He was mostly teasing, but he'd hate to have to do it all tomorrow.

Skeppy's only response was another drawn out whine.

" Hmm, do you want me to carry you on my shoulders like I used to do with Sapnap when he was a kid?" He offered, trying to come up with a compromise.

Skeppy shook his head." Don't wanna be outside right now. It's too much." He mumbled.

Bad sighed. Maybe he should just take the day off...he hated leaving Skeppy like this.

They sat in silence for another minute while Bad thought. He did have one idea, but he wasn't sure Skeppy would like it.

Bad let out another contemplative "hmm"."...There is something I can do, so I can still do my errands, I'm not too sure you'd like it, though." He tentatively proposed.

Skeppy shifted a little to look up at him." Mm? What's that?" He said tiredly.

Bad gave him a small grin." You're kind of sitting on top of it." He hinted.

For a few moments Skeppy only stared at him with confusion, before it finally sunk in what he had said.

It had become very routine for Skeppy to eat Bad after they'd both had a tiring day. It happened at least once or twice a week now, but so far Bad had never been the one to eat Skeppy, maybe now he finally could.

Skeppy gazed at him nervously, moving to sit on his knees to look at him better." I- I don't know Bad, we've never done that before." He rubbed his arms anxiously.

Bad smiled at him reassuringly, softly holding Skeppy's hands in his." I know we haven't, but you know it's safe! You've done it to me dozens of times by now, I promise it'll make you feel better! And if it doesn't, I can always bring you back up and we can try something else." He explained calmly.

Skeppy fidgeted a bit. He knew it was safe, and he knew how much Bad enjoyed it, but it still made him nervous to think about being eaten alive.

Instead of giving an answer, he shifted down, pressing an ear against Bad's stomach, probably flustering the heck out of the poor demon. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like inside.

He thought of all the times Bad had told him about how warm it was, how safe he felt. He had described it as though he felt nothing could hurt him. Warm. Safe. Surrounded by his best friend.

It sounded like exactly what he wanted.

On any other day he probably would have said no, but he was so tired, reliving those memories had left him completely drained, he wanted to be with Bad so desperately.

Skeppy let out a long, drawn out sigh.

"Sure...you can...eat me..." He hated every word of that sentence but he couldn’t deny the hopeful, happy grin Bad gave him.

Bad's tail thumped rapidly against the bed like a dog’s." Thank you so much, Skeppy! I promise if you are scared or don't want to do it anymore at all I will immediately stop, ok?" He affirmed.

Skeppy nodded slowly, not making eye contact.

"Is it ok if I pick you up?" Bad inquired softly.

Skeppy nodded once again, he wasn't sure he could speak anyway.

Bad slowly lifted Skeppy up to his mouth." I'm gonna have to lick you and stuff so you don't get hurt on the way down, ok?" Skeppy simply nodded again, just wanting to get it over with.

Bad carefully placed Skeppy into his mouth, carefully avoiding the sharp teeth. He had a shockingly sour but sweet taste, like that fake blue raspberry flavor. It took Bad a moment to adjust to, but his mouth was flooded with saliva.

Skeppy froze as Bad covered him in short, rapid licks, coating him in layers of thick saliva. He decided it was incredibly disgusting. Although he did have to admit it was pleasantly warm, like suddenly been dropped into a hot bath, he couldn't imagine what it felt like the deeper he went.

The demon was clearly enjoying himself, he drew Skeppy in a little further, leaving him no choice but to stare down the dark tunnel of Bad's throat. It didn't last long, though, as Bad's mouth shut with a click behind him.

Skeppy squirmed as he was left in darkness, not sure if it was worse or better than seeing the full picture.

The licking gradually halted and Bad, unable to really speak, gave him a questioning hum. Asking if Skeppy was ready to be eaten.

Well, Skeppy didn't think he'd really ever be ready, the real question was," Does he trust Bad?"

I mean, was that even a question?

He reluctantly gave the roof of Bad's mouth a pat and he was swiftly swallowed down.

He was concerned that the heavy, crushing sensations that pulsed across his whole body were going to break something, before he remembered that Bad was much squishier than he was and had yet to be hurt by all the times Skeppy had eaten him.

As he was dragged down deeper he slid past Bad's loud and thunderous heart, making his head spin. Maybe he should've gone feet first...

After a few more swallows and seconds that felt like an eternity, Skeppy spilled into a slightly larger more open area.

He laid still for a couple moments to recover, which was apparently too long for Bad as he nervously asked," Are you alright, Skeppy?"

"Yea...I'm alright, just give me a sec." Skeppy breathily replied.

" Oh no, I didn't hurt you did I?" Bad anxiously pressed a hand to his stomach.

"No, no, you're fine, I just...wasn't expecting all that, I'm alright, I promise." Skeppy said hastily to not worry Bad anymore.

Bad visibly relaxed, and started rubbing slow circles into his stomach.

Skeppy was quick to move over to where Bad's hand was and lean against it.

The comforting sensation was enough to clear his head a bit and make him realize where exactly he was right now. He was in Bad's stomach. That was so weird. But...he wasn't sure he could bring himself to hate it.

It was almost too warm, and Skeppy grimaced at the thought of having to clean out the slick slime that he and his clothes were coated in. It was loud too, Skeppy could still hear the hammering of Bad's heart and the deep breaths the demon took, and if he listened closer he could hear the rest of Bad's body toiling away as well.

But...he didn't hate it, it all served to remind him that he was with Bad. At the very core of his being where no one could hurt him. Within his very best friend who he loved so dearly. Bad was protecting him with his whole being, and Skeppy trusted him to do so.

"Are you ok?" Bad gently asked, trying to casually lean back into his bed and not freak out over Skeppy's complete trust in him.

Skeppy didn't verbally respond, but instead decided to turn around and start rubbing the walls of the stomach like Bad would do for him.

Bad stiffened before all but melting from Skeppy touch, he'd never gotten to experience this from the outside before and he wasn't prepared at all for how it would feel.

Bad's eyes slipped closed and he couldn't stop the raspy purring that emitted from his throat.

Skeppy almost stopped as the chamber vibrated lightly from a seemingly unknown source, before he remembered this was the sound Bad would sometimes make when he felt clingy and they cuddled together in bed. He only did it when he felt really happy and comfortable.

Skeppy smiled at being able to elicit this rare happiness from Bad, and practically doubled his efforts.

Eventually they both tired out and decided it was time for bed. Skeppy lied down, pressing himself against the stomach walls, not caring about the extra layer of slime that coated him, and Bad continued to lie on his back, but protectively wrapping both of his arms around his belly.

They exchanged their good nights and drifted into sleep, Skeppy feeling warm and safe at last, and Bad feeling content and happy to protect Skeppy.

#tw vore #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #soft vore #safe vore #ember's writing #g/t Bad #g/t Skeppy #Apologies for the generic title it is Late and I am Tired

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pine-lark · 3 years

Note

Ooh trap him somewhere either very hot or very cold?? :D

Oh.

This is a perfect excuse to write an old daydream from my childhood. Well, there's two-- Arion on a grill and Arion in a box. I chose the box for this one but I may be tempted to write the grill at some point. I haven't written The Box before now because it doesn't exactly... fit with the plot of the actual story, but I mean...

Alternate Rescue AU, coming right up, Anon. (Also sorry I'm like, infinitely late haha. School threw me into a hell pit and I've been recovering. I'm back now ((though I'm not sure for how long, things might change in a week or two... we'll see.)) For now, I'm working on a lot of Arion stuff that will hopefully pop up within a few days! Cheers!)

CW: Tiny whumpee, some blood, cold/hypothermia symptoms (duh), cages/referenced captivity, briefly implied forced nudity from said captivity, brief reference to a past fever and resulting vomiting, referenced/implied physical abuse, water/rain/storms/being submerged in/splashed with water, thoughts of dying (of the "I might die" and "Am I dead?" and wishing to be put out of misery type), crying, (thinking about) needles, short (kind of) graphic description of a bird being run over, brief religion references

His legs still ache from running.

Arion sits in the cardboard box he found on the side of the road, huddled in the corner, shivering in the dark. Although he tries to clamp his jaw shut and stop it, his teeth chatter and his shoulders quiver. It feels like the frozen autumn air has grasped him entirely in icy claws that shake him violently in an inescapable grip. It reminds him of being trapped in Heston’s hand, shaken, body tossed in every direction until his head pounded and his eyes watered.

It’s colder outside than it used to be in the garage. But it’s better out here. No one can hurt him here.

As long as they don’t find him.

He rubs his hands over the goosebumps on his arms, hoping to warm them up and calm down the wild pain buried deep in his skin. As he does so, blood smears along the path he touches. It’s still gently creeping out of the series of cuts etched into his forearms. With it, the image of Heston’s glinting eyes surfaces in Arion’s memory. He buries his head in his shaking knees with a wet sniff. But he’s done it, he reminds himself. He’s escaped. Finally. Chewed through rope, slipped through an unlocked door. Heston's gone. For now.

Please, please don’t come looking for me.

A dog barks somewhere in the distance. He jumps. It sets off an echo of shivers all the way down his spine as his hair stands on end.

A raindrop falls on the cardboard roof. Then another, and another. Thunder claps harshly overhead.

Arion shuts his eyes tight, bites back the frustrated tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. He curls up tighter, hugging himself, doing all he can to keep any scrap of heat he has close to his body. A storm might just do it. Might just kill him. A storm means wind. Freezing wind. And freezing rain. The last thing he needs right now is rain. It can’t rain. He presses his body closer to the cardboard wall, knowing it might not be standing there much longer if it rains.

And it does. It pours.

He sees the rain splash into the road before him. The storm swiftly grows. It’s ferocious and feral and cruel. The temperature around Arion drops. His tiny body shakes uncontrollably, as if it weren’t his own. It reminds him of the terrifying fever he had, long ago, in the confines of his red cage just weeks after being taken from his home. He’d been throwing up and twitching and having the most horrible, vivid dreams (on the occasions that both Heston and the illness let him sleep). The fits of shivering drove him mad, the endless teeth-chattering and flashes of uncomfortable warmth and sticky sweat made him feel even worse. It's like that, he thinks. Except, now, as he shivers, he’s unbearably cold.

An involuntary whine fights its way out of him. When he swallows, his throat feels stiff and achy. Snot runs profusely down his lips and no amount of wiping it away with his bleeding arms is helping it slow. Water has thoroughly and entirely drenched the cardboard, at this point. Has crept through the floor and the walls, and, gradually and persistently, has started to drip through the sagging ceiling. For a moment, Arion remembers he has toes, and that they’ve been numb for awhile now. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, his feet haven’t felt like anything either, and when he tries to move his fingers, they only twitch. They feel heavy and prickly. He feels prickly all over. Like Heston had shoved a thousand frozen needles into a thousand different places all over his body. It hurts to breathe. There’s no way to get warmer. Nothing to hide under, not even something as decent as clothing. No way to escape, nowhere to run to, even if he had the energy left to try. He lets out a miserable sob.

And then the ceiling falls through, in a blur of collapsing cardboard and splashing waves of water that crash over his head and the rest of his body.

Arion tumbles out of the box, drenched. He coughs up water through jittery movements. For a second, he chokes on a mouthful, and he briefly he thinks he'll never breathe again, before his chest jerks and with another cough, the water falls out of his mouth. He tries to get his arms and legs under him, to stand or even crawl, but his limbs fail him and he crumbles face-first back to the harsh surface below him. The rocks mixed in the road’s tar are sharp. They cut deeply through his nose and cheek and the shoulder that followed his face in the fall. Arion winces against the fresh, sharp pain and the beads of blood that begin to form where he’s been hurt. His breaths come in ragged heaves.

He sniffs. Tears drip from his eyes. He lays helpless in the middle of the little road, in his mind begging to no one that a car doesn’t come along and crush him. Under any other circumstance, he’d love to be put out of his misery. But he’s seen a bird been run over before. Under a truck’s tire. And the memory makes his stomach churn. Flattened face, open stomach, popped like a bubble in a stream.

Briefly, Arion thinks of himself in place of the bird. He thinks of the smear of red underneath his empty, open eyes. He thinks of the way the headlights might look as they would suddenly appear right in front of him. The horrid, mind-numbing honk of a horn. The image he creates in his mind of those headlights, his last moments, is vivid. It’s so vivid that he thinks it might be real, or maybe hypothermia is setting in and beginning to ruin his mind.

It’s just his imagination, he thinks.

And then he smells exhaust from a car.

And the screech of brakes.

And for a second, whilst his body is numb and bright white light is all he can see, he thinks he might be dead.

“I swear, if I keep stopping my car for every mouse that sits in front of it, I’m never going to get anywhere.”

That voice drifts from the car stopped in front of him.

Not dead, then.

Almost, he thinks.

“Can’t help it though. What else am I supposed to do, run them over? Just vet instincts, I guess. Huh, Jasper.” There’s a meow in response. Arion’s breath hitches. The voice says, “Me-ow. I know, I know. I’ll be right back.” A car door shuts. Then there’s heavy wet footsteps. Boots clopping over puddles and asphalt. Panic floods Arion’s chest as a shadow cuts through the blinding white light from the vehicle. The outline of a human lowers, kneels in front of him. His breath stops. His mind goes blank.

“What…”

A moment passes. Something touches him. He flinches hard, but trying to run isn’t an option. His body is completely, entirely, wholly exhausted and far too numb to move more than flailing back a couple inches.

“Oh, geez, that’s-- not a mouse. Okay.” Her head turns in a way that Arion can see her face. A young woman with red hair, watching him with a warm but frantic gaze. “Okay. Okay okay. Oh, God, you’re injured pretty bad, little buddy. Your arms are all… cut up. That’s not good. Um.”

Arion stares blankly ahead. Suddenly, freezing to death isn’t something he feels like putting too much effort into avoiding.

“Okay. Here’s what we’ll do,” the girl continues. “I’m gonna bring you into my car where I can see you better, alright? Then I can help you. It’s gonna be okay. Here. I’m picking you up now, ‘kay?”

The feeling of a warm hand washes over his body. It’s both terrifying and incredibly welcome. The sting of cold seems to seep out of his skin, albeit very slowly. Quickly, though, burning prickles replace whatever comfort the touch brought him.

“Oh, you’re freezing, little guy. You must have been out here for a long time. That can be really dangerous… I’m glad I found you. I’ll get you all warmed up in the car.”

Arion whimpers against the hands that carry him to somewhere warmer, where he hears the faint, deep sound of a large beating heart. For a second, he wonders if this is God. And then the car door opens and creaks, and the girl curses under her breath, and Arion remembers he’s an atheist.

Still, as the stinging in his warming skin subsides, the warmth of her hands starts to feel… nice. If his mind were still intact (instead of shattered into vague, useless fragments as it is now), Arion would have done anything and everything to get away from any human or other predatory beast in sight. But with his head swimming, he leans into her touch, and compliantly accepts the soft feeling of some kind of cloth being wrapped all around him.

Words are spoken to him, but he can’t listen. To him they sound broken up and blurry as the insistence of sleep becomes more desperate in the back of his mind. As he gets warmer, his muscles relax, and his eyes get droopy. His vision darkens, and the girl’s voice hushes.

Just before he drifts off into a far overdue, deep and restful sleep, he thinks to himself, vaguely, that he hopes this human is different. He hopes that when he wakes back up, it won’t be in another cage.

Tag list because this ended up being a full drabble:

(Also, let me know if you'd like to be removed from the tag list. No hurt feelings! I know it's been a long time and if you've lost interest that is A-Okay, friend)

(Also, if you'd like to be added or if your username's changed, let me know!)

@whumping-every-day, @deluxewhump, @sola-whumping, @haro-whumps, @inaridriscoll, @whatwasmyprevioususername, @kiretto-laorentze, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @ahorriblebimess, @whump-me-all-night-long

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firerose · 3 years

Text

The sea

Feedback is apprechiated ;)

Percy was happy. The giant war was over, he was studying with Annabeth so

they could move to new Rome soon. He was happy….. until it happened.

The thunderstorm should have been a warning, a sign that the lord of the sky was angry but unfortunately Percy was tired of having to deal with the gods so he chooses not to notice it. He cursed himself for that later.

He had stood up early that morning, awoken by another dream about the hell he and Annabeth had gone through. His mom had already been in the kitchen and he was greeted by her with a warm smile.“ Bad dreams?“, She had asked softly. Percy had only needed to nod and she pulled him into a warm hug. He loved her hugs, he loved that she had forgiven him for being away for so long, he loved his mother for everything. She was the reason the sea inside him was calm.

“Thanks, mom I just wanted to get some fresh air.“, He had told while departing carefully. Percy was grateful for her but he still did not want her to worry too much. If he had only known that this was the last time his mom would hug him, he would have stayed in her arms forever.

Percy had taken his jacket and walked outside and then………

Thunder, a white light crashing down behind him throwing him forward with the price.

He lay still on the street while people around him ran out of their houses screaming in panic.

Percy‘s body was burning, he felt blood running down his forehead but all he could think about was his mom who had been exactly where the explosion went off.

The police later assumed that a lightning strike had hit the apartment by accident but Percy knew better. He was brought to a hospital even though his burns were only small.

He had insisted that he wanted to stay.“Please I have to see if my mom and my stepdad are okay!“, He had begged the paramedics but they did not stop their attempts to get him on the stretcher.“The fire brigade will find them kid. Everything is gonna be okay“, One of them promised but Percy saw in her eyes that it was a hollow promise. His heart ached in despair and when the doors of the ambulance closed tears fell down his cheeks.

The proof came when the police visited him after the doctors had checked him. They looked devastated, of course, no one wants to tell a son the message that his pregnant mother was dead. Percy took the news with a small nod. He could not do more not even cry. He had been through so much that maybe this last thing had broken something inside him. He could not believe that they would do this, that they would kill his mother after he saved them. His thoughts wander to Paul and his unborn baby sister that he has lost as well and the sea in him slowly starts rising.

Annabeth soon heard about his suspicion She stormed into the small hospital room, her face tear-stained. He immediately wrapped her in a hug like it is her that is going through this tragedy.“Percy…...I…..I‘m so sorry.“, She sobbed.“It is not you fault wise girl….he did this.“, Percy claimed and he is surprised by the deadly calmness in his voice.

Annabeth looked at him in confusion but then she understood. Her eyes widened in shock.“No…... Percy……..he wouldn‘t……..“ She tried to say but her unbelieving in her own words stopped her. They both know Nico Di Angelo and they both know his mother died. Percy felt the waves crashing again his chest, he felt them threatening to burst out and so did his rage.“ Come on Annabeth you know Zeus. He is an arrogant asshole who just cares about himself! I fought years for the gods, I went through hell for the gods and now they… they.“, he wasn‘t able to speak anymore, there was too much rage boiling up inside him. He finally processed what happened and the sea in him roared with a desire. A desire for revenge. Annabeth pressed herself closer to him in comfort. She is scared, Percy‘swords scare her and yet she knows that there is nothing she can say to help him. She just hoped that she wasn‘t about to lose him.

Percy was grateful for his girlfriend but he knew that he couldn‘t stay. The longer he stayed, the more his body was trembling and the sea roared louder.“ I want to talk to Zeus. Now.“, He told Annabeth could. She let him go her eyes full of something he never saw in them before.

Panic.

“ No Percy that is not a good idea! If he is targeting you then yelling at him would be a great excuse for him to…….. hurt you.“, She answers logically as always but her tone fearful. Percy can‘t help but feel angry at her words.

“I‘m not scared of Zeus and if he wants to kill me he is welcome to try! My mom did not deserve this you know that as well as I so don‘t try to stop me!“, He nearly yells and he departs from her quickly. The storm in him screams in agreement and he looks forward to setting it free, Annabeth hated herself for making him angrier. She loved Sally too so why doesn‘t she support Percy? What did Zeus or any other god ever do for her? A small voice whispers that she just wants to keep him safe but she can also do that against the gods. She gently grabbed his hand and gave him a weak smile.“Okay just let me come with you.“, She pleads and Percy feeling a warm thankfulness for her calming his waves a bit, smiled back.

The man behind the desk looks at them in shock when they enter the building..“You shouldn‘t be here.“, he claims, his voice sounding a bit concerned. Percy felt cold amusement washing over him.

He killed scarier monsters than this old man. He takes out his sword without a second thought.“ We are exactly where we need to be now let us talk to Zeus or I will try my sword out on you.“, He threatened and did not notice Annabeth‘s worried glance.“You should listen to him! He once took down giant you are no match for him!“, Annabeth‘s voice sounded just as dark as his but she just wanted to keep Percy from doing something he would regret later. The man‘s eyes were stuck on the blade then wandered to Percy‘s eyes as if those could burn him.

He moved back a bit uncomfortable.“ Alright I‘ll let you up.“

Percy felt a sense of victory letting the water rise again. It pushed through his veins and when they entered the small elevator his body tensed from the power it made him feel. The gods would pay for taking his family. They would see what happened if someone pushed him too far. Maybe some days ago he wouldn‘t have felt this darkness but a few days ago he also had a mother. He was overtaken by memories, of her soft voice, her laugh and her hugs. He wondered if it would make her sad to see how angry he was but she certainly was also sad to be killed there was no difference anyway. The memories hurt but they also foiled his anger.

Percy and Annabeth walked down the way to the god's council in silence. The minor gods and nymphs whispered and pointed at them, their eyes worried some even pitiful. They all knew Percy‘s story and they all feared him.

Only Zeus and Hera were in the throne room When Percy walked in his eyes immediately landed on Zeus who glared at him in outrage.“HOW DARE YOU COM HERE?!“, The Lord of the skies shouted in fury but Percy did not even wince. Instead, he glared back.

"How dare you kill my mom?!." Percy spat back. Zeus only looked annoyed but the others gods looked at each other uneasily. Zeus shook his head like he wanted to get rid of a nasty fly.

" My boy, there are things that you don't understand. I'm sorry about your mother but sometimes cruelty is necessary to prevent worse.", Zeus explained and Percy felt as if he had been punched in the gut. How could this all immortal god talk about an innocent woman death like that? He felt disgusted at Zeus rising and Annabeth spoke it out.

"Sally Jackson was a mortal woman! How could she have been any danger to you?", Annabeth asked her voice full of angry disbelief."Well it was more about her child than her, "Hera responded and maybe there was a hint of regret in her voice.

" Silence wife!", Zeus told her harshly but Percy's blood already froze."You.....you killed her because of me?", He asked fear numbing his fury. He hoped that he had just heard wrong but he was the only child of Poseidon so they could only mean him. Zeus sighed as if this whole situation bored him."Apollo gave me a prophecy that said that she would have a child with Poseidon that could end my sign that is all you need to know." Zeus said defensively and a dam in Percy that held back the growing stormy sea finally broke. Zeus had killed his mother because of a prophecy?

Of course, gods always sed prophecies to harm others,

Percy balled his hands into fists his ears ringing." That is your excuse? you were scared so you just killed my pregnant mother in front of me? She was going to have a baby. She was happy and you killed just because of your god complex!" Percy accused Zeus, his voice trembling with anger. The waves were rushing through his veins and he can feel it in the veins of Zeus and Hera as well Not as much but it was there flowing through their veins like calm waves. "I told you you would not understand now leave before I make you Perseus.", Zeus commands but that only makes Percy turn to him.

Persues...

His mother called him that because she wanted him to have a happy life...

Percy slowly opens his hand his senses searching for a certain source of water. When they find it Percy feels a tug in his fingers. He smiles darkly at Zeus."I think you underestimate what I'm capable of my lord. you really should have killed me instead of my loved ones.", Percy muses and he follows the tug by moving his hand forward, pushing back the waves in Zeus body. The god looked stunned for a moment even confused but then his body god thrown back so that his head smashed against his thrown. The stone cracked and Annabeth gasped in shock together with the other gods." Percy!" Annabeth yelled terrified at her boyfriend's power. Percy couldn't hear her. He could only focus on Zeus and how he was held in place by an invisible force his force. He wondered how much he could hurt a god.

He moved his hand to the side and Zeus growled in anger as he tried to resist the painful control he was under. Percy took a deep breath he was not sure what too now should he let Zeus go? Should he show the gods mercy? Then he remembered his mother and how she had died in a fiery explosion. He looked into Zeus blue angry eyes and he calls for the water in the god's throat, His hand makes a gesture like he was strangling someone and immediately Zeus grasps his own his gasps for breath was music in Percy's ears. He feels Annabeth shaking him begging him to stop with sobs in her voice. Hera watches the situation as if it was a very interesting movie. She was not at Percy's side but seeing the man who cheated on her so often be choked to please her too much to interfere.

Percy loved seeing Zeus so helpless, he loved when his other hand made the gods nose bleed with golden blood. Zeus looked in much pain and Percy loved every second of it." Now you know what it feels like to be a demigod. It's painful and you wish that the suffering would end but it never does. How do you like that?", Percy jokes and closes his hand a bit more. Zeus face turned red his eyes nearly popping out of his skull."Percy stop....please stop." Annabeth pleads and there is something in her voice that makes him hesitate." Sally would not want you to do this!", Annabeth said her voice shaking in horror. The words echo in Percy's mind and painful guilt helps to dim his inner flame. What would his mother say if she could see him right now? He was harming others with his powers just like Zeus had.

His rage dies down like the sea after a long storm. He opens his hand and lets go of Zeus blood. The god nearly fell off his throne as he gasps for air. Percy still felt satisfaction at that sight. He turned to Annabeth who held onto his arm, her face pale from what she had seen." I'm sorry Annabeth.", He said and he really meant it. He shouldn't have scared her like this, he should have just told her not to come with him. Annabeth gently squeezes his hand. She understood Percy#s anger and she even shares it but she still prays that he will never lose himself to his power ever again. Zeus had regained his strength and his eyes blazed with electricity." YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS!", Zeus yells but Percy only felt a surge of frustration at those threats. After all that had happened to Zeus, he was still a god that was full of himself and would not learn anything from this. Percy looked at him coldly." No, I will not. Haven't you learned what happens when you make me angry?" Percy asked dangerously calm. He felt tired of all this talking and especially Zeus. He took Annabeth's hand and left as he suspected no one tries to stop them. The sea in his body has calmed down again but Zeus who is watching him from his throne can tell that he has changed. The sea can start raging again any moment and maybe it was Percy that the prophecy referred to. Maybe he will be the end of the gods after all.

@emilydaughterofapollo @perseusjackson-jasongrace @incorrectinfinity, @reading0mens @fictionalnormalcy

#dark percy #percy jackson #annabeth chase #sally jackson

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luminouspoes · 3 years

Text

let my heart be your shelter

summary: poe seeks out the reader’s comfort during a thunderstorm

warnings: angst (with a happy ending), poe has a guilt complex the size of several parsecs, some self loathing (poe’s pov). no pronouns are used for the reader.

read on ao3

It’s too much.

Poe wakes up and his bedroom is entirely too small and too dark, and he can hear the echoes of bombers and X-Wings and transport ships turning to dust in between the cracks of lightning that slice through the Ajan Kloss’ night sky.

He’s barely aware of his own movements, his mind racing and churning as a sense of overwhelming emotion and a dash of panic clutches tightly in his chest, eyes burning as one thought runs over his head over and over again: my fault, all my fault.

Poe stumbles out of bed, almost tripping on the thin blanket. His bare feet shuffle across the cold floor, out of his quarters and into the hallway, the fear still suffocating him.

The Resistance was decimated because of him, there was more blood on his hands than he ever wanted, and he’d let down the one person who mattered the most to him, who guided him out of some of the darkest parts of his life, gave him the purpose he’d been seeking his whole life.

Leia forgave him, told him as many times as he needed to hear it. The Resistance backed him on Ryloth’s moon. But Poe can’t forgive himself, can’t stop hearing those screams, can’t stop -

He’s just a soldier, just a pilot, he’s nothing. He’s made so many mistakes and he doesn’t deserve the faith Leia has in him, doesn’t deserve the praise and kindness from everyone else, can’t they see?

He’s fading away; there’s no excitement in flight anymore. He’s shorter now, he knows, more easily frustrated. Terrified out of his mind that this is all for nothing, that they’re one bad day - one mistake, one more failure - away from being snuffed out for good.

Poe Dameron can barely recognize himself anymore. He wonders where the Resistance’s best pilot went, the one who could take everything in stride with a charming smile and a quick joke. Everything’s easy for Poe Dameron, right?

He can’t even pretend anymore. He’s so damn exhausted.

His feet stop moving and he realizes he’s gone to your quarters automatically. There’s a hint of light piercing out from underneath, so before he can think better of it, Poe knocks on the door. He knows the code to your room - has it memorized better than his own - but he doesn’t just want to spring in on you unannounced.

The door slides open a second later, you on the other side. You’re in your night clothes, your holopad clutched under your arm and he figures he interrupted your nightly habit of reading before bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he flinches when another roll of thunder cracks across the sky - another X-Wing down, another death on my hands - and you immediately reach for him, concern knitting your brow together.

He wants to tell you it’s alright, but he can’t find the words. You gently guide him inside the room, closing the door behind him and toss aside the holopad before you return to him. You hesitate, unsure if he’s okay with being touched right now. Poe manages a quick nod and you place your hand on his biceps.

“What is it tonight?” You ask quietly, eyes filled with so much gentleness that it nearly shatters him because he doesn’t deserve this kindness, don’t you understand that?

“Everything.” Poe wants to close his eyes because he’s so damn tired, but he’s afraid if he does he’ll just see more fire and more death. He’s not sure he can handle another memory.

“What can I do?” Your grip on him tightens, grows more firm as a rush of protectiveness surges through you, recognizing the look written on his face: the guilt, the regret. The way it’s been eating away at him, til the point that he’s barely the same man you met when you first joined the Resistance.

It kills you, seeing how this war has taken so much from him. Your chest aches at the thought of it, your eyes burning with unshed tears, and if you could you would tear down the First Order with your own two hands for taking this man who was once a brilliant, blazing sun and draining his light and fire.

But what was worse was having the knowledge that the haunted look in his eyes was from his own guilt, how he blamed himself for where the Resistance was now, no matter how many times everyone tried to assuage that guilt. The fear of letting Leia down again was a constant weight on his shoulders, and it was agonizing to know there was nothing you could do to prove to him that he was more than what he feared.

“I -” his voice cracks and you don’t even wait now, you pull him to you and he melts instantly, shoulders shaking as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel the shoulder of your shirt grow wet as you rub soothing circles against his back, your own tears spilling down your cheeks because you hate this, because you can have his back when he’s out in the field but how can you save someone from inner turmoil and self-hatred?

How can you make someone realize they’re so loved when they don’t think they deserve it?

After a few beats, Poe’s shoulders still and you pull back slowly - so he knows you’re not going far and that if he needs to, he can stop you - to get a glimpse at him. His eyes red-rimmed, eyes dark without so much as a shine to them. You miss how easily he used to smile, how happy he used to be.

Maker, you’d do anything to see him that way again. You’d cross the whole galaxy, turn back time, fistfight Kylo Ren himself if needed, just to bring that smile back.

Poe breathes out your name, bringing you out of your reverie. He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, swiping away your tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and something inside you snaps.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, drawing it away from your face so that you can press a kiss to the center of his palm, “No.”

You close his fist, bring it up to your lips and press more kisses to his knuckles and say it again, more firmly: “No.”

When you finally meet his gaze again, his eyebrows are drawn up together, his lips parted somewhat. You step forward, cupping his face with your hands, and you press a kiss to his right cheek, then his left, and then it’s all bubbling up over the surface and you can’t stop raining kisses along every part of him you can reach: his brow, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth -

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you enunciate each word with another peppered kiss, drawing back when the only place left for you to kiss is his lips. “You are so good.” Your hands are trembling now, to the point that Poe reaches up with his own to take your wrists to steady them.

His mouth twitches as he inhales sharply, trying to gather the words. “I’m not, though. Everyone keeps saying that I am, but - we’re in this mess because of -”

“We’re in this mess because of the First Order,” your voice is sharper than you intend for it, but Poe barely reacts to it. “Not because of you. You made a mistake, you failed a couple of times, sure. But don’t you ever fucking lose sight of who put us here. You didn’t destroy our fleet, you didn’t destroy the Hosnian System, those -” your vision blurs, your voice cracks and there’s so much emotion roaring through your chest you’re surprised there’s even room for breath - “those beasts are to blame for all this, not you. Never you.”

Silence falls between you as your chest heaves. Thunder rumbles distantly, but it’s muffled in comparison to the way your heart drums out a tattoo against your ribcage as you realize neither of you have let go of the other yet.

“Why do you believe in me so much?” Poe asks.

“Because you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Something shifts in his expression now and he takes a quiet step forward, closing the rest of the gap between you. “I can think of plenty of reasons you could hold against me.”

You shake your head just slightly, a quick dismissal. “You’re more than what you believe you are, Poe Dameron.”

His dark eyes search your face for a second and just as you start to question whether or not there’s a spark building in them again, he presses his lips to yours, one hand moving up to cup your cheek, his calloused fingertips feather-light against your skin.

You freeze against his touch and before you can properly register what’s happening, he’s pulled away with a panicked expression. He opens his mouth, presumably to give another apology, but you cut him off by grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him down to capture his lips with your own for a second time.

He wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you close to his chest, as you memorize the feel of his mouth against yours, his stubble brushing against your skin, and then as you slide your hands up into his hair, what it’s like to card your fingers in his curls.

You’re determined to show him what he can’t believe, so when you pull away for breath, you immediately press quick kisses to the corner of his mouth, his jawline, his neck, then back up to press another kiss to his lips, gentler this time.

You take a step forward and guide him backwards to the mattress, not breaking the kiss until he almost trips on a blanket and you snatch your hands out to steady him before he can fall on his ass. “You okay?” You ask and you can’t quite recognize your own voice.

His cheeks are darker than usual when he replies, “Yeah. No. I don’t know -” he shakes his head, sits down on the mattress. You hang where you’re at for a second, standing over him a couple inches away, rocking back and forth on your heels.

The kiss wasn’t too much of a surprise — there was always something undefinable between the two of you, there was no right term for the bond you shared, just...that it was a bond, constantly shifting, full of devotion and loyalty and fierce protectiveness for the other — but you can’t help but feel self-conscious about what just transpired, even though rationally, you know that’s not as important as the reason he came here in the first place.

Poe looks up at you and, as if he read your mind, whispers, “Not about that. That was…” his lips quirk upward slightly, not quite a full smile — not that broad grin you fell in love with — but it’s more than you’ve seen from him in such a long time that you feel like you just watched a sunrise for the first time in months. “That was great.”

You smile and cross the room to him, sinking down next to him. “So what is it?”

Poe closes his eyes and exhales slowly, when he opens them, you can see the fear in them. “Do you really believe I’m a good man?”

You open your mouth to reply of course, but you hesitate. It’s not that you don’t believe he’s a good man, you know that in your bones, but the trouble is that he doesn’t. You can tell him as many times as you want that you believe he’s a good man, you can kiss him until the sun comes up to show him how much he’s loved, but -

But he’s drowning in the fear that he isn’t, and sometimes when you’re that far beneath the surface, it takes more than just someone telling you they believe in you to make a difference, as horrible and terrifying as that is.

So, instead, you reach forward and push back a strand of curls from his forehead, linger slightly where you remember finding a bruise blooming after he returned from being held aboard the Finalizer. You meet his eyes, see the trepidation in them, and you make sure your voice is firm and certain but gentle when you answer him, “I think that you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done because you thought it was the right, just thing, because you thought it could save people.”

“I got people hurt because of that.” Poe whispers. “I got people killed because I had to play hero.”

“Yes you did.” If he won’t mince his words, neither will you. “You were a stubborn ass who refused to listen to orders and your luck ran out. But how many people have you saved, Poe? What about on the Raddus? Who was giving us hope when we had none? That was you.”

“My plan failed and I almost got Finn and Rose killed for it. The First Order found out because of our transport ships because I sent them into the heart of the beast -” you cut him off by pressing your palm to his lips. He raises one eyebrow in surprise.

“Our luck ran out. People got killed, yeah. Nothing’s going to change that, we can’t take it back, but you weren’t the one who shot them out of the sky, were you?” You hang your head, hand dropping from his mouth, heart seizing - wondering if he’d ever believe you.

To your surprise, Poe whispers, “I guess not.”

You snap your head back up. He doesn’t look entirely convinced by your argument, but he seems to be considering it. He looks up at you, another smile tugging on his lips. This one’s even weaker than before, but it’s a start.

The thunder has died away completely, leaving only the soft patter of the rain.

Feeling embolden, you twist and curve into him, pressing your foreheads together. He shifts to meet you, wrapping one arm around you, his hand splaying across the small of your back as you crash your lips to his again. He gently falls backwards, using his elbow to cushion the fall so it’s not terribly awkward, and your legs twist together.

You stay that way for minutes or maybe hours, parting now and then for air and a shared chuckle before melting against each other again. Eventually, you slip off of him and into the space beside him, his arm underneath you as he rolls with you to capture your lips again, this time in a quick peck.

He looks more content now anyway, eyebrows soft as he lays on your pillow beside you. You turned off the lamp a few minutes ago after you caught him yawning for a second time, and now you were both lying underneath the same blanket, still holding onto each other - but it’s different from when you’d fallen backwards onto the mattress, then you’d clutched at each other like lifelines, now it was just adjusting to this new familiarity.

You’re curled up against his side with one hand over his heart, fingers lightly twisting around the fabric of his nightshirt as he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

“For what?”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to phrase what he’s thinking. Finally he lands on, “For not giving up on me, for trusting me - even when I don’t think I deserve it. Especially when I think I don’t deserve it.”

“Always, flyboy.” The nickname falls from your lips with as much affection as it did the first time you used it on him, but Poe doesn’t respond. You huff out a laugh, realizing he’s fallen asleep. You shake your head and snuggle up closer to him. Just before you close your eyes, you whisper the truth you know he doesn’t believe, “You’re the hero.”

Because heroes aren’t just daring and reckless with no sense of self-preservation: they inspire people to be heroes in their name. They find hope in the impossible and offer it to the people who’ve had everything taken away. They listen to the people most would be eager to dismiss, they’re encouraging to those around them. They fight against injustice, stand up for their beliefs, even at great personal cost.

These are all traits Poe Dameron has in spades.

So yes, you muse to yourself just before sleep claims you, he is a good man.

He always was one and he always would be one. You just hope that one day soon, he’ll come to believe it himself.

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars #myfic

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