#the second I feel a headache coming on or have the slightest pain I’m taking paracetemol

[littlespoonevan]

always so wild to me when u can actually feel medication working like I have a really bad headcold rn and when I dragged myself up off the couch earlier to brush my teeth I Truly felt like I was going to collapse I was so weak but then I took my little cold and flu tablet and now, legit less than half an hour later, I feel almost human again???? Remarkable

#local woman marvels at the wonders of modern medicine while in a headcold induced fever #listen I am never a suffer in silence girly #the second I feel a headache coming on or have the slightest pain I’m taking paracetemol #but I think with pain especially it’s easy to just be like ‘oh yeah it eased up’ #and not necessarily associate it with the medication working #but with something like a cold the way it’s so much more obvious that it’s actively making a difference #anyway i fell asleep at 8pm last night how is everyone else’s weekend going lmao #ciara things

[idolatrybarbie]

the world tipped on its side

epilogue - a sip or a spoonful

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 1.9k

rating & summary: mature | he wants all of your love.

warnings: hospitals, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff and feels, discussion of surgery and anesthesia.

notes: we have reached the end of this months-long delve into emotions, disability and family! omg - it's really insane to think that this lil' fic brought me some amazing new friends and introduced me to a great new writing community. twtois is my baby, and i love these two. i hate to say goodbye, but all good stories must come to an end. thank you to everyone who has followed me because of this fic, and/or showed this fic any love. it was a gamble writing about disability - as in, no one coulda read this fic and we would not be here - but like frankie i am a gambling man. and it paid off! so thank you again, and i hope you enjoy.

You’re stuck in the waiting room. Doctors won’t let you past the threshold of the medical floor, so here you are. Family only. Try as you might, the assertion still stings. He’s going to be okay. He has to be. It’s the only thing keeping you from losing your mind.

This ultimate curve ball you’ve been thrown has you reflecting, the flimsy chair you’ve chosen threatening to create a human spill of you at any second. Things with Frankie are easy. You have no clue why you ever wished for anything to come along and complicate that. Except that’s not entirely true—another lie, but you’re getting better at catching yourself.

When you’ve spent so much time acquainted with pain and uncertainty, the lack of it becomes a foreign concept. Existence without struggle is like pulling teeth. Feeling that free-flowing ease that Frankie somehow provides in droves still sometimes makes your skin crawl. It's a learning process. But nothing could possibly be scarier than the thought of losing him. You learned that today. Every other fear, all discomfort you hold fades to the background. He and you are inextricably linked.

A man bursts through the doors of the E.R., a whirlwind for your mind to grasp onto amid the sea of sterile white pain. He’s a bit shorter than Frankie, skin beige and brow creased as he strides through the waiting area like he’s on a mission. His walk makes him impossibly familiar: the way he wears his shoulders like earrings, toddling in the slightest with every right step. When he reaches the front desk and speaks to the attending nurse, his spine only relaxes slightly.

Of course you eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Here to see Francisco Morales,” the man says, speaking precisely.

“I’m afraid he’s not accepting any visitors right now,” the nurse replies.

“You’re looking at his emergency contact. Santiago Garcia…you look it up, you’ll see me.” His words are forceful; a slap across the face with an order to stand at attention.

You mumble an, “Excuse me,” and join Santiago at the attendant's desk. “How is he?”

“Ma’am, I already told you—”

“Please. I’m his…girlfriend,” you say. The word tastes weird in your mouth.

Speaking to Santiago, the nurse says, “I can speak to you. I can’t speak to her.”

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself away from the desk and walk back to your seat. Rubbing fingers into your temples brings no relief to the steadily growing tension headache at your forehead. Your brain is working overtime, thoughts echoing as you try and take deep breaths.

He’s going to be okay.

“Ma’am?”

You’re expecting the nurse again, ready to ask you to vacate the waiting room to make space for the family of someone else—someone more important than him. You fix your mouth to tell her to get bent before you see who it is. Santiago.

“Oh, um—hi,” is all you manage.

He takes the seat next to you, keeping his back straight against the bendy top rail of the chair. “Frankie didn’t tell me he was seeing anybody,” are the first real words to you from this virtual stranger.

“It’s new.”

“I’m glad someone else is here,” he says, presenting you with a hand to shake. You take it, grasp firm around the bones of his knuckles before you let go.

He’s got palms like Frankie’s. Scarred and worn with use, from carrying a gun. From killing people, the back of your mind whispers. You ignore it. What was it that Frankie had said about this Santiago?

“He’s the only one still doing military shit these days…a bit of an asshole. You two probably wouldn’t get along.”

And then there was that other thing—the medical death wish. Perhaps an urge not entirely reserved at the hands of a doctor if he’s out there pretending to be G.I. Joe while all his friends have retired. Suddenly, unfortunately, you understand this Santiago Garcia better than most people you’ll ever meet. The pang of jealousy that hit your stomach at his materialization dissolves as you finally make proper eye contact. You introduce yourself. He does the same, telling you to call him Santi.

“Did they say anything about his condition?”

“He’s fine,” Santi shakes his head. “Just giving him a few to recoup, taking a couple tests.” Silence lingers a while before he broaches the topic of your relationship: when, where, how long. He asks nicely enough that you find yourself answering.

“We met on this stupid fucking movie,” you say. “I needed a helicopter and a pilot to fly it. And I’m sure you know he’s the best.”

“Oh, for sure,” Santi agrees. “You made the right decision.”

“Wasn’t me actually,” you say. Despite yourself, a smile creeps along your face. “My best friend—Mia. She’d worked with him before and it just happened to work out… I don’t know. Strange series of events.”

“Sounds like Frankie.” When you give him a questioning look, Santi explains, “He has a habit of finding himself in unconventional situations. Like crashin’ a fucking helicopter, for example.” The breathy laugh that accompanies his words should lift your spirits, but it doesn’t.

A drop of water falls to the back of your hand, and before your brain can catch up, you’re sobbing in the emergency department waiting room. The pliable chair beneath you threatens to fold with every sob that wracks your body. Santiago sits next to you, frozen in uncertainty.

“Sorry,” you say, voice garbled with tears. “I—it feels like my fault. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“Look, hey. Listen,” Santi starts, “People like us, like Frankie and me…we do dangerous shit. It comes with the job description. That’s the deal we cut.”

You don’t want that. Not for Frankie, not for Santiago. Not for anyone. You love what you do—what you did, before the accident. You know there is no reward without risk, but somehow that doesn't seem quite fair. The hardship you’ve endured is a different sort of pain, but you know regardless. No one should have to live that life.

“But I can tell you that these last few months, Frankie’s been the happiest I’ve seen him since his kid was born. He’s not one for show ‘n tell, so I wasn’t sure why. But I am now.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Sweetheart, with all due respect, I don’t say anything that I don’t mean.” He averts his gaze now, staring out at nothing as he says, “Frankie’s been through a lot. Done a lot. I don’t know what he’s told you. But I do know when that man cares about something, he will do anything in his power to get back to it.”

You get tissues from the nurse’s desk, settling in. You’re in the middle of trading Catfish tales when you freeze mid-sentence. The man himself stands before you—patched up and limping, but alive. They’ve taken his clothes and given him a hideous set of toothpaste green scrubs. You practically rush him, pulling Frankie close in a bear hug. The material crinkles like paper beneath you.

Your nose brushes against his jaw, the smell of him under soap and cleaner. Frankie carefully wraps his arms around you in turn. The action warms your skin, bringing you in from the cold.

“You’re okay,” you whisper.

“I’m okay,” he confirms. Frankie pulls back from the hug to look at you. “You saved me.”

“I don’t think—”

“You did. Thank you.”

“Always.” The word falls from your mouth like second nature.

Frankie must spot Santiago over your shoulder, giving him a nod before he pulls you in for another, briefer hug. Then he moves to Santi. You watch as they pat each other on the back like brothers. The shorter man paws at Frankie’s shoulders to get a firm grasp. They share a deep, concentrated stare; their communication is all in the eyes. Maybe that’s where Frankie gets it from. Regardless, you can’t decipher it. Whatever the two men share stays between them. Frankie embraces Santiago, lifting him an inch off the floor for effect.

“Alright,” Santi huffs. “Put me down, Fish.”

“I see you two have already met,” Frankie says as he steps away.

“Quite the lady you got here.”

“He was telling me some stories about your first deployment together,” you say.

“You got here right in time,” Santi says. “Was just about to tell her about how you got that call sign.”

“I think that’s enough storytelling for tonight,” Frankie says resolutely.

You narrow your eyes at him with a laugh. “You can’t escape me, Catfish. I’ll find out sooner or later.”

They let you take Frankie to your car in a wheelchair. Santiago makes Frankie promise to call him before he walks it back to the hospital doors. Frankie’s seat sits at an incline, letting him lay down while he stays buckled in. He looks exhausted, thoroughly worn down and ready for days of bed rest.

“We’re headed home, okay?” you say, readjusting the seat cushion beneath you at a red light. “You’re gonna sleep, and then when you wake up we can order food. That sound alright?”

Your fingers tap against the center console, a tick you’ve picked up from Frankie’s own car habits. You stop when he takes your hand into his own, squeezing gently. He looks up at you with round eyes, dark circles beneath them. He’s okay.

“I’m already there,” Frankie says.

-

You hate hospitals. The smell of antiseptic can never truly hide the stench of death. Your dad died in one; the possibility of living life as you loved it was robbed from you in a room just like this. And yet here you are putting your faith in this hospital, the doctors that work within its walls, and the spirit of hope that lingers here. Or maybe that's just Frankie.

They've got you in a gown, laid out and waiting. Soon enough, the anesthesiologist will come in with another doctor and stick you with a needle. You'll count back from ten...and light outs. It won't be up to you anymore.

Until then, Frankie's by your side. Holding your hand, kissing your forehead. Talking to you about nothing, really, but you like to hear his voice. He stops you short when he asks, "Where do you want to go first?"

"What?"

"When everything is, y’know, said and done. If you could go anywhere?" he explains.

"Home. In a wheelchair. I won't be doing much of anything," you say.

"Come on, just—anywhere."

You laugh. "Frankie, there's nowhere to go. What, are you gonna wheel me across Europe?"

"If you want," he says.

"You are ridiculous."

"And you still love me for it. Where?” Frankie insists. He's not letting this go.

You sigh as you answer, "I don't know. I kind of liked that story you told about Michigan. With the snow."

"The one where I almost froze to death?"

"Yeah, that one. Except maybe we skip out on that part this time," you say.

"There are more glamourous destinations,” Frankie says.

"You said anywhere. That's where I want."

"The great state of Michigan.” He leans back in the plush seat beneath him. “Okay. I think I can make that happen." His phone chimes. Frankie pulls it from his pocket to take a look. "Mia's on her way."

"What? Why?"

"I called her," he admits.

"She won't be here in time, and then I'll be in surgery for a while," you say. Five hours. Three hundred minutes, give or take, to make or break your life. "I won't be discharged for a few days."

"I'll be here. We both will," Frankie says.

"You don't have to—"

"I'll be here," he repeats, firmer this time. The look in his eyes is fierce; halfway between love and a safety net, your own face reflecting back at you.

Part of you, jagged and lingering, wants to call his bluff—expect the worst and you aren't disappointed when it happens. But no, Frankie looks serious. His face is stone, jaw set tight as he holds your gaze. You have no choice but to trust him. Forever and always.

So you nod, squeezing his hand. "Okay."

tags! @wannab-urs @iamskyereads @anoverwhelmingdin

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia #pedrostories #fic: the world tipped on its side #pedro pascal fanfiction

[dragonwritersblog]

Royally Screwed!

Read on AO3

1/2/3/4/5

Wow that was some hiatus. But we're officially back! And hopefully we'll start to update more frequently as well, but I can't be too sure because of college and (if you've been following me on twitter and tiktok) I'm also voicing Jane Doe in 'Birds Of Paradise' by Rosetta Sun on tiktok. I really recommend going to her kofi as the rest of the cast and I are doing commisions to voice your oc's! We all have a large range of voices so if you want go to the link of Rosetta's tiktok bio and go to her kofi and see which voice would best suit your oc! Besides from that, hopefully I'll be writing more too, especially with a certain sequel everyone has been waiting for 👀.

Also, the beginning of the chapter does go into detail about Pomni's past and how she was treated by Caine, it wasn't great to say the least. I don't want anyone to feel triggered to like always, I will label (1) when the flashback starts and (2) when it ends. If this is something that you're not comfortable reading, please always feel free to skip this fic.

Anyways, enjoy!

4. Anything, Anything, Anything

(1)

Pomni panted as she stared at the ground below, clutching onto her aerial silk. She didn’t know how long she had been practicing for, only that she was completely exhausted. But rehearsals weren’t over yet, she had to keep going. The ground looked so far down below her, sure she was up high but for some reason the height was giving her vertigo. She never gets vertigo.

“Pomni?” Kaufmo called up to her, placing down a pie he had for his act. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Pomni took a breath, “I’m fine Pa! Just lost my focus, that’s all.”

The clown didn’t seem to buy it, “I don’t think so kiddo, start climbing down slowly, you look exhausted.”

It was true. Her eyes were red with bags underneath, she seemed paler than normal and she was concerningly thin from what Kaufmo could see. But she didn’t want to worry him, not when there were worse things at play, “I’m fine Pa! I promise. I…”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, her vision blurring and her head pounding with the force of an unexpected headache. Against her control, she slipped into unconscious, letting go of the silks.

“POMNI!” Kaufmo screamed, running to where she was falling. The rest of the cast gasped, halting their own practice as they raced to the collapsing jester.

She was lucky that her father was there in time, catching her in his arms before her body hit the floor. Kaufmo didn’t even want to imagine the type of damage she could have taken. “Ragatha,” he turned to the ragdoll, “Go get her some water, she’s skipping practice for the rest of the day.”

“Now, now Kaufmo,” a low voice drawled, making everyone’s skin crawl when the ringmaster floated into the tent. His eyes sharpened in on Kaufmo and the fainted jester in his arms, “I don’t believe you have the authority to make those commands.”

“Pomni fainted Caine,” Kaufmo hissed, his own tone cold and unafraid, “It takes the slightest bit of human empathy to recognise that she’s being overworked!”

Caine went still, his feet planted on the ground, unhappy with Kaufmo’s attitude. Ragatha’s lions immediately circled round the clown and jester, shielding them from the ringmaster’s unknown wrath, “She’ll be fine, she just needs to keep practising.”

“She needs rest.” Kaufmo spat, “The only reason why she fainted the way she did is because you keep working her to the bone to the point that she can’t even stand. Not to mention the fact that you’re sucking the literal life out of her every day just so you can fulfil your ‘precious’ ego! So excuse me if I find everything that comes out of your mouth to be complete horseshit!”

The clown panted, not tearing his eyes away from Caine even for a second. The next few seconds were nothing but aching silence.

Kaufmo had been used to Caine’s torment for years. The pair of dentures forced him to endure each performance no matter how much pain he was in. As long as the audience was satisfied, he couldn’t care less if the clown had a few broken bones. But Kaufmo would be damned if he was going to let the ringmaster inflict that same pain onto his daughter, not if he could help it.

The clown turned his attention away from Caine when he heard a small whine, turning to look down at Pomni fluttering her eyes open. “Pa?” she whimpered, “What happened?”

“Hey there kiddo,” he rocked her lightly, like he used to do when she was younger after she had a fright or a nightmare. “You fainted, you’re lucky I was there to catch you.” He put a hand to her forehead, wiping away a bead of sweat, “You’re burning up, come on you need to lay down.”

“I didn’t give out that order,” Caine intervened.

“And I don’t care!” Kaufmo snapped, “You’re not pushing her to the brink today Caine! Do what you want with me but leave Pomni out of this!”

“Here,” Ragatha rushed back, a cup of water nursed in her hands as she held it to Pomni’s lips. “Oh sweetheart, you look as pale as a ghost.”

Pomni gulped down as much of the liquid as she could, she didn’t realise how thirsty she was until the water hit her throat. Her head buzzed with a light ache, pressing her hand to it when she finished the water. She really had been overworked, hadn’t she?

“Easy there, kiddo,” Kaufmo raised her upper body into a sitting position, “Let’s get you back to your quarters.”

Caine cleared his throat condescendingly, “I believe I told you that I didn’t give out that order Kaufmo.”

“And I believe I told you that it was complete horseshit,” the clown retorted, not taking his eyes off Pomni as he helped her to her feet.

“I guess you need a gentle reminder,” the ringmaster spoke softly, contradicting his words with the next action he was about to do.

He flicked his hand, a red mist contrasting Pomni’s usual blue appearing. It extended like a chain, wrapping round Kaufmo’s neck and pulling the clown towards him, forcing him to drop Pomni as she landed back onto the ground with a thud. “Pa!” she cried out, the others surrounding her.

“Let me make this perfectly clear Kaufmo,” Caine hissed, the chain tightening around the clown’s neck, suffocating him. “You are under my rules, you obey me. If I say jump, you jump. If you are tied to the back of a carriage while being dragged around on a rope, you will do just that. If you had to bleed out for an act with no one to assist you, you will continue with a smile and be damn pleased about it.”

Kaufmo coughed and spluttered, pulling at the misty chain to get the smallest breath of air, but Caine was too strong.

“Caine, stop! Stop please!” Pomni screamed, the others holding her back, “Let my Pa go!”

His eyes darted to the jester, his gaze making her feel tiny. He threw Kaufmo at a box of crates, the clown grunting at the painful impact. Pomni let out a cry, her hand reaching out to him.

Caine flicked his fingers again, lifting up the others and leaving Pomni on the ground to watch in terror. “You did this, you know,” Caine tsked.

Pomni’s eyes widened with terror, “W-what?”

“They all suffer because of your incompetence,” he growled, “You’re lucky you have a bit of talent and that little magic of yours, otherwise you would be a nothing-filled waste.”

“Caine, let them go, please,” Pomni begged, her lip quivering.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a chuckle before throwing each member in different directions of the tent. Sun hit his head against a pole, Ragatha tore one of her stitches as she landed on her knives and Gangle ribbons were tied up in knots when she landed face first on the ground, putting a crack in her mask.

Pomni covered her mouth, trying to stand yet her legs give way once again. She was too weak.

“Caine, what is the meaning of this?” Moon’s startled voice echoed throughout the tent, gasping when she saw everyone scattered around and furrowed her brows when she saw Pomni’s dishevelled form on the ground. “You have to put a stop to your madness, look at what you’re doing to everyone! Look at what you’re doing to that poor girl!”

“This is merely discipline, Moon, I’m doing whatever it takes to make sure a circus is successful,” Caine muttered, barely paying her any mind.

Moon could even barely recognise the man in front of her, “What happened to you Caine?”

He turned to her slowly, “Come again?”

“What happened to the man I fell in love with?” she continued, “What happened to the promises you made to make this circus amazing? What happened to trying no matter what? What happened to the man I fell in love with?”

Caine scoffed, “I did what I had to do in order to make these dreams happen. You could never understand sacrifice Moon, you believe what you want to believe but this is the way things are.”

Moon’s eyes darkened, she started stomping towards him, “You…you vile, disgusting, monstrous-!”

He snapped his fingers, an axe appearing in his hand as he held it to her chin, daring her to come closer. “Just because I’m soft on you Moon, it doesn’t mean that I won’t take precautions for you stepping out of line,” he glared at her.

But Moon was unflinching, staring him down with the same coldness he gave her, “Do your worst.”

Caine hummed, giving her a shrug, “Fine.”

He waved his hand again, sending the axe into her shoulder. An agonised screech echoed throughout the tent as a group of his masked men rushing in and pulling her away. “You’re lucky dear, this is me sparing you,” Caine sneered, “But make no mistake, I will be dealing with you accordingly.”

Moon screeched as she was dragged away, her eyes looking on with worry at the frightened Jester. “Run Pomni!” she screamed, “Run!”

She wanted to, Pomni really wanted to. But fear had paralysed her when Caine set his eyes on her again. Tears leaked from her eyes, feeling like the five-year-old girl he grabbed from the street the moment he caught of whiff of her power. “Caine, don’t do this,” she sniffed, “I’ll be better, I’ll practice more, I’ll stop singing just please don’t do this.”

“You know, I never did understand your silly little songs,” he mumbled, “You waste so much time on them yet you know the real reason the audience comes to see you, and it isn’t to hear those tacky lyrics of yours. You know exactly what you’re good for.”

That part stung. Yes she knew that her skills as a trapeze artist and her abilities was what got tickets to sell, but her songs were her passion. Her songs were her, something that Caine hadn’t been able to take away yet. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that her songs were everything! But she was still too frail, and she was certain that it was only going to get worse.

“Caine please, I’m still recovering from last time and we have another show tonight!” she back away, kicking her legs as she crawled backwards on the ground. “Please don’t do this it…it hurts.”

“All good sacrifices come with pain Pomni,” Caine told her, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the amulet. “You should be thanking me for using this gift, I’m the one who’s actually putting it to good use.”

He held the amulet in front of him, Pomni’s eyes pleading for mercy. “Now my little possession,” he grinned, “It’s time for me to receive my gift.”

The amulet glowed, a loud whine leaving its source.

Pomni could feel her blood boiling, her head pounding and every part of her body shattering with pain when she felt her energy being ripped away from her. Her blue mist was forced away from her, being sealed away into the amulet as Caine looked on with greed.

It hurt, it hurt so much. Her skin was burning as though she had been lit up into a thousand flames, her hair being ripped from her scalp, and she was bleeding out of every pore of her body. She wanted it to stop, it hurts, just stop, please stop, STOP, STOP, STOP!

A pained scream ripped from her throat.

(2)

.

.

.

Pomni woke in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in her chest. Her head whipped from side to side, scanning her surroundings in a dazed panic. She wasn’t in that lifeless tent anymore with that cruel ringmaster. She was in the castle, she was safe, and she was far away from him.

She let out a sniffle, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them tight as she buried her face into them. A few stray tears leaked onto the sheets, her sobs muffled against the blanket. That was the worst thing about her nightmares, they weren’t just that but memories too. It was real and it had happened. All they did was make her relive it over and over again.

Kaufmo told her many times that it wasn’t her fault for what Caine did, that his actions were his own doing. But seeing the repeated moments of her family being hurt over and over again just to protect her only made her guilt increase. Maybe Caine was right. Maybe it was her fault.

She took a deep breath, sitting upright and wiping the wetness off her cheeks. That was the past, there was no need to be self-pitiful about it now. She shouldn’t waste time fussing over stupid memories that only brought everyone else down the longer she thought about them. She just needed to get up and go throughout the day, push everything back until she’s able to manage it on her own.

Pomni swung her legs over her bed, going over to clean herself in the sink inside the connected bathroom, before moving behind the screen the maids gave her to change into a new dress she was given. She first pulled over a simple cream shift over her head, the silky fabric gliding over her skin. Next was a simple blue stays and puffy skirt, with two red hearts on each side of the skirt and ribbon of the same colour in a criss-cross pattern in the middle of her stays, with the bottom of the skirt being layered with red and white trim.

She did a onceover in the mirror as she pulled the strings off the stays shut, giving herself a quick nod before finally exiting her room.

Part of her wanted to bury back under the soft sheets of her bed, to hide whatever the day had to await her, her nightmare clawing at the back of her mind. But the moment she saw Prince Jax outside her door waiting for her, all doubts instantly vanished as a true and natural smile tugged at her lips.

“A good morning to you Prince Jax,” she greeted, giggling as Motley immediately jumped into her arms and climbed onto her shoulder, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Only your smile little lady,” he grinned, eating up the little blush that dusted across her cheeks. “But that’s not the only reason I’m here. My parents asked me to collect you, they have an announcement for you and the rest of your family in the throne room.”

His brows were furrowed and face serious, this had to be a serious matter.

“Oh, lead the way then,” she said, anxiety started to grip at her again.

Jax sensed her apprehension, scooping her arm up and linking it with his, “Don’t worry, no matter what it is we’ll be able to figure it out. Promise.”

How does he do that? How does someone with the type of reputation that made her want to keep the farthest distance away from him as possible, say the simplest yet heartwarming things that might her heart spark? And how did he say it so honestly that she had to believe him? She cleared her throat, giving him a little smirk, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Princey.”

His eyes were unchanging, still soft as he placed his other hand over her and rubbed his thumb over her fingers, “I don’t. You’re too important to risk.”

Pomni felt her heart skip a beat. If it weren’t for Motley purring against her ear, she wouldn’t have anything to ground herself from floating up to cloud nine. Her grip on his hand tightened, whispering, “Good.”

With a gentle smile and a steady hand, he led her out of the hallway and made their way to the throne room. Neither of them felt the need to run down the halls like they usually did, that experience would be for another type of day. For this day, the slow steady pace down the long halls of the palace was what the two of them needed. The comfortable silence of each other’s company was enough for both of them, not a single word had to be spoken. Was this what it would be like for Pomni if she were to stay? Just peace? No worries about what or who could come after her? That she could be free to express herself in any form she wished for, song, dance, art, speech? Where her powers would be hers and hers alone without the fear of them being used for someone else’s selfish exploitations? And where she could finally allow herself to open up to the idea of love? To spend her days with someone who would listen to anything and everything she had to say. To feel safe in the loving embrace of another. And she and Jax could live their days in nothing but peaceful bliss…

…Oh…OH!...oh…

Electricity struck through Pomni as the realisation dawned on her.

She had fallen in love with the prince.

Jax looked down at the jester once he felt her grip loosen on his, concern curling through him when he saw the worried look on her face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, capturing her attention as she blinked up at him. “I know that this whole ‘being called to the throne room’ thing seems pretty daunting, but trust me, there’s nothing to be afraid of. My parents always have a plan, so no matter what happens, I’m sure it’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she nodded, giving him a soft smile before they continued walking. How she wished that were the reason why she suddenly felt so down. But no. She loved Jax, she had fallen so hard for him. But she didn’t have the luxury to stay with him. Someone like her couldn’t afford to love.

Bury it down, she inhaled deeply, don’t ruin this, not like everything else.

She wanted to enjoy this as much as she could before anything else could happen.

The throne room already had a small audience, consisting of the rest of the circus while Kinger and Queenie sat ahead of them on their thrones. The king and queen shared a nervous yet hopeful look, two emotions that could go either way depending on what the topic of conversation that were about to have. It only made the prince and jester all the more nervous.

“Thank you for joining us Pomni, I’m glad that our son is being a good host to you,” Queenie greeted, bowing her head to the girl.

“Well, he has become a very good friend to me over the past few days,” Pomni gave the prince a smile before focusing back on the queen, “If you don’t mind me asking your majesty, but why have you summoned us all here?”

“Hey, it’s okay kiddo,” Kaufmo walked up to her. Pomni detached her arm from Jax’s to put her hands in her father’s, the rabbit already missing the warmth of her touch. “They’ve already informed us that there is nothing to worry about.”

Pomni exhaled shakily, nodding. Though her nerves would get the best of her at times, Kaufmo’s voice was always something that kept her slightly grounded ever since she was a child. Even Motley’s purring added to that as well. With a final breath, she turned to the king and queen, ready to hear whatever they had to say.

Kinger cleared his throat, rising from his throne, “As you know, we’ve had our guards roam outside of our kingdom to make sure that Caine or his men haven’t been planning another invasion. Well, we’ve just had a report back and they’ve told us that the outer realm has been clear of them since the last attack.”

“We’ve told them to do one last surveillance before their final report, just to make sure that Caine isn’t lurking,” Queenie continued, “However, since there’s not been any sightings, we believe that it is safe for you to continue with your travels.”

 “So, how long do you determine that we stay in the castle?” Ragatha asked, “During the last surveillance.”

“Unless anything else comes back, I’d say you should stay at least one more week before you believe that you should go,” Queenie confirmed.

Several of the cast members let out a sigh of relief, the anxiety of Caine’s lurking washing away at the thought of being free to travel again. Though a bittersweetness hung in the air. The kingdom had been nothing but supportive and accommodating to them in their time of need. What was supposed to be a short time here to entertain the subjects here had turned into the kindest experience any of them had ever received in their entire lives.

For Pomni? While the thought of seeing new places (and being as far away from Caine as possible) thrilled her to her core. For the first time in her life, she actually wanted to stay. Don’t get her wrong, she still had her dreams of travelling the realms, to let audiences hear her songs - not watch her acts or witness her powers, but to listen to her songs. To listen to her singing. To listen to her.

But if she closed her eyes for a moment, only a moment, she wanted to let herself pretend. Pretend that she had a place here, to wake up in the morning and plan to do whatever she pleased, to go out into town and greet the other people of the kingdom as though she were one of them too. To sing in the town centre for whoever wanted to stop and hear her.

And perhaps, in the far back of her mind, she would go up to the castle and be greeted by a pair of yellow eyes and a Cheshire grin. Where he would take her hands into his and ask about her day, stroll in the gardens with her as he listened to whatever plans she wanted to venture. To listen to the songs that she only reserved for him and him alone. And until the midnight sky, watching the stars twinkle amongst the inky blanket of the nightly heavens, he would hold her in his arms, a silent promise that he would always love her. No matter what.

But now, she realised that there was no way to have that fantasy be real. Yes, Caine wasn’t spotted by any of the guards, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still out there. Still waiting for the chance to strike and get his hands on her and her powers. As long as Caine was after her, she could never have the life she dreamed of living.

Jax looked over the side of his shoulder, worry striking him when he saw Pomni’s crestfallen expression and the glazed look in her eyes. While he was sad that she was leaving (and deep down prayed that she could stay), a part of him believed that there would be some joy in the fact that she could finally be free to leave. He knew that something was wrong, “Pomni, what’s wrong?”

Pomni wanted to cry right there and then at how kind his words sounded, at how far the prince had come from the stereotype she expected from him. Why couldn’t she just keep hating him, why did he charm and endear her so much that she had to fall in love with him! It could have made everything so much easier. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted to stay, tell him all of the potential plans she could have had here, and how much she wanted him to be part of them. But the words kept getting stuck in her throat, as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her neck, silencing her from making any word that would ruin Jax too.

“However,” Kinger’s voice rang through the room. “There is one last thing we would like to do before you all take your leave.”

Pomni didn’t know whether to feel eased or frustrated at the sudden interruption.

“We would like to host a ball in your honour near the end of the week,” Queenie announced, “To thank you for all that you have done here.”

“For what we’ve done?” Ragatha titled her head in confusion, “Your majesty, you and your family are the ones who took care of us in our time of need?

Queenie eyes softened, a glimmer of a smile flickering in her gaze. A kind look that Jax knew all too well from his mother. “Yes, you and your family may have been under our care,” Queenie confirmed, “But it does not take away from the fact that you have all been an incredible presence in our kingdom. You have brought smiles to everyone, not just from your performances, but by simply being your best true selves for everyone to see. Even if you didn’t bring your tricks or talents, the moment you stepped out into town you all saw the world as authentic and beautiful, that’s what brought our subjects to you. That mind view is an incredible ability to possess, you’re lucky. Many people lack it. That’s why we want to celebrate you, for all of you cherishing the kindness that our kingdom was built upon. Doing that is the greatest thing our foreigners and travellers can do, that is why the entire kingdom is invited, so they can say one more final thank you and goodbye for all that you have done for us.”

Each member looked to one another, like a sparkler had been lit within their souls as they grinned at the prospect of a ball. Neither one of them had been to one before, mostly they would stay as long as they would need to in the town they were performing in, do the performance they rehearsed day and night to do before finally leaving up the time their shows were finished. They had only heard what happened at balls through whispers of stories from the other common folk. And now they could finally be a part of one.

Excited murmurs broke out between them, wondering what they could wear, where they could get their garments, what colours they should choose, what type of jewellery they would wear if they decided to wear them at all. There was just so many choices in so little time! It was all so amazing!

Pomni felt herself smiling. A ball. Like everyone else, she had never been to one. But Kaufmo’s fairytales left so many fantasies in her mind. When she was a teenager - after a rough night of performing and dealing with Caine’s wrath - she would dream about being at a ball, wearing the loveliest gown while dancing under the stars. Sometimes those dreams would include a handsome prince or princess sweeping her off her feet, taking her far away from all that hurt her.

She looked to Jax. She may be leaving after the end of the week, but it was still one night to have all her dreams come true. Even if it would only last for so long. “So,” she lightly nudged Jax’s shoulder, “I’m guessing you already have a plus one to bring to the ball. A princess no doubt.”

“Well I am planning on asking someone,” Jax confirmed. Pomni felt her face fall a bit, a little piece of her was hoping he would ask her. Huh, she never expected that thought to enter her mind. “She might not be a princess, but she has the spirit of one for sure.”

“Oh,” Pomni fiddled with her ring finger, “Well, she’s lucky if you’re the one who’s wanting to ask her.”

“I’m the lucky one if she says yes little lady,” he grinned, “Or rather, if you say yes.”

Pomni’s head snapped up.

“You really think I wouldn’t be asking you?” Jax chuckled, “Did you not see what I was like when I met you? Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought before I heroically saved you.”

“Shut up,” she shoved his lightly in the chest, unable to stop her own laughter from joining his. “I’ve never been to a ball hosted by royalty, I thought since you’re the prince that it was required for you to ask a princess or a noble to join you.”

“Maybe in other kingdoms,” he nodded, “But here, you’re the only lady I want by my side that night.” His breath wavered as his face went serious. His hands slightly shaky as he prepared himself for his next question. Years of his ego being his defining personality trait, to be able to get away with the most rioting pranks and wild parties, it all melted away when asking the girl of his dreams to a simple ball.

And this was the same prince who revelled in the promise of danger.

“Pomni,” he began, taking her hand still on his chest into his own, lacing their fingers together. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the ball?”

She squeezed his hand, her stomach doing an excited little flip as she answered, “I’d love to.” The jester heard a disgruntled cough coming from behind her, and by Jax’s pale expression, she could tell who it was. She turned, coming face to face with Kaufmo, Ragatha and Moon, each of them wearing a stern look on their faces. “Pa, it’s okay. He asked and I agreed.”

“Don’t worry kiddo, I know you did. I trust you,” Kaufmo replied reassuringly to his daughter. “I just have a warning for the prince.”

Jax gulped at the three cold stares coming from the trio, if looks could kill then he was fairly sure he would be singing with the angels right about now. “Let me make this very clear,” Kaufmo began, “If Pomni is even slightly sad at the ball because of you, then I have no hesitation to let Ragatha use you as cat food for her lions.”

The ragdoll nodded, glaring at him with all her might. Moon didn’t even have to say anything, but the way she stood with Ragatha was enough to tell him that she had no problem assisting the redhead. He whipped his head to his parents, who hadn’t uttered a word during this whole ordeal.

“Don’t look at me,” Queenie put her hands up. “I’m not the one to judge a father for being protective over his daughter. Besides, he has a right to be wary of you darling.”

Jax shrugged with a nod, he couldn’t disagree there. He looked back at Pomni, her cheeks slightly flushed with a humoured smile on her lips after that whole interaction. How did she manage to look so beautiful in every way? He probably had a lovesick look on his face again, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because this was her, nothing else mattered. “Well in that case,” he picked up her hand again, revelling in the way her cheeks flushed even more, “I can’t wait to see you there, my little lady.” He pressed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, forcing himself not to laugh as he heard a silent squeal erupting from the back of her throat.

“A-and, I-I,” Pomni cleared her throat, straightening her back again and regaining the calmness she had before. “And I you, your highness.” She then enclosed his hand in both her palms, with the upmost gentleness she started running her thumb over his fingers, like he had done so with her hand earlier. All without breaking eye contact with him, she smirked when it was his turn for him to get all flustered.

She let go, giving him a small curtsy, “Now if you don’t mind, I’m fairly certain that the rest of the ladies and non-gender affirming friend are going to drag me to help them find ballgowns soon.”

Jax spluttered, trying to find the words that were in his head a few seconds ago. How on earth did this tiny powerful woman have this much of a hectic effect on him only from touching his hand?! “Y-yeah, I’m pretty sure my father will be doing that but for me,” he wasn’t able to focus on anything but the faint tingling of where her fingers had been on his hand, sending little shocks up the nerves on his arm. He flexed his hand, letting his fingers stretch to see if it would make any difference. The tingling only increased, his fur fluffing up at his neck at the reaction. He huffed fondly, worth it. “I look forward to seeing how beautiful you look.”

She raised her brow at him, rolling her eyes as he chuckled. He was always just so him wasn’t he? But it’s also why you fell in love with him, isn’t it? She sighed, yes, it was. In the amount of since she met him, he had become a far cry of what she believed him to be from the tales she heard. He had proven to be kind, noble and brave. Though still a little bit of a trickster, a good man and a good prince with a tender heart was all she could see. And soon she would have to leave all that behind.

She opened her mouth to say something, she wanted to say something, but she found herself being pulled away by Ragatha, Moon, Gangle and Zooble. Just like she had suspected, they were pulling her away to start dress shopping. “I’m afraid we’ll have to continue our conversation later!” she called out to Jax, looking over her shoulder while Motley jumped out of her arms and trotted back to the prince as she was dragged out of the ballroom.

Jax laughed at the scene in front of him, picking up the kitten and placing him on his shoulder, “I look forward to it.”

Pomni gave him one final smile, before joining in with the excited chatter with the rest of the ladies and Zooble.

However, once she was out of sight, did Jax let himself frown. The girl seemed so strangely down all morning, quieter and more reserved, less of the usual spunk than he had come to expect. Had something happened? Did he do something to offend her? Whatever it was he should at least try and make it up to her.

“You’re overthinking,” A familiar voice murmured. Jax turned to face his father walking towards him.

“I inherited it from you, old man,” the prince snickered. Kinger’s face didn’t move an inch, not willing to change the topic of conversation just yet. Jax sighed, “I’m worried about Pomni. She hasn’t really been herself much this morning. I didn’t want to pry into what it is cause its none of my business and I don’t wanna push her, she already felt pretty stressed out when she told me about her past. I don’t wanna add anymore onto that. But I can tell that something’s wrong, and I hate feeling helpless. I just want to protect her.”

Kinger hummed. He had heard this monologue many decades ago from when he was around Jax’s age. He should know, for Kinger was the one who said it too. “When I fell in love your mother, I was a wreck,” the king began. “Despite going round in circles to think of a way to win her heart, I also had other thoughts in my head as well. I worried that I could never protect her the way I wanted to, she could be sad for only a moment and I would panic that I had done something to hurt her. But when he married and grew together, I had to realise that I wasn’t a magical knight from a story book. Even with my crown I was only a man who loved his wife deeply. It hurts when we have to come to turns that we cannot protect everyone – including the ones we love – but no matter what we still try. We try because we know that it’s better for them to be in our lives than to lose them. We can do what we can and that’s all right, for what is love than the desire to guard what we care for the most?”

Clarity never hit Jax harder than it did right here in this moment. He lifted the hand that Pomni touched again, shifting his fingers where hers had been. His father was right. Even the biggest dam in all of the world would never be able to stop a crack, letting a flood release. And even if he wanted to, he knew that there were bigger forces out there who would do nothing but take Pomni for themselves. He squeezed his hand into a fist, but they would have to kill him first before ever hurting Pomni ever again. Even if he were to fall, her safety would forever and always come first for him. “Yeah,” he nodded, “It is.”

Kinger felt warmth radiate through him, it had been so long since he heard that part of his son speak so earnestly. He missed him, “Come now, it’s time we get you fitted. I’m sure you’ll want to look your best for your lady-friend at the ball.”

He snickered as he heard his son’s splutters, it was fun getting under Jax’s skin sometimes. A little petty revenge if that’s what you want to call it.

From the side, Kaufmo stood, hearing everything they had just said. For the first time, since Jax saved her, he was able to see clearly about what Pomni saw in the prince.

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.

Pomni was panicking. Which wasn’t a complete shock. Tomorrow was the ball and she had spent the entire week helping everyone else pick out their gowns expect for herself. The ladies had insisted on finding what colour would flatter her the most, but she had turned away in favour of finding something for them, insisting that she would find a garment for herself soon. And yet, here she was. Gown-less and nearing a mental breakdown.

She groaned, honestly she blamed herself. She had been so caught up in the nightmares that she had and the future aftermath of the ball. Caine would always be breathing down her neck, something she would never be able to shake away even after they escaped from him the first time, and soon she would be returning to that fear. When she met Jax, somehow his foolishness and change in behaviour had been able to forget about her worries for a while, despite their first meeting. He only had to say one word and the rest of the world didn’t matter, it was just bliss. Soon, she wouldn’t have that anymore. She’d soon return to surviving for herself and her family, looking over her shoulder constantly to make sure a pair of blue and green eyes wouldn’t be staring back at her.

She just wanted to be selfish, just once and stay here. Stay with Jax, stay in the kingdom, stay in the life that she oh so wanted to have. But the thought of Caine harming Jax because of his obsession with her powers was a risk that she never wanted to take…after all, it was the same risk that her village was raided and burned to the ground.

How dare you think of that, how dare you even think about staying. You could lose everything just because of your entitlement you stupid girl! Pomni felt tears well up in her eyes, You’re selfish! Selfish! Selfish! Selfish! Selfish-

A knock at her door broke her away from her panic, wiping away her tears and smoothing down the fabric of her skirt. “Just coming!” she hoped her voice didn’t give away the fact that she had been crying.

She had expected either Ragatha or Kaufmo to show up at her door, so it was quite the shock when it was Queenie who had appeared, holding a large yet flat box under her arm. “Apologies, I don’t mean to intrude Pomni but I…Oh darling, what happened?” the queen asked, her brows furrowing with worry.

Pomni wanted to rub at her eyes again, to hide any evidence of her tears. But the queen had already put the box down and took the jester’s hands into hers, leaving Pomni unable to hide. “It’s nothing, your majesty,” Pomni brushed off her worries, “Please, don’t mind me, I’ll be okay.”

“Oh honey,” The queen wrapped her arms around the girl, “This is a safe place, your tears aren’t nothing. Whatever it is you’re feeling, don’t ever be afraid to say it.” 

Pomni typically wasn’t one for physical touch, usually it was reserved for those she was close with like Kaufmo or Ragatha – and now it included Jax. But this was different. Queenie’s warmth reminded her of a familiar touch that she had not received in a long time. A touch of a mother reassuring her child that everything was going to be okay. And though Pomni couldn’t remember her face, that small yet significant warmth from her mother stayed with the girl throughout her life. And now, she was receiving the same touch from Queenie, another mother who fiercely loved her son.

Pomni clutched onto the queen, her small body shaking with silent sobs. Queenie was patient and gentle the whole time, rubbing her hand up and down the jester’s back, shushing in her ear like how she did with Jax when he was young whenever he got scared or bruised his knee. She had only heard snippets from Jax about what the girl’s childhood what like, he didn’t tell her everything, after all, only Pomni could be the one to detail her past to another. But what she heard was enough for her to know that this poor girl had went through hell and back. She wasn’t surprised to see Jax so protective over her after their day at the village festival, whatever Pomni had told him there was enough for him to guard her with everything he had.

Once the girl was quiet, she pulled away, leaning into the queen’s touch when the latter lifted her hands to Pomni’s face and brushed her tears away. “Are you okay to tell me what wrong my dear?” Queenie asked, as kindly and patiently as she could.

Now Pomni understood how Jax was able to show kindness the way he did. “Is it…is it wrong for me wanting to stay?” Pomni spoke softly, as though a single wrong word would make everything crumble. “I love my family, and I’m so grateful for the hospitality that you’ve given us and I can’t wait to get back on the road again, but...I never had a real home in so long. That isn’t to mean Kaufmo and the others aren’t! They have always been my home. I’m just…I’m so tired of running. I’m tired of not being able to live a normal life and pursue my dreams because of the threat of one man. Your kingdom, that has been a home for me after so long. For the first time in my life I didn’t have to run, I could be safe in the knowledge that I was protected…and Jax. Your son has to be one of the sweetest people I have ever met, despite his reputation. But the thought of leaving here? It already makes me feel homesick thinking about it…I-I’m sorry your majesty I didn’t mean to overload you with all of that!”

Queenie had not spoken a word, letting Pomni take the time she needed in order to let out everything that was tying her down to the ground, like releasing her from being chained to a boulder. Pomni had more pages than the heaviest book in the world, each piece unfolding a new layer of her that made the queen’s heart ache for the girl. “My darling, I am queen of a kingdom where people need to unload on me,” Queenie told her. “It is my job to help those who cannot help themselves. Do not apologise for letting yourself feel. You might not be my subject, but that does not mean I will not take your problems seriously.”

Was this what having a mother was like? She wouldn’t trade Kaufmo for the world, but that never stopped the lingering curiosity of what her own mother would have been like. All she had left of her mother were blurry images in her mind, the powers she shared with her, and her love of music. If her mother was still here would she offer her the same comfort and security that Queenie did for her in only a few short moments? It was times like this, times her soul twinged with sorrow and doubt when she wished that her life was different. That it could be of her own making. She would be in her village, under the care and singing day and night with her mother, only traveling when she wanted to find new places to play her songs, meet the other members of the circus under different circumstances, and fall in love with Jax without having to worry about leaving him.

Why did life choose her to be so cruel to?

“Thank you, your majesty,” Pomni bowed her head in appreciation, “I’m sorry again for such a heavy topic.”

“You must learn to stop saying sorry, dear,” there was a joking tone in Queenie’s voice as she wagged her finger at Pomni, “Otherwise I’ll have to make a rule to ban you from saying it.”

Pomni laughed at that, tears of mirth pricking in the corners of her eyes instead.

Queenie’s eyes smiled, softening as her hands encased the jester’s again, “Not every bad thing that happens is your fault. Please hold onto that information for when you travel again…Pomni, it’s not my place but if you were to stay, we would be more than happy to protect you from Caine.”

Pomni’s face fell, “That’s the thing your majesty. Caine always comes up with new plans, if I stayed he wouldn’t stop terrorizing this kingdom until he gets what he wants, No one is powerful enough to stop him.”

“He managed to get arrested once,” Queenie pointed out, “He can be again.”

“He also managed to escape,” Pomni said, her face saddening once again. “You’d think someone with powers like mine that I could be able to do something. But even now, he still has a hand around my neck. I could be the strongest person alive yet I’d still be too scared to face him. You have…you have no idea what he put us through.” Her heart squeezed, she felt so damn pathetic.

“I don’t know what he’s done, but I do know that you didn’t deserve it,” Queenie told her. “Never feel ashamed for feeling afraid because of what that monster did to you. Do what makes you feel safest my darling, and if you ever want to come back our castle doors are always open.”

Pomni sniffed, a smile brightening her face once again, “Jax is lucky to have you.”

“And he’s lucky to have you too,” the queen teased, humming laughter as the jester started gasping and stuttering. “Now, speaking of Jax. I understand that he asked you to be his plus one for the ball. I hope it’s not inappropriate but I do have something that you could wear. If you don’t already.”

“I-I don’t,” Pomni’s jaw fell a little in surprise at the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to do that your majesty, not for me.”

“Nonsense,” Queenie shook her head, picking up the box from the ground and bringing it over to Pomni’s bed. “Every girl deserves to have something nice for themselves. Besides, I was hoping you would wear this.”

Pomni bit her lip, the queen had a pleading look in her eyes. Whatever was in that box, it was enough to convince the jester that whatever was in it held significant importance to the royal. “Okay, um, I’d like to look at it,” Pomni answered, fidgeting with her hands for a moment.

The queen lit up, like a sun shining in the jester’s direction as the chess piece’s fingers went lift up the lid of the box. As soon as it was removed, Pomni’s breath hitched at the contents on the inside. What laid in the box was nothing short of the twilight sky stitched and sewn together into a ballgown. It was too much, “Your majesty, I can’t have this! Someone like me shouldn’t wear this!”

“Someone like you is perfect for this gown,” Queenie stated. “It was a gift to me in my younger years, from a good friend of mine in another kingdom. She wanted me to wear this, saying that it would be worn when I was with my true love. I never had a chance to wear it, after all Kinger was already courting me and I didn’t feel good enough to wear it. Ironic, I know. However, something tells me that this dress wasn’t meant for me.” She looked away from the gown to face Pomni again. “But perhaps it was for you.”

“I…” Pomni was speechless, truly. The gown that laid in the box looked as though it was worth all the gems in the realm, if she were to wear that, she would literally be wearing that costed millions. Yet the queen believed that it was perfect for her. She had said it so earnestly that Pomni couldn’t find it in herself to turn it away. “Thank you, your majesty,” Pomni bowed, “I promise to take care of it during the ball.”

“As long as you’re having fun as yourself, then that’s all I care about,” the queen told her. “Now, let me help you get ready. I have an idea on what makeup would go well with that gown.”

Pomni giggled as the queen rushing over to her vanity at the other end of the room. Pomni ran her fingers over the gown’s fabric, perhaps she was worth more than what she believed.

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Jax pulled at the collar of his shirt. His suit was nowhere near uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop the anxiety coursing through his veins. The suit in question was consisted of a long navy-blue waistcoat, with ruby embroidery along the lapels and cuffs with matching trousers with the same crimson detailed design. Underneath the button coat was a white blouse with a ruffled collar and a pendant on top, with the final addition of his outfit being a red rose tucked into his breast pocket.

Why was he so nervous you ask? It was all because of Pomni. She had yet to arrive, and though the ball hadn’t started yet, both guests and the circus group had already flooded the ballroom. He hadn’t seen any of the nobles yet, well, the nobles that he normally couldn’t stand. When asking his parents about the matter, they had merely shrugged with a mischievous glint in their eyes, yet it told Jax exactly what they did. And they’re still surprised by the fact that I turned out to be a trickster he grinned to himself.

His hands were shaking. What if something happened to her while she was getting ready? What is she hurt herself and wasn’t able to attend? What if Caine somehow managed to get into the castle and swiped her away?! Oh god he had to go get her-!

“Relax prince boy,” a hand grabbed him by the back of his coat, dragging him back before he could run off. He scowled, turning to see who did that, when he came face to face with Gangle and Zooble. The girl he had rudely pushed upon their first meeting, and her justifiably angry partner. “Pomni’s fine, Gangle went to check up on her a while ago.”

“How did you know I was thinking about Pomni?” he questioned, raising a brow.

“Gee, it’s not like you’ve been spending every waking moment glued to her side ever since she came here,” Zooble replied sarcastically, rolling their eyes at the rabbit’s question.

“Zooble,” Gangle hissed, “Be nice, please.” The body of ribbons looked back at him, not as upset as he thought she would be after their interaction when they met. She was wearing a sleeveless gown the same colour as her ribbons, with a full skirt and rubies sewn atop of it. Zooble was wearing a suit of the same colour, no doubt wanting to match his sweet girlfriend. “Pomni will be here soon, your mother kinda overwhelmed her while getting ready.”

The prince sighed. “Of course she did,” he shook his head fondly at Queenie’s direction, the woman was laughing with her husband at whatever joke he had come up with. He looked back to Gangle, who was looking up at Zooble with nothing but love in her eyes, the other doing the same. He hadn’t apologised to her for what he did, yet she still talked to him as though he had only brushed her shoulder on that day. He wouldn’t blame her if she were to be as upset as their hot-headed partner, yet she didn’t. That only made the guilt sting all the more.

She deserved an apology. “Listen, uh, Gangle right?” he asked, making the ribboned lady look up at him with worried eyes. She probably thought that he was going to be mean to her again, it only rubbed more salt into the wound. Jax was sure Zooble was going to kill him right there and then with the way she was glaring at him. He gulped, “Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how I treated you when we met. It was ignorant and entitled of me to do that to you and how I treated Pomni as well. I genuinely care for your friend and I’m extremely ashamed of how poorly I was to you. I deeply apologize.”

There was shift in the way Gangle looked at him, she didn’t look as worried as she was before, her posture was straighter as she gazed at him with intent in her mind. “Thank you for your apology your highness,” she replied, “Though I’m still not happy with you pushing me, I’m glad you’re able to realise the error of your ways.”

“Of course,” he nodded, “And please, call me Jax. If I’m going to make a fresh start, I would like if you could call me by my name.”

Gangle smiled, a new determination flickering when she saw this new side of the prince, “Very well, thank you Jax.”

“I’m still onto you,” Zooble growled. “But…I’m glad you’re not a total dickhead…you’re still pretty dumb though.”

“Zooble!” Gangle hissed.

A snort escaped from Jax, surprising the couple when a loud belly laugh boomed throughout the ballroom. The laugh lacked any type of maliciousness or was mean-spirited, it was just a hearty yet a pure and honest carefree laugh. “They-” he snickered, “They aren’t wrong! I haven’t had the brightest ideas in my lifetime.”

Both the body of ribbons and the assortment of shapes were a little surprised by the prince’s reaction. They were fairly certain that he would have made some sort of passive aggressive comment or even get angry at Zooble. But no. It was the same sort of laugh that one of them would have whenever Kaufmo told one of his better jokes or when they all had fun as a family. Zooble smirked, “See Gangle, princey doesn’t mind.”

Gangle groaned, rolling her eyes, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Hmmm, love me forever?” Zooble retorted cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows.

“If I have to,” Gangle couldn’t keep the grin off her face, resting her head onto Zooble’s shoulder.

Jax’s laughter ebbed away, a softness lacing his heart. That tenderness and comfort the couple shared with one another, he couldn’t help but imagine it with him and Pomni. To let her feel safe with him no matter what, to share sweet moments with him with no other prying eyes. But after tonight, she’ll be gone, along with his wish for all of that. All this because of a power-hungry man who kept her in a state of fright ever since childhood, it wasn’t fair for someone as sweet as Pomni.

“Ah, I see the prince has graced our presence,” a soft voice spoke. He looked up to see that it was Ragatha’s voice he had heard, with Sun and Moon by her side and Kaufmo trailing behind her. She looked towards Gangle and Zooble, “He hasn’t given you two any trouble, has he?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Zooble said, “He came over to apologise to Gangle.”

Ragatha raised a brow, shifting a little bit in her place, as if this were a small shock to her. “Did he know?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Zooble nodded, what they said next made it look like they were going to hurl just having to form it into words. “I guess I was…wrong about him. Oh god I hated saying that.” 

“Oh,” was all Ragatha said. The doll in question was wearing a backless gown of midnight blue, sleek and sparkling, no puffiness in sight as long skirt trailed behind her. She wore long silky white gloves and half of her curls were pinned up into a bun while the other red locks pooled around her shoulders.

Moon was wearing something similar, though hers was pure black with little stars stitched onto the fabric, with a double leg slit and a feathered scarf around her shoulders. Sun was wearing a red and yellow striped waistcoat and trousers, along with a simple white blouse and a black bowtie wrapped around the collar.

Lastly was Kaufmo, whose waistcoat and trousers were sewn with a fine grey silk with what seemed to be music notes embroidered into the lapels and cuffs. He pulled at the collar a few times, he hadn’t worn something like this before so it was a bit new to him. But he looked happy with his new attire.

“Well,” Ragatha’s voice broke Jax out of his trance again, “I’m glad you weren’t up to anything foolish, after all I still have two very hungry lions.”

“Don’t forget the meat cleaver you have darling,” Moon pointed out, “It would be such a shame to see such a lovely tool go to waste.”

“Uh…and I’m here!” Sun cheered, not wanting to be left out. While it did relieve some of the tension, it didn’t stop Jax from shrinking under the glares of the women.

“While I support your protection over my daughter,” Kaufmo interrupted, placing a hand on Ragatha’s shoulder, “Let’s wait until the prince does anything before charging headfirst. Besides, something tells me that he would want to join in with that protection as well.” The clown gave Jax a knowing wink. “But make no mistake, you hurt her and not even the guards will stop Ragatha and Moon with what they want to do with you.”

Jax gulped, “Understood, sir.” Despite the obvious threat, the fact that he had Kaufmo’s acknowledgement about how much he cared for Pomni made Jax want to sing. The clown trusted the prince, and Jax wasn’t going to let him down. Pomni mattered to him just as much as she mattered to Kaufmo, there was no way he was going to break that trust.

“I’m surprised that little Motley cat isn’t with you,” Sun said, “Other than Pomni, you two are practically glued together.”

Jax was about to open his mouth to say another word, until a small mew interrupted him. The group looked at him with wide eyes, the sound not going unnoticed. The rabbit sighed, reaching into the side of his coat pocket and pulled Motley out, the little kitten wearing a blue bowtie around his neck.

Everyone’s mouth fell open, it was quite the sight indeed.

“This little bugger insisted that he should join me tonight,” Jax defended.

“Right, a non-speaking animal somehow managed to convince you to let him come to the ball,” Zooble drawled with doubt.

Jax frowned, though he didn’t feel mad. So far, everything was going well. The guests were happy, he had Motley in his arms, there were no sign of the nobles, the music was lovely, the food was delicious, his parents were delighted and he had won over the favour of the circus group. All that was missing is-

“-Pomni,” Kaufmo’s eyed widened as he gazed up to the staircase leading out of the ballroom.

The rest of the group followed the clown’s eyes, their own jaws dropping when they say who he was looking at. The rest of the ballroom had gone silent as well, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Jax whipped round, wondering why everyone was reacting the way they did…oh…he understood perfectly now.

Pomni stood at the top of the staircase, the only way to describe how she looked was breathtaking. Her gown was the most beautiful shade of purple, startling at a light pinkish lavender at the top as it faded into an amethyst shade in the middle before finishing in a plum shade at the bottom. Her skirt was full, layered with organza, rippling like raindrops on a pond. The top of the gown had off-the-shoulder sleeves with a sweetheart neckline, with glistening gem at the centrepiece. And the whole gown twinkled with little diamonds stitched into the fabric. She wore simple makeup, with her normally short hair curled and now reaching her shoulder as it gleamed under the chandeliers.

She clenched her hands, there were so many eyes on her. She didn’t have the façade of her jester persona to help her out, it was only her they were all looking at. Gathering herself, she managed a small curtsey, the shimmering layers of her skirt pooling around her. She stood again, her gown swishing as she made her way down the steps.

Jax couldn’t wipe the awestruck grin he had on his face even if he tried. Not even the stars could compare with how beautiful she looked. He handed Motley over to Kaufmo, “Sir, if you may. Could I please lead your daughter for the first dance?”

Kaufmo smiled, running his hand over the kitten’s back as he purred, “Go on, give her a dream come true.”

Not wasting a beat, Jax turned back to Pomni. He wasn’t sure if he saw him yet, so ever so slowly, he made his way towards her, the rest of the guests parting to let him through.

They had done the same with Pomni, giving her the room she needed yet not being able to take their eyes off her. A little part of her liked the attention, they weren’t drawn to her for powers or the act she had to put on, they were drawn to her for simply being her. This new feeling was strange, but nice…really nice.

She let out a small gasp when she finally saw Jax, how handsome he looked in his garments and how he looked at her as though she were the only person in the room. Her heart fluttered seeing him, making her way towards him as he did the same. Finally they met in the middle of the room, the only ones in the middle of the ballroom floor, their eyes locked onto one another.

“Prince Jax,” she breathed.

“My lady,” his voice held nothing but adoration for her. “You look absolutely exquisite.”

“I’ve been praying all day not to trip in this,” she whispered, “I think I would perish if I ruined something as lovely as this.”

  “That would be a shame, you look too beautiful in it,” Jax murmured, “Um. Pomni, would you do me the honour of letting me lead you through this first…” he trailed off. Could you blame him? She was positively stunning.

“…Dance?” she finished for him, a small grin forming on her lips.

“Uh, yes of course, dance,” he stuttered, laughing awkwardly.

Pomni took pity on him, nodding excitedly. Call her childish, but it was nothing short of magical that she actually got to dance like the princesses she read about in fairytales.

Jax’s face fell, a serious look took over yet his eyes were still soft as he brought his hand forward, pulling Pomni closer to him. The girl’s breath hitched, with these newfound feelings she had for Jax, it made this touch all the more significant. A shiver ran down her spine.

The music of the orchestra began, filling the ballroom with the sounds of the many violinists and pianists’ instruments, a soft yet heavenly tune echoing in the room. Ever so gently, Jax began to sway, with Pomni repeating his movements. Pomni gulped as he led her further into the dance, she could feel everyone’s stares despite having her back to them. Who wouldn’t? After all, she was the prince’s choice to lead the first dance with. “They’re all looking at you,” she whispered.

“Believe me,” he grinned, “They’re all looking at you.”

Normally she would have panicked at that sentence, but the gentle grasp of his warm hand on her waist kept her attention on him. He picked up her forearm with his, letting it glide up and down, “Just focus on me, okay? And follow my lead.”

Pomni nodded, her once quickening heart slowing down as she gazed into his eyes. He took her hand, carefully spinning her before she held she gently grazed the knuckles of said hand against his cheek. He threaded his fingers through her, spinning her again as the skirts of her gown fluttered around her, giving her the appearance of a butterfly.

The repeated the range of movements a few more times before Jax wrapped his arm around her waist again, pulling her closer than he did before, their noses inches from each other as he clasped his free hand into hers again. Pomni’s breath stuttered as their feet travelled around the empty space, never in her life had she felt anything so surreal, so euphoric in all her life. A carefree laugh escaped her lips as both she and Jax spun again, the prince doing the same as the picture of her lovely smile imprinted into his mind again.

He released the grip on her waist to twirl her onto the empty space on the floor, the rest of the crowd aweing at the way her gown glittered each time she spun left and right while holding onto Jax’s hand.

Not even the rest of the circus troupe could erase the butterflies they were having just by the way the prince and the jester looked at one another. It was right out of a love story. “I can’t disagree, they would make a beautiful couple,” Kaufmo remarked, with Motley letting out an agreeable mew in his arms.

“I suppose so,” Ragatha nodded, “As long as he doesn’t hurt her.”

“Don’t worry my dears, rest assured that my son would never do the following,” Queenie told them as she and Kinger snuck up behind the group.

“Your majesties,” Ragatha gasped, the rest of them quickly bowing, “Please forgive me for saying that.”

“Oh that’s alright,” Queenie snickered, “Jax has caused one too many incidents to have a reputation that’s worth your worry.”

“Though I will say, your Pomni has him wrapped around her finger,” Kinger mused as he watched the due dancing on the floor. “I haven’t seen this side of my son in so long, until your daughter arrived Kaufmo.”

“Pomni has always found a way to bright the best out in others,” Kaufmo told them, “Whether they know she’s doing it or not.”

Kinger hummed in agreement, “I can confidently say that without a doubt, this is the best ball this kingdom has ever seen.” Kaufmo nodded, the two fathers turning to look back at their children, smiling at seeing how happy they were together.

Jax had twirled Pomni a few times, still holding her by the waist until he picked her up in both arms and held her high up above him, twirling her in the air as the crowd oo’ed and clapped for the sudden display. Though it was silent compared to the chimes of her giggles at the sudden motions, bringing her back down to face level. Neither of them could stop glancing at each other’s lips, the temptation to swoop down and capture them growing stronger.

Before he could give into it, he saved himself by dipping Pomni once more time as the music slowed. It was for the best, she would be leaving tomorrow. He didn’t want to sour things more for her, not when they had come so far. He could tell by the way she was looking at him that she was silently agreeing, what they had right now was good, good enough in fact.

The music slowed to a stop, with Pomni curtsying and Jax bowing respectively as the crowd thunder into applause. The first dance of the night was a success.

They allowed themselves to breathe for a movement, unable to take their eyes off each other before the music started up again, more fun and livelier than the last. More couples ran onto the floor, including the king and queen as they chortled together while reminiscing how they used to dance when they were younger. Gangle had pulled Zooble onto the floor, squealing with excitement at the thought of dancing with her partner. Even Moon and Ragatha had decided to dance together, the latter shocked when her friend took her hand and led her into a dance.

Pomni and Jax were still together, and quite frankly, they didn’t see themselves dancing with anyone but with one another. And so, they danced again. And again, and again, and again…

After a few songs, they did have to stop eventually, panting heavily and needing food as well as drink. “I must say, you dance pretty good for someone so short,” Jax snickered, handing her a glass of water.

“Shut up, I’m just glad you didn’t stand on my dress,” Pomni retorted, giggling into her glass. She gulped down as much as she could, especially with what she was planning to do next. “Do you mind waiting for a second? There’s something I need to take care of.”

“Oh, of course, is everything alright?” he asked as she handed him back her glass.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she reassured him, “There’s just something that I need to do.”

“Well, whatever it is, you take care of yourself,” He told her, “Alright?”

Pomni nodded, patting his hand reassuringly before disappearing into the crowd, Jax sighing fondly as he watched her walk away. He nearly jumped when he felt something rub against his leg, looking and scoffing when he saw that it was Motley. “Of course it’s you, you little shit,” he muttered, scooping up the kitten with one hand, “Alright, you had your fun. Now you’re in time out.”

“Well I must say,” Jax turned when he heard his mother’s voice, “I think this is the most you two haven’t been able to keep your hands off one another.”

“Mom!” he groaned, his ears flopping down and pressing against the back of his head as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“What? I’m just making an observation,” she shrugged, “It does make sense though, with her leaving tomorrow.”

His ears perked back up at the mention of that, his tail twitching in discomfort. Although that statement would ring true every time he heard it, it didn’t mean he liked it. He wanted to get on his knees, beg Pomni to stay with him, stay in the kingdom where she would never worry about feeling afraid ever again. But he knew that it wouldn’t be fair for either of them. He knew as much as she wanted the freedom of her own life, the freedom of this choice was all she could have. And he didn’t want to make her feel guilty about having to travel again. Even if it meant she would be further away from him.

“I…I really love her mother,” he said, earnestly and honestly. “I have become an ocean and Pomni is a storm, raining down on me strongly without resistance, but my waters are able to take her strengths, faults, everything. But I know that…I can’t have her.”

Queenie’s face fell, her son had never looked so vulnerable in that moment. It reminded her how she felt when she fell in love with Kinger when she was her son’s age. “Oh darling,” she murmured, cupping his cheek in her hand. Even Motley had climbed up onto the prince’s shoulder, rubbing his fluffy face against Jax’s face to comfort him.

The queen was going to say another word when a single strum of a guitar made the room go silent. Both the queen and prince turned, for on the stage with the rest of the musicians was Pomni, holding onto her guitar as she looked out onto the crowd. She looked positively petrified, there were more people here than there was at the festival, the confidence slipping as doubt crept into her mind.

But when her eyes caught Jax’s, and as he smiled at her with the upmost reassurance, the doubt started to melt. She could do this, taking a breath as she faced her new audience, “This is a song that I wrote during my stay here. It’s a little bit different than what I’ve written before but I hope you all enjoy.” Her fingers pricked at the strings of her guitar before her voice rang like a bell as she began to sing.

Honey, I hate wine

But I’d gladly down a bottle of your name

Just to get another taste of you

A single drop not on my tongue would be a waste

The audience seemed to be enjoying so far, leaning next to their partners or spouses as Pomni continued to sing.

And I hate mornings

But I like waking next to you

You always wake up before I do

So I can sleep in your embrace

We burn like gentle firewood

We yearn like vines and leaves

And we settle in the comfort of

The bones that rest beneath

And I’d start drinking wine and sleeping at night

To keep your soul with mine

I’d do anything, anything, anything

Anything, anything, anything

Pomni could hear the distant murmurs in the crowd, murmurs of praise and how much they enjoyed her simple song. Her heart nearly skipped a beat form excitement as the rest of her doubts faded away. People liked her songs, people liked her. Her songs meant something!

Honey, I hate travel

But I’d man a boat to glimpse you at the shore

No stretch of miles would ever mean more

Than feeling my hands wrapped around your waist

And I hate time

The minutes shared will never last enough

No amount of time will ever be too much

And parting leaves a bitter taste

At that last word, Pomni turned her attention to Jax, who was patting the side off his leg at each beat of the song. She thought she would hate him, she despised him when hearing about all the rumours that built over the years. But now, nothing tasted as sour than the idea of leaving him tomorrow.

We burn like gentle firewood

We yearn like vines and leaves

And we settle in the comfort of

The bones that rest beneath

And I’d stop staying home and wasting time

To keep your soul with mine

I’d do anything, anything, anything

Anything, anything, anything

She would. She would do anything to change the fate that life had given them. She wanted to have that choice to stay. Jax’s eyes never left hers, not even more a second as he smiled with all the warmth he could muster. If this was truly their last night together, she was going to make it count.

And I love rain

But I’d ruin every cashmere coat I own

Before I let it wash off any kiss you stole

So they’ll keep us dry as I walk you home

We burn like gentle firewood

We yearn like vines and leaves

And we settle in the comfort of

The bones that rest beneath

And I’d lose every penny that I find

To keep your soul with mine

I’d do anything, anything, anything

Anything, anything, anything

With that final strum of her guitar, she finished her song. There was a beat, it felt like years to Pomni as she waited to hear the crowd’s final thoughts on her song. Suddenly, the audience erupted into applause, grins nearly splitting their faces.

She let out a sigh of relief, they really did like it. She placed her guitar backstage as she walked away, letting the band strike up again. She strolled towards Jax, determination set in her mind, she meant it when she said she was going to make this night count. “Another dance your highness?” she asked when she got close to him, holding out her hand, “Or are you afraid I’ll look better than you?”

Jax took her hand into his, his smile matching hers, “Little lady, you could trip and you would still look better than me.”

Pomni hummed, “You’re right, I would.”

They snickered as they want back to the dance floor, dancing the night away until the ball came to an end. It was the most magical thing Pomni had done without her powers.

.

.

.

Jax groaned as he sat up in his bed. He had been trying to get to sleep for the past few hours, but he could still feel the tingles of where Pomni’s hands had been on him while dancing. That night was going to be burned in his brain for the rest of his life. He wished she was here right now, to hold her while she ran her fingers through his ears, his fur, wherever she wanted as long as he felt that simple lingering touch.

The prince sighed, shifting as he reached his hand to find Motley, onto to find that the feline was nowhere to be found on the bed. Don’t tell me that little cretin went back down to go ham on those leftovers. He threw the sheets off his bed, ready to exit the room when there were three soft knocks on his door.

Strange, the servants didn’t use that knock and neither did his parents. He opened the door, it was Pomni holding a purring Motley. “I, um, thought I’d return him,” she spoke quietly, her voice breaking slightly, “He woke me up.”

Jax didn’t take him just yet instead leaning in slightly closer to inspect Pomni’s face. His heart plummeted when he saw dried tear stains on her cheeks, “Have you been crying?”

“W-what?” Pomni stammered, “N-no, of course not! I-it’s probably-”

“Pomni,” he spoke sternly, “I know when someone had been crying, I’m not that dumb. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

She took a breath, walking into his room as Jax shut the door behind him. She sat on the edge of his bed, the prince sitting next to her as she cuddled Motley closer. “I sometimes have really bad nightmares,” she told him. “Well, I’ve always had them but they got worse when we escaped Caine and he came after us. Some of them are about ways on how he’d find us and how he’d make us suffer, others are…well, memories of growing up in the circus…”

Jax brows furrowed as the girl curled in on herself, making her seem smaller than usual, “And I’m guessing you had one now?”

She sniffed, nodding her head as Motley pushed his face into her neck, purring as much as he could to give comfort to the girl. Jax brought her into his arms, she let out a surprised squeak as he rubbed a hand up and down her back. “It’s okay, you’re safe here,” he told her, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I know,” she whimpered, easing into his touch, “But I won’t be here tomorrow. And I know no one has seen Caine, but it doesn’t stop the fact that he’s still out there looking for us…looking for me.”

Jax wanted to kick himself for saying that. Why her? Why did the universe make her go through the hardest trails life had to offer? It wasn’t fair. “I know what you’re going to say if I asked you,” he ran his fingers through her hair, “But I wished in another life, you could stay.”

“Jax, I…I wish I could too,” she cried, burying her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. But, just for tonight, stay…with me?” She peered up at him through her lashes, his fingers wiping her tears away. “For one night, please…be mine?”

She wrapped her hand around his, bringing it up to her face to cup her cheek, “I am yours, as you are mine.”

“For you Pomni,” he mumbled, carrying her over to the middle of his bed and laying her down, “Always.”

That night, they slept in each other’s arms. That night, they pretended tomorrow didn’t exist. That night, they weren’t Prince of Laphria or jester of the traveling circus. That night they were Pomni and Jax, two people in love.

.

.

.

Kaufmo let out a grunt as he closed the door of the trunk connected to the circus carriage, “I think that’s everything.”

“I’ll say,” Zooble whistled, “I feel like we have more than we did at the last place.”

“Well we were here longer than we have been in other places,” Pomni pointed out.

The circus troupe was outside the palace doors, finally ready to leave. The king and queen had guards to travel with them to their next location, to make sure they would have the extra protection they needed in case Caine was nearby. It had been a wonderful dream here, but like all dreams, it had to end.

Pomni was wearing the same dress she wore when she first came to the kingdom, her simple blouse, corset and pink skirt. She gave the palace one more look, out of all the places she had been to, this one was her favourite. And now she had to leave.

“The king, queen and prince had already given us our goodbyes,” said Ragatha, holding onto Moon’s hand. “Our we ready to go?”

Kaufmo looked to his daughter, “What do you say kiddo? Ready to go?”

Pomni sighed as she turned to her father, he frowned as he saw her downed expression. He hated seeing her like that. She was going to open her mouth to speak when-

“-Pomni!” Jax, it was Jax. She whipped round and saw the prince running out the palace doors and towards her.

“Jax? What’s wrong?” she asked, running over to him.

“I know we already said our goodbye inside,” he explained, “But I needed to do one more thing before you leave.”

Pomni nodded, looking back at the rest of her family, “I’ll be a minute, you finish packing.” The rest of the circus gave each other knowing looks, doing as they were told when Pomni gave them a glare. When they went back to packing, she turned back to Jax, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” his voice sounded nervous, “I just…I want you to have Motley.”

She gasped as she looked at the kitten held in Jax’s arms, the little feline already jumping into hers, “Me? Why?”

“Little monster likes you better than me, traitor,” he frowned at Motley.

Pomni stifled a laugh, “He’s a sweetheart, admit it. Plus, he loves you too. I can’t separate you too.”

“Hey, I’ll be okay,” Jax told her, “Besides, it’s better if he goes with you, to let him be a reminder of this place and…of me.”

Her breath was caught in her throat at those words, nothing could ever make her forget all that he had done for her. “Are you sure?” Pomni asked, scratching behind Motley’s ears.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he bent his knees to be eye level with the kitten. “Listen here bud, you’ve got an important mission. In case Pomni gets into trouble, I want you to protect her. If you need backup, you know where to find me. Understand?”

Mew

Motley lifted his paw, it hit Jax directly on the nose.

“Good,” Jax straightened his back, “So I guess this is my final goodbye.”

Pomni bit her lip, reaching up to kiss Jax’s cheek one last time, “Thank you for reminding me how magical life can be.”

Jax’s breath hitched. He could barely recover from her hands, how could he recover from her lips?! She gave him a tiny grin, that jester was going to be the death of him, “You’re welcome Pomni.”

With that, she curtsied once more before running back to the carriage and hopping inside. There was a call from Kaufmo upfront as he pulled on the reins connected to the horses on front, giving them the command to walk as the guards followed on their own horses.

Jax watched as the carriage was pulled further away from him. And further, and further, and further. Then, it was gone. Pomni was gone.

He sighed, lifting his feet and going back into the castle. He didn’t retreat to his room or to his studies though. In fact, hours after the circus had left, he had been pacing back in forth in the throne room, his arms crossed behind his back while the prince was deep in thought. It caused the staff to alert the king and queen at once, leaving the royals to watch their son as he continued to pace.

“Oh the poor boy,” Queenie cooed as she peered through the crack of the door, “Pomni must have left quite the impact.”

“Tell me about it,” Kinger agreed, “I’m fairly certain that his brain has never worked that hard in its life.”

“Shush,” Queenie whacked him lightly on the shoulder, “This is a good thing. It’s not the bad type of thinking he’s having.”

“Then what exactly is on his mind then?” Kinger titled his head to the side.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” she took her husband’s hand leading him into the throne room. Jax didn’t even notice them come in, still pacing back and forth as his mind kept storming. “What are you thinking about darling?”

The prince let out a yelp, jumping a few feet before facing his parents with a hand to his heart, “You have to stop sneaking up on me like that!”

“I apologise, but you’ve been so caught up in your head for the past few hours,” Queenie told him, her brows furrowing with concern, “We were worried.”

“Please,” Kinger went up to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Tell us what’s on your mind.”

“Well I…,” Jax sighed, clenching and opening his fists, feeling slightly anxious for what he was going to say next. He hadn’t said or done anything that he was thinking about right now, only hoping that it was the right thing to say and do. “I’ve been having a lot of perspective for the past few weeks, about my place in the world and my role as prince. Even since I was young, I was told that I didn’t belong, that I never deserved my title and I started to believe it. I pitied myself for so long that it blinded me to the potential that I had for myself and for the people of my kingdom. When Pomni came into my life, it opened my eyes to see how fortunate I actually am and what I can be able to do. Knowing what she went through, it made me realise just how privileged and lucky I am, and how I’m able to use my power do help people like her. The nobles were wrong about me, wrong about my dreams being too childish, there is nothing childish about wanting better in this kingdom.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “That’s why I wanna open a home, a home for people who need to seek shelter if they don’t have it, whether they are from our kingdom or somewhere else. To protect them and give them a life until they can stand on their feet again. I want to give them the safety and security that they were denied. I know that I’m able to do this, I want to do this. I am worth the title of Prince and Heir of Laphria.”

Both Queenie and Kinger were speechless, never before had they heard their son speak with the most graceful confidence. This wasn’t like the times when he spoke with arrogance, no, nothing that he had said held no vanity or selfishness. For the first time, he was speaking like a true prince. “That’s a wonderful idea Jax,” Kinger beamed, sharing a pleased look with his wife, “And you doubted that you’d be a good king.”

“Look at my baby growing up,” Queenie cupped his cheeks in her hands, pressing little kisses to his forehead and cheeks as the rabbit flushed.

“M-mom!” he tried not to grin at the attention, but his wagging tail gave him away.

Mew

He froze at a familiar meow, facing the window when he heard something scratching at it. There was a small little blob on the other side, is that? Jax opened the window, Motley immediately jumping into his arms. “Woah, woah buddy what are you doing here?” he checked him over, his front little paw was bruised as the poor thing was shaking, “What happened?”

The doors of the throne room slammed open, two guards panting and bleeding as they staggered through. “Oh goodness! Someone assist them and get them some water!” Queenie demanded to the nearby maids, the royals and servants rushing over to them. They were led to one of the nearby sitting rooms, urged to sit down and drink until they could get their energy back to speak. One of the servants had brought an ice pack for Motley, Jax immediately took it and held it to his paw while another servant wrapped his paw.

“Easy buddy,” he whispered to the kitten, still trembling in fear. “You’re okay.”

“Don’t force yourself,” Kinger instructed when one of the guards tried to begin speaking, “Tell us what happened at your own pace.”

“We…ugh…we were leading the circus through the forest, there was no sign of danger so far,” the guard began to describe the scene. “But they appeared out of nowhere. We tried to fight back but they were too strong, as though they were having some assistance.”

“What are you talking about? Who attacked you?” Jax was starting to panic. The circus had been promised safe travel and if anything happened to them…he didn’t want to imagine it.

“Caine,” the guard continued, “He and his men jumped out and attacked us. We had the upper hand but then there was this red mist and…” he trailed off, his pupils shrinking as he remembered the horrors of what his mind had deceived him with.

“Easy, easy,” the queen soothed him. “The circus, are they alright?”

“We don’t know,” the second guard spoke up, “We were lucky enough to escape to come back and warn you, but…”

“But? But what?!” Jax raised his voice, he didn’t mean to but fear was rushing through is veins. If anything happened to-

“Pomni,” the guard said, making Jax’s heart stop. “Before we escaped, Caine took Pomni.”

Song Credit: Anything, Anything, Anything by Madds Buckley

#the amazing digital circus #jax #pomni #pomnijax #funnybunny #jax x pomni #pomni x jax #kinger #queenie #ragatha #gangle #zooble #tadc sun #tadc moon #caine #dragon rambles #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #royal au #prince!jax #my writing

[goldensstateofgrace]

Migraines and Cuddles.

A/N: This is entirely self serving lol I wrote this while on day two of having a migraine and wanted this but i’m single and lonely lmao. 

Also I missed you guys so much! I’m really hoping some of you will send in some request so that I can get back into writing and be more active on here!! 

Summary: You wake up with a migraine and Harry takes care of you <3 

Warnings: STRAIGHT FLUFF 

Word Count: 1602 (Short fluffy fic) 

Happy reading babes, hope you enjoy!! - G<3

Masterlist | REQUESTS (always welcome) | Tell me your thoughts <33 |

It wasn’t unusual for you to get migraines, honestly, you got them quite often. More than a normal person would at least.

You’ve had them since you were little, around the age of 6 or seven. You’d come home from school with the worst headache that you’d fall asleep and your mom would have to wake you up for dinner otherwise you’d sleep right through it and into the next morning. 

They always took your energy, some days it hurt to open your eyes because the sun streaming into your room was too bright. Today was one of those days, lucky you have blackout blinds on your windows just for that reason. 

You had closed them the night before when you went to bed with a small headache after taking some ibuprofen hoping it would make it go away while you slept. 

But when you woke up this morning, you instantly felt the pain behind your right eye and knew that it was still there, only worse. 

Groaning, you slowly roll onto your back from your left side, eyes closed as your head throbs. You knew it was going to be a day spent in bed when you tried to lift your head to look at your alarm and it sent a wave of pain through your whole head. 

It was the worst when you couldn’t even lift your head an inch off your pillow without the urge to throw up. Because that happens, you always feel so nauseous and hot. You have the worst hot flashes when you have a migraine. You can never find a good medium, you’re either bundled up in blankets or you have the air on 60, the ceiling fan going and a portable fan that you have next to the bed that you use for the sound because you can’t sleep without it. 

The sheet lays haphazardly across your waist, your feet out from under it and your upper body covered but barley in your thinnest tank top. 

When you finally gain the courage you lift up and swing your feet over the edge of the bed, sitting there for a moment as nausea washes over you and your head pounds. ‘Fuck’ you groan, just sitting there hunched, your head dipped because it takes to much energy to hold up at the moment. 

Peaking an eye open, it takes a second for your vision to clear from the deep sleep you were in and to see the time that reads - 12:43pm - in bright red block numbers. 

Well that’s better than the time you slept until 3pm because you couldn’t even work up the courage to fully wake up. 

You faintly hear the front door open downstairs as you stand slowly and make your way to the ensuite bathroom in Harry and your room. You leave the light off seeing as you don’t have the blackout blinds in here, just regular folding blinds so it’s pretty bright. You squeeze your eyes shut before squinting them open just the slightest bit so you can see where you’re going and don’t trip. You quickly use the bathroom, not wanting to be up any longer than you need to  faintly hearing footsteps on the stairs heading your way. 

“Y/n, love are you awake?” You hear Harry’s voice, but not having the energy to answer. You quickly - or as quickly as you can - finish up in the bathroom before making your way back into the dark bedroom finding harry sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the tv and he must have turned on. 

He must have gone on his morning run, seeing as he’s dressed in a gray athletic tank top and black running shorts, his shoes discarded by his side of the bed. His blue hat sits backwards of his head, you watch as he looks your way when he hears your soft footsteps stop in the doorway of the bathroom. 

“Oh, love,” he says softly, already knowing by the sound of your footsteps that you’re not feeling well. “Migraine?” he asks, getting up and coming to stand in front of you. 

You start to nod, but stop wincing at the pain that flows through your head. 

“Go lay down love. I got you your favorite smoothie, it’s on your nightstand,” He says in a whisper, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. You lean forward and gently rest your head between his pecs and his collarbone. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into him, faintly smelling his body wash from last night's shower and his sweat. “I don’t know if i’ll be able to keep it down, but thank you, H.” 

“You’re welcome, darling,” He whispers. Harry leans his head down, puckering his lips to leave a kiss against the crown of your head as his hand comes up to gently grasp the back of your nape and massages ever so slightly. 

Groaning, you whisper so quietly he probably didn’t even hear you, “That feels nice.” 

“Go lay down, love. I’m gonna grab a quick shower then I'll come lay with you and we can cuddle.” He tells you. 

Pulling away, you give him a small smile, one that he returns before you slowly get back in bed and pull the sheet back over your bottom half, kicking it off your feet as you find the perfect position for your head that doesn’t hurt and make you feel too nauseous. 

Closing your eyes, you listen to the low murmur of the people on tv and the hiss of the shower turning on. 

You didn’t even realize, but you must have drifted off because you wake up to slight movement from the edge of the bed. Harry sits there in only a pair of black boxers, his hair damp and shaggy - like he towel dried it and shook his head afterwards. 

He smiles down at you softly when you peek your eyes open ever so slightly, “I’ve got you some medicine, darling.” He tells you, holding out his hand to show you the two little white pills. 

Ever so slowly, you get your arms beneath you and gently push yourself up into a sitting position, “Thank you, H.” You mutter, taking a moment before you take the medicine from his palm, going to reach for your strawberry smoothie but wince when your head throbs from turning it. 

Harry grabs it off the nightstand, holding the straw as he brings it to your lips and helps you take a small sip to make sure you can keep it down before you nod and he holds it back up and you take a bigger drink, popping the medicine in your mouth and swallowing. 

“Good job, darling,” Harry says with a smile. He sets the drink back on the nightstand before getting up and making his way around the bed and getting in, taking care to do it slowly so as to not jostle your body. 

You watch as he half lays down, his shoulders propped up on his pillows against the headboard before he holds out the arm closest to you, urging you to come lay with him. Which you do, gently setting your head on the part of his chest between his pec and shoulder. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, love,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to plant a kiss against your head as his arm wraps around the back of your neck gently and his fingers graze over your forehead. 

You love it when he does this, it feels so good and it’s also a distraction. Your mom used to do it when you were a kid, putting you to sleep. It brings back good memories and makes you feel good. 

“Love you, H.” You tell him, wanting him to know just how much you love and appreciate him and how he takes care of you with such gentleness. 

“Not as much as I love you, darling.” He replies, his fingers gently making their way from your forehead into your hair and rubbing softly to try and ease the ache. 

You stay like that for hours, his fingers in your hair, falling in and out of sleep. The low murmur of the tv in the background. You wake up around 4pm, no longer using Harry as a pillow but actually sharing one with Harry. Face to face, you share the pillow, the sheet pulled up around both of you. Harry has his hand cupping your cheek softly, his thumb resting against your cheekbone like he fell asleep gently stroking your cheek and watching you sleep. 

You smile gently, watching his sleeping form. He looks so peaceful. His face is soft and swollen with sleep. 

You feel slightly better, the migraine is no longer right behind your eye but a dull ache at the base of your skull. 

Moving just slightly, you try and sit up trying not to wake Harry but fail when he jerks awake, his eyes blinking trying to clear his sleep-ridden vision, “what’s wrong?” He asks you in a deep voice filled with sleep. 

“Nothing, go back to sleep, H. Just getting up to use the bathroom,” You tell him softly. 

He looks up with sleepy swollen eyes, “feeling better, love?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. “Much better thanks to you.” 

Harry smiles sleepily, burrowing his face deeper into the pillow before murmuring, “just doing my job, darling.” 

Your heart smiles wide at that, a warm feeling moving through you. 

You got so lucky with him. You’d never take him for granted. 

You can confidently say, Harry Styles is the love of your life and you’ve never been more happy..

I have a taglist ( you can fill it out here) 

@niallslove @randomwriter1021 @marlananicole17 @whoreforthecullens @hc-geralt-23 @afuckenslutforharrybro @writingintheroses @wiiildflowerrr @thisismynerdyself @hufflepuffhaze @lonelyheart5 @xoxokiaraaxoxo @kenzie-kay2-blog @yvngmari @myfavfanficsever @onlyangel-k @cuddleluv @Sophiawithanph @lovegiven @theshyspy @ready-4-fanfiction @michellekstyles @swiftmendeshoran @malwtilda @amayatheowl @lukesaprince @thesadstoryofme @watchyourbluesturngolden @reveriehs

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #fluffrry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fics #harry styles imagine #harry writing #harry fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff fic

[writingsofmax]

taking care of you

hi! I've been smitten with the riddler for a hot second and this is my first attempt at fan fic so please do not throw rocks at me. this is super fluffy words: 970 story summary: Your day doesn't go as planned when you get one of your chronic migraines, luckily you have Eddie there to take care of you. tags: fluff, caretaking, established relationship, headache

You had planned it all day. When Eddie got home from work that day you were going to take him out. It had been so long since the two of you had been out anywhere together on a proper date. You had researched all the best places to go, parks, pretty areas in Gotham and a nice restaurant. Eddie always did so much for you, you wanted to be able to return the favor today. You put on a cute outfit and spent an hour on your makeup.

Then you felt it. The familiar ache in the jaw and the base of your neck, the twinge above the eye. All the familiar symptoms of a migraine starting. No no no! You had planned too much for this to be happening right now! You took some medicine and drank water immediately, had a bit of caffeine but the feeling continued to grow. Within 30 minutes your vision was becoming fuzzy around the edges and the pain was growing sharper. 

You laid on the couch in the living room, defeated, the pain distracting you from hearing the familiar footsteps coming up the stairs to the apartment. The door creaked open and you sat up determined to ignore the pain. 

“Hi baby!” You gushed excitedly.

“Hello sweetheart, ugh work was-“ He stopped when he saw you, looking you up and down,“You look AMAZING” his face and the tops of his ears turning pink.

“You think so?” 

“I always think so” his smirk vanished when he realized something about you was.. off. Eddie was an extremely observant person, always analyzing and noting his surroundings. When it came to you, the only person he loved in all of Gotham, it was heightened. He could always tell the slightest changes. You winced with pain, trying to stretch your neck muscles. 

“Baby?” He asked softly, “Are you alright?” Your face fell. 

“Yeah, I.. ugh,” your head throbbed. “I wanted to take you out today and do something nice but I’m getting one of my migraines.“  

The idea that you had gotten all dressed up for him and wanted to go out with him made his heart leap in his chest. He felt himself blushing even more as he rushed over to you. 

“Oh little sweetie, again? I’m so sorry” he had helped you with your migraines before and hated how much they hurt you. They always made you so out of it with pain and it broke his heart to see you like that. 

“I- I think I’m going to go lay down and see if it helps and maybe we can still go” you smiled weakly. Your head and jaw were on fire. He gently took both of your hands while you stood and pulled you into a hug, gently kissing the top of your head. 

“Of course sweetie, is there anything I can do for you at all?” 

“No.. I already took medication, I think I just need to lie down. Maybe some water? 

“Of course” he helped you to the bed as you bundled down and tightly closed your eyes. You heard him moving about your room, muttering to himself, 

“The more of this there is, the less you see. What is it?”

A few minutes later you felt a familiar weight on the side of the bed.  You opened your eyes and saw that he had closed all the blinds and drew the curtains so the room was dark. You smiled, he had been saying a riddle about darkness earlier. Despite his eccentricities he was always so thoughtful and caring of you. 

“Alright baby, you have a full water bottle next to the bed and some more meds if you need them. Is there anything else I can do?” He truly hated seeing his angel in pain. It was so much easier when he could protect you with quick violence, or solve your problems with logic and methodical steps, but this was entirely different. 

It was hard to speak that much because moving your mouth and jaw exacerbated the pain but you softly asked, “Could you rub my back for a while? To help me relax?” Honestly, any time you asked him to touch you made him melt, the thought that his touch relaxed you? Made you feel safe? Heaven. 

In a gentle low voice he murmured “Of course my angel, do you want me to snuggle you?” You made a soft affirmative noise in response.

 “Do you want a massage rub or a nice rub? He asked, settling in next to you, gently pulling you close. 

“Massage and then a nice rub” 

You felt his cool hands touch your skin, gently kneading the knots in your shoulders, moving up to your neck. Always so gentle but precise. He knew all of your tense spots and worked on them slowly. Then he switched to a gentle circular rub on your back, waiting until your breathing slowed. 

“I love you sweetie…. I love you.” He tucked you in so gently, kissing you all over the side of your face and your neck. 

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled “I really did want to go out today” 

He gently took one of your hands that wasn’t in the covers in both of his. 

“No no no no…” he whispered “Don’t apologize, it’s okay baby I love you. I will always take care of all of your needs. I can promise you that.” He smoothed your hair gently. “What can you keep after giving it to someone?” he asked. You tried but couldn’t think of an answer, your head hurt too much. 

“Mmm?” Was all you could give in reply. 

“Your word, baby. And you have my word that I will always take care of you. Always.” You smiled, feeling so safe and secure, as you drifted off to sleep.

#dano!riddler #paul dano riddler #riddler x you #riddler x reader #paul dano #edward nashton #the riddler fanfiction #riddler fluff #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x you #the riddler #i am embarrassed but here we are anyway #the riddler comfort fic #danonation

[alrightberries]

“may i?”

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff & angst.  ❈ word count: 8k

❈ summary: you’re the medic assigned to take care of captain levi as he heals from the explosion. you’re also the only person he tolerates.

alternatively: in which you create prosthetics for humanity’s most war torn soldier.

❈ trigger warnings: manga spoliers. profanity. mentions of violence, blood, gore, and death. mentions of sexual themes.

a/n: levi’s kinda ooc bc i couldn’t write the progress of his relationship with reader without making it longer than it already is. also this is medically inaccurate (re: healing time of broken bones and amputations) for the sake of the plot so pls no one throw hands. 

Levi doesn't like looking at mirrors.

There was no tragic backstory behind his distaste for the reflective surface, no deeper meaning or hidden symbolism as one would expect from a man with his past. The reason behind it was simple: he just saw no reason to.

He wasn't vain, wasn't too concerned about his face, didn't care much to look at his physical appearance aside from when he had to cut his hair or get ready for the day to look presentable to his comrades. He knew he was attractive, and effortlessly so. The little letters and gifts he’d received from fans and admirers proved as much, and his title of “Humanity’s Strongest” only added to the appeal. Really, there was no reason for him to always be looking into a mirror.

But now... Levi simply couldn’t understand why that mindset had vanished. It was replaced with the fervor to always be staring at his own reflection— not out of vanity but out of disgust.

The disgust of staring at his mutilated face.

He warily lifts up the small mirror he held in his hand, features contorting into a grimace at the man staring back at him. Scars and cuts littered his cheeks— some deeper than others, but none as terrible as the long jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. It started from his forehead and ended at his bottom lip, held together by ugly black stitches the medics had hurriedly sewn on him the second he got back to the base. His right eye was split in half, completely useless, completely blind; held together by the same black stitches that donned the ugliest scar of all.

And Levi couldn’t help but think that this man was hideous.

He was hideous.

Levi reaches out with his right hand to touch his scars out of habit. He feels his heart tighten when he realizes there’s only air where his fingers should be and he nearly breaks the small mirror he held in his good hand from how hard he was squeezing it. 

The mirror makes a gentle clink as he sets it down onto the mahogany of his desk. Bitterly, he stares at his three fingered right hand. His pointer and middle finger were gone, nothing but pathetic stumps protruding from his knuckles where they used to be. It was still covered in bandages and a makeshift brace so he wouldn’t strain himself when he moved, but he knew it was useless. He couldn’t move those stumps even if he tried.

He probably should’ve been thankful to have made it out of that explosion alive— not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Though Hange had tried cheering him up (“Look on the bright side, we can wear matching eyepatches now!”) he simply couldn’t find it in himself to celebrate coming back so... useless. 

His writing was as legible as chicken scratches. His right eye spasmed in pain every time he blinked. He couldn’t even try to relearn how to use the ODM gear with his new circumstance, and he mentally curses out his orders to stay put and heal.

Too many things were lost, too many people, too many lives.

All because of that damned explosion.

All because of that damned bearded bastard.

Levi is pulled from his thoughts when three soft knocks reverberate throughout his otherwise quiet office, and he rushes to put his eyepatch on and hide the mirror in his desk drawer. He attempts to sit in what he hopes was a seemingly ‘professional’ position but his stiffness gives away his discomfort. 

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

He feels himself release a breath he didn’t even know he was holding once he hears the voice. Your voice. 

“Come in.”

The wooden door creaks open before it closes with a soft click, floorboards making minuscule sounds at the weight as you make your way to his desk. Levi pretends to look busy as his good eye scans the document he held in his hand. 

The sound of porcelain clinking against porcelain grabs his attention.

“Brought you tea.” You murmured. “I figured it won’t be up to your standards again but I did try my best.”

Levi still doesn’t look up as you set the tray down on his desk, and his good hand reaches for the steaming cup to take a small sip. His eye twitches at the taste.

“If you were going to bring me shit tea anyway then why bother.”

He hears a gentle chuckle but doesn’t see the way you smile at his contradictory words and actions. He made no move to throw the “shit tea” away, something he was infamous for with teas that didn’t meet his standards. Instead, he keeps sipping, gently placing the cup down onto his table once he finished.

“I thought that maybe distracting you with terrible tea would keep your mind off me changing your bandages.” You explained, and Levi nods but doesn’t speak. When silence once again filled the room, interrupted only by the occasional crumple of documents you knew he wasn’t reading, you take it as your cue to pick up your pen and clipboard to start the checkup.

“Have you felt any discomfort or pain in any of your extremities such as your right eye or your right hand?”

“No.”

“Have you felt any throbbing or other sensations in any part of your body?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced any fevers, headaches, dizziness, or sudden spasms in any part of your body?”

“No.”

He hears you set your clipboard down and his skin tingles from your doubtful stare. He didn’t have to look to know it was there. He risks a glimpse at the papers attached to the wooden board in your hands but just as he expected, you didn’t write down any of his answers.

“Have you lied to any or all of the questions I’ve asked during your routine checkup for today?”

“...yes.”

A soft sigh escape through your nose and your eyebrows furrow in disappointment. “Captain, lying to your medic won’t get you to the battlefield faster. You’re of no use to anyone when you’re injured.”

Levi clicks his tongue at your reply but he holds his smart ass comments back. He knew you were right, and it infuriated him so much.

“Fine,” he grits out. “My right eye’s been twitching all day. The fucking stumps on my right hand don’t feel like stumps. It feels like I still have fingers there, and I know it’s complete bullshit since they were lying next to my face when they got blown off.”

His angry glance finally lands on you. “That the answer you were looking for, oh medic of mine?”

It was now your turn to click your tongue. “Not quite,” you mumble, writing down his answers onto the file in your hands. “Feeling your missing limbs even after they’re amputated is normal. It’s called phantom touch.”

You place the clipboard back onto his desk and reach into your pockets, pulling out pristine white gloves before gingerly putting them on.

“Your right eye still spasming though, that’s concerning.” You add. Your hands slowly reach out to his face, and Levi momentarily flinches away out of habit. But you made no move to touch him.

He eyes you warily, tense muscles relaxing even just the slightest as he sees your gentle stare.

“May I?” You ask softly, a caring smile on your face.

Levi only nods, not trusting his words, and he once again tenses up as he feels your hands unbuckle the leather straps of his eyepatch before setting it down onto his table. He keeps his bad eye shut.

Your hands are gentle as you touch his face, touch nothing but a soft caress in such a way that his tender stitches felt no pain. Your eyes are focused on his stitches, lacking any judgement or ill will, and Levi’s suddenly aware of how close you actually were to his face.

Your eyes were beautiful, he noticed. They always were. The little furrow in your eyebrows as you concentrated was cute, and the soft caress of your hands on his cheeks as you inspected his face felt... nice, and dare he even say relaxing. Momentarily, when he finally lets himself adjust to the atmosphere, he lets his tense muscles ease.

“Can you open your right eye, Levi?”

“Y-yeah.”

FUCK.

What the fuck.

Did he just fucking stutter?

Levi’s surprise is only painted on his face for a few mere seconds before he schools his expression back to one of stoicness and neutrality, and he prays to all the existing gods he knew of that you wouldn’t notice.

He risks another glance at you. One of your eyebrows is arched and the corner of your lip is quirked up in a small smirk, but you dared not comment on the captain’s speech mishap.

Fuck. So you did notice.

Before he could try to save face by dishing out some bullshit reprimand of being disrespectful for calling him by his name and not his title, the words die on his tongue as you lean in impossibly close and oh god your noses were almost touching, your eyes are even more beautiful up close, and what the fuck is—

“Captain,” you repeat. “Can you open your right eye please?”

Oh, right.

He doesn’t speak as he does what he was told. He feels his eye open but no vision comes to his senses. 

“It’s looking... not so good.” He hears you mumble, face contorted into one of concern. “It’s actually looking pretty bad.”

Levi scoffs. “Not one to beat around the bush, are you.”

You roll your eyes, the small smile once again returning to your lips.

“How long have you been keeping the eyepatch on?” You ask. Your hands are holding his head in place now, grasp a little more firm but not enough to hurt.

“An hour at most.”

“Are you lying again?”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You nod but made no further comment, leaning back to grab the clipboard once more to write down your observations. 

“So,” you start. “Are you going to tell me the truth or do I have to poke your bad eye?”

Levi’s lips turn into a frown at the notion. “I’ve kept it on the entire day. And I know you’re probably lying about poking my eye, but in case you’re not, no. I do not want you poking my eye.”

You nod your head again, writing more things down onto your little clipboard.

“You should let it breathe. Keep it on for an hour or two at most but take it off when you sleep. Too much friction with the eyepatch might cause irritation.”

As the consultation draws on, Levi tries (keyword: tries) to be as honest as he could. Not that he could be dishonest when you were so good at snooping out his lies, though. You were already used to his stubbornness.

He wasn’t lying, however, when he tells himself that his heartbeat did not speed up when your hands gently held his own as you changed his bandages and cleaned his amputation; he wasn’t lying when he tells himself that the tips of his ears were not burning a bright red, cheeks flushed as you asked him to take off his shirt; and he definitely wasn’t lying when he tells himself that his dick did not twitch in his pants when your hands caressed his abdomen and back, accidentally hitting sweet spots he didn’t even know existed, to inspect his still purple bruises and healing ribs.

Yeah, he definitely was not lying.

“Okay, I think we’re done for today.” You say cheerfully. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow for another checkup.”

He glances up as he finishes buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. The gloves from your hands are taken off and tucked back into your pockets, and you hand him a small vial full of pills.

“Take one of these, twice a day at most, whenever you feel pain in your right eye.”

“I’m not feeling any—“

“Sure you’re not.” You cut him off with a smile. “I believe you. But feel free to contact me for any pain or discomfort you feel at any time of the day. I’ll be more than glad to find you.”

Levi says nothing, opting to instead stare at you as you gather the now empty teacup and kettle, placing them back onto the tray along with your clipboard and pen.

“Oh, by the way.” You speak, walking towards the door and opening it. You don’t spare him another glance as you finish your sentence. “I don’t think I can prescribe any pills to lessen blood flow to your dick.”

The door shuts with a soft click behind you, and Levi’s momentarily mortified as he processes your words. He risks yet another glance, this time down to his lap.

Shit, he thinks before he sighs. His hands readjust the hard-on in his pants.

Nothing goes past your observant eyes.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi doesn’t bother to look busy like he did last week, you noticed, because this time he was actually busy. Which was odd considering he was taken off paperwork duty until he could write again.

“What’re you up to?” You ask, setting the tray down onto his desk and pouring him a cup of tea. Your eyes curiously glance at the papers scattered about his usually clean desk, each filled with indiscernible writings of his name.

“Trying to write. I’m useless until I can.” He mumbles before he scoffs. “This would be easier if I had all my fingers.”

You nod along to his replies yet made no move to stop him. You picked up your pen and clipboard to write things down as well.

“You’re not supposed to be using your right hand, your amputation is still too tender.”

“Tch, what do you expect me to do then?”

“Uh... use your non-injured, complete left hand?”

Levi blinks at your words, and he has half a mind to slap his forehead for being dumb and not thinking of that. Which he undoubtedly would’ve done had you not pushed the steaming cup of tea closer to his sitting form.

“Have some tea. You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

Your smart remark is met with silence and a steely glare, and surprisingly, as Levi drank the tea you prepared, he notices it’s not downright terrible.

“Your brew’s better.” 

“Yeah. I finally took your advice of using a thermometer to get ‘the perfect temperature’ after you complained about my ‘shitty tea’ for the nth time that week.”

Levi hides his little smirk behind the teacup, silently reveling in his small triumph before setting it down. From the corner of his eye, he notices you eyeing something, and his heart drops as his gaze follows your own.

The mirror. He forgot to hide the mirror.

Discreetly (or as discreet as he could) he takes the mirror and shoves it back into his desk drawer. You had many questions, that much he knew, but he was thankful when you didn’t push it further.

“Shall we begin?” You ask instead.

“Yeah.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Levi’s been trying to write again, you surmised, as you glanced at his focused eyes and the tenseness of his shoulders. Scattered papers still littered his desk and he was still trying to write his name. This time though, you were relieved when you saw he was using his left hand.

“Finally took my advice?” You asked, pouring him a cup of tea.

“Regretting it.” He doesn’t look up from his task as he answers, something you noticed he always did. “It’s been three days since I took your advice and my handwriting’s shittier than it was then.”

You smile, hand reaching out to hold his incomplete one that was clenched into a fist on the desk. He immediately stops writing, opting to instead stare at your hand atop his before glancing up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you relax. You might tear your stitches.”

He feels you give his hand a gentle squeeze, and the warmth of your hand is suddenly gone from his own. You reach for the cup of tea you prepared, and he wills his cheeks to not show his blush at the small gesture. You slide the teacup across the table.

“What makes you think holding my hand will make me relax?” He asks snarkily. He reaches for the tea with his good hand.

“Are you relaxed?”

Levi ponders the question in his mind, noticing how his muscles were no longer tense, his shoulders were now slumped down, and his eyebrows were no longer scrunched. He sips the tea.

“Your brew’s still shit.” He replies instead.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I came here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

Your head peaks out from behind his door as you enter, closing it with your foot and making your way to his desk. You were no longer surprised when you saw him still writing and scribbling messily at his desk as he’s done for days now, and you discreetly eye the papers as you pour him his tea.

“You don’t have to keep bringing me tea.” He comments, still focused on writing.

“I know.” You reply. “But how am I going to perfect your brew if I don’t practice?”

Levi glances up, and he raises his eyebrow as he sees you sat on his table, a cheeky grin on your face. He makes no move to scold you for being so casual in his office and instead reaches out to take a sip of the tea. He notices your expectant eyes, the grin on your face widening as he nods in approval.

“Your tea’s not bad today.”

“Really?! You think it’s good?”

“I said not bad, I didn’t say it was good.”

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your daily checkup.”

“Come in.”

The first thing you noticed as you entered Levi’s office was, of course, the scattered paper around his desk, face focused as he continued to practice his writing. The second thing you noticed was that he was no longer using his left hand.

“It’s barely been two weeks. Did you give up already?” You ask as you pour his tea.

“I write better with my right hand.” He simply replies, not even glancing up as you slide him the beverage. He uses his good hand to reach out for the cup, silently preparing his tongue for another unpleasant attack.

He takes a sip and his eyebrows shoot up from surprise. The tea was... delicious, absolutely delicious, and Levi couldn’t find anything to complain about. The temperature was right, it wasn’t too bitter but wasn’t too sweet, and the aroma was delectable. He takes a sip once more to double check if his taste buds were deceiving him, but the second sip was just as good as the last.

His suspicious eye makes contact with yours, a shit eating grin painted on your face as you eagerly awaited his feedback. The porcelain makes a sound as he sets it down.

“You bought this from the tea shop across the barracks. That’s cheating.”

“For fuck’s sake!”

Three soft knocks reverberate through the door to Levi’s office. The captain hastily hides the papers with your name scribbled on, shoving them inside his desk drawer. A shiny glint catches his eye before he could close the shelf and he pauses as he realizes it was his mirror. He hadn’t taken it out in a while. He was always too distracted with criticizing your piss poor tea to even think about his appearance.

“Name and business.” He calls out, still eyeing the shiny object.

“Hange Zoe. Y/N asked me to do your daily checkup.”

Levi's eyes widened, heartbeat stopping for a second as he heard Hange’s voice. Where were you?

“Come in.” He closes the drawer as the door opens and Hange walks in. 

Levi couldn’t help but notice that he was becoming uncomfortable the closer his friend got; skin prickling, hands sweating, his collar feeling a little too tight. Little by little getting more conscious of himself as Hange walked closer.

Was this what insecurity felt like?

He briefly wonders why he didn’t feel it with you, but his mind answers him with a simple fact: you were the only person who’s seen him mangled and bruised, and each time, you showed nothing but gentleness and care. Yet even with this knowledge, the notion that a person other than you would be doing his checkup today didn’t sit right with him.

He pushes his discomfort to the back of his mind, telling himself to remain objective. But it didn’t stop him from subconsciously adjusting his eyepatch and hiding his incomplete hand underneath the desk. He eyes the tray in Hange’s hands, spotting the kettle and teacup.

“I don’t want your shitty tea.”

Hange doesn’t look up as they pour him a cup, humming a tune Levi doesn’t recognize as they hand him the warm beverage.

“It’s not my shitty tea.” They reply. “It’s Y/N’s shitty tea. They made you a batch before they left for the mission.”

Levi’s good hand pauses for a brief second as he reaches for the cup, mind still processing the fact that Hange said Y/N and mission. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him, and since he wasn’t allowed paperwork duty until he could write legibly, he wasn’t aware of any missions.

“I see.” He takes a sip, and he immediately squints his eyes in doubt once his tongue caught taste of the flavor. “This isn’t Y/N’s tea.”

Hange looks up from the clipboard they were writing on, eyebrows are arched in curiosity. “What?”

“This isn’t Y/N’s tea. This is from the tea shop down the road.”

Hange’s confused face stays still for a few seconds, silently assessing whether Levi was being serious or not. A smile cracks on their face, turning into a grin as small chuckles left their lips, before finally turning into full blown laughter. The captain waits for the eccentric soldier to stop cackling and start explaining, but Hange’s answer only serves to confuse him more.

“Nice try, shorty. You crack me up.”

Levi ignores the remark about his height. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N owns the tea shop down the road. Made the recipe for the black tea you love so much, even.”

The captain’s good eye twitches, and if Hange notices, they don't comment. Levi takes a sip of the tea once more, a little more doubtful this time, before sighing in content as the drink makes its way down his throat.

“Why did Y/N go on the mission? I thought they were to be my caretaker until further notice.” He chooses to ask, placing the cup down and pretending to busy himself as he absentmindedly starts practicing his writing.

“Y/N is our topic medic, their skills are more valuable on the battlefield than in an office with you.” They reply, and the captain pretends that the truthfulness of the statement doesn’t sting the slightest.

“Besides,” Hange pulls out white gloves from their pockets, sliding the cloth over their hands to prepare for the checkup. “Y/N personally asked to be reassigned.”

Levi sputters and chokes on his tea at the sudden revelation, and he feels Hange’s hand patting his back as he tries to compose himself. You asked to be reassigned? But why?

“Why?” He manages to choke out before once more descending into a coughing fit. Hange silently hands him a napkin.

“They didn’t say.”

Perhaps you were done with his incessant criticizing of your tea making skills (if so, then why’d you keep brewing him a crappy batch? Clearly you could’ve made good tea whenever you wanted.) Perhaps you grew tired of watching over him everyday when you could’ve been attending to more injured soldiers in the medical wing or the battlefield. Or perhaps you felt a little cooped up in the office with him, hating that you were confined when you could’ve gone on missions to help the wounded.

Whatever your reason may be, Levi finally gets himself to stop coughing and wipes his mouth. Any questions he had, he would ask you. For now, he pushes his feelings to the back of his mind to ask a more important question.

“Why are you here and not on the expedition, Commander?”

Hange shrugs.

“I wanted to bond over eyepatches with you.”

Levi was trying, okay? He was really trying.

But god, the new caretaker assigned to him was nothing short of a complete and utter noob. His bandages were always either too loose or too tight, his touches every time he tried to inspect Levi’s scars were always an ironclad grip, and worst of all, his tea was pure and utter shit.

“Watch it!” Levi barks, and his caretaker jumps about two feet away from him at his yell. “What’re you trying to do?! Are you inspecting my broken ribs or trying to give me a broken rib?”

Oh, that too. His caretaker was the hands on type, something Levi wouldn’t have minded if not for the fact that his caretaker was also heavy-handed, and Levi had had enough of this bullshit.

“Stop it, just stop. Get out of my office, right now, and find me a new caretaker.”

“B-but, Captain, there’s no one else who can—“

His caretaker is cut off when he makes eye contact with the enraged captain. Levi’s eyebrows were knitted together in anger, and the glare on his left eye was nothing short of terrifying. The fact that he only had one good eye left did nothing to lessen the intimidation of his glare; if anything, it made it even more intimidating.

“I will not repeat my order. Go.”

The boy in front of him nods nervously, head bowed down and metaphorical tail tucked between his legs as he quickly scurries out of the room. Once Levi hears the soft click of the door shutting, he takes a deep breath and lets his body slump into his chair.

That was the fifth caretaker he’d kicked out this month. He wasn’t picky, he tells himself; he just had standards. Standards that apparently these damned amateurs they kept sending him couldn’t meet.

Briefly, his conscience contradicts him; the image of a certain top medic popping in his mind, one that he hadn’t spoken to in almost a month since they dropped him out of the blue. Maybe, just maybe, he was being picky. With a dash of passive aggressive and a sprinkle of butthurt. But Levi quickly brushes that thought aside when he remembers the incompetence of all his recent caretakers.

That was definitely it. He wasn’t petty, all his caretakers were simply idiots.

The captain hears three loud knocks on his wooden door, and he grits his teeth as he mentally prepares himself for whatever fuckery the clown caretaker they assigned to him was about to do this time. True to his words, Levi did end up breaking a rib from how heavy handed the last one was, and though he knew it was partially because his body was still quite fragile, it didn’t hurt his request for a new medic.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here to do your daily checkup.”

Levi feels his eyes widen and heart speed up, and he once again rushes to hide all the papers scribbled with your name as he shoves them into his desk drawer. He composes himself, trying to appear uninterested and professional as he speaks.

“Come in.”

The door squeaks open and Levi doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes soften and his shoulders slump in relief as he sees the familiar sight of you. A soft smile dawned on your face as you gently kicked the door close, walking towards his desk and setting down the tray you held in your hands.

“Heard you fired everybody who came after me.” You mused, eyes teasing as you poured him a cup of tea. He didn’t think he’d miss someone pouring him a cup of tea as much as he did now.

“Their tea was shit.” He replies, taking a sip of the warm beverage and holding back his sputter at the god awful taste. “Yours is too.”

You chuckle, picking up the clipboard and pen to start writing for today’s checkup. “Can’t help that I suck at brewing tea.”

“You don’t have to keep making me shit tea anymore. The secret’s out.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes widening for a fraction of a second before you nervously clear your throat. Levi definitely noticed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you own the tea shop, Y/N. Stop lying.”

You let out an irritated sigh. “Hange told you, didn’t they?”

“Yep.” He replies, popping the ‘p’.

I’m going to fucking kill Hange, you think to yourself, silently gathering your composure once more. Levi watches you intently, continuing to sip on the terrible tea before deciding that he’d assaulted his taste buds enough and placing it down.

“Why’d you do it?” You hear him ask. “And don’t lie to me. You’re not the only one who’s gotten better at spotting lies.”

Why’d you brew shitty him tea? Is he that affected by it?

Your reply was already on the tip of your tongue, head glancing up from your clipboard to say your answer. But your words don’t come out and your mind suddenly cleared when you saw the look in his eye.

Levi’s eyes were nothing short of gorgeous; a beautiful gunmetal gray with a gaze deadly enough to kill a man with one mere look. But right now, even though they were schooled into his usual look of disinterest, you could see him... wavering. A mix of unanswered questions, curiosity, and— for the briefest second you swore you saw— hurt.

“I take it you’re not asking me why I brewed you crappy tea for the past three months?”

Levi clicks his tongue in irritation. “No, you idiot. I’m asking you why you left out of the blue. If you had a problem you could’ve brought it up with me—“

“No!” You quickly interrupt. “No, god no, you’re perfect.”

The captain’s eyes widen, and you suddenly realize the words you’d spoken as you quickly try to explain before Levi could interject.

“There was no problem, okay? I didn’t request to be reassigned because I had a problem. It’s quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur.

He eyes you curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I have a solution. May I?” You gesture, asking if you could sit on his desk. Levi nods, not understanding why you needed permission now when you’ve done it of your own volition countless times before, but he suddenly understands when you sit directly in front him and not across from him like you usually would.

He watches as you pull a small brown box from your jacket, placing it down onto his desk before opening it. Levi is quiet as he eyes the item inside.

“It’s just a prototype for now. I was hoping to carve out a better one in my free time, one that would be a custom fit, but my free time kinda went flying out the window when you started firing people left and right until no one would accept you but me.”

You pick up the wooden prosthetic fingers and gently place them onto his desk. Your hand opens palm up, waiting for Levi to be comfortable enough to lend his hand to you, and he does so silently.

“The prosthetic’s made from redwood and the joints are connected by small metal rods. It’s light and durable, and I weatherproofed it so it wouldn’t break down so easily when you use them.” You explain, unwrapping the bandages around his hand. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out the concept, actually. I just took a pair of standard issue Survey Corps gloves and cut out all the fingers. Then, y’know, attached the wooden fingers to where the pointer and middle should be.”

Levi could only nod. You weren’t sure if his silence was good or bad and you couldn’t read his look. But Levi— Levi was speechless. In his mind, he dared not speak in fear of looking like a fool. Especially not in front of the person who gave back a piece of himself (quite literally, at that.)

He tenderly looks at the way you fitted the prosthetics onto his own hand, fastening brown leather straps around his wrists to secure the glove. The minute the glove is on and he sees all five fingers for the first time since the explosion, he feels like he’s about to cry.

“I had Hange help me with the anatomy so you could still bend them as you would normal fingers. I couldn’t figure out how to make them move on their own though, so you’d have to manually do that yourself.”

To demonstrate, you bend one of the prosthetics, the wood imitating the bend of his finger but not springing back up despite his brain commanding it to do so. You watch intently as he fumbles around with his hand, moving the fingers about. The wonder and astonishment in his usually unimpressed eye didn’t go unnoticed by you, and it spurred  you to continue on.

“Unfortunately, it’s not strong enough to flick the switches on ODM gear. You still have to relearn how to hold your blades when you’re cleared for training again.” You say regrettably. “But it’s strong enough to hold a pen.”

Your hand reaches for the forgotten quill across his desk, dipping it in the inkwell before offering it to him with a small smile. Levi slowly takes it, still speechless, as he readjusts his prosthetic to hold the quill and write.

His writing is still shit, undoubtedly; still no better than chicken scratches as he messily writes down the words. But god, the sight of the indiscernible handwriting next to five fingers brought tears to his eyes as he finally finished writing his name. The slightly legible letters of ‘Levi Ackerman’ stared back at him.

Levi couldn’t hold it back anymore. He immediately set the quill down before standing up to engross you in a warm embrace. You tense in his arms, not used to Levi willingly initiating any form of physical touch at all. But as he tucks his head into the curve of your neck and his shoulders start shaking, splotches of wet dripping onto your collarbones, you feel your arms encircle his waist, bringing him closer as you whisper sweet nothings into his ear and let him cry in peace.

Your hands ran through his scalp, willing him to calm down. Though normally the sight of a crying Captain Levi was something you never thought you’d see, you couldn’t help but feel honored he chose to share this rare moment of vulnerability with you.

You let him cry, still holding onto him, giving him his time. Briefly, you wonder what he was thinking. What pushed him to tears? Did the captain ever let himself mourn his losses? Does he mourn his friends, his family, the little pieces of himself that he’d lost along the way?

Though you had a million questions in your mind you dared not pry as you continued to comfort the weeping man in front of you.

Finally, after a few moments of nothing but silent sniffles and your sweet words, Levi finds it in himself to finally speak.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

Night had fallen around the base, encasing the world in darkness that beckons slumber. Levi continued to stay awake, still in his office, staring at the prosthetic you had given him hours before.

Curiously, he feels himself form his right hand into a fist, not surprised that the two wooden fingers didn’t comply like the rest. It was imperfect and he himself thought it could use some tiny adjustments for the sake of comfort— something he definitely would bring up to you as requested.

And yet, despite knowing his ‘fingers’ were nothing but wood, leather and metal, he couldn’t help but think it was the best thing he could ever ask for. 

Silently, under the lone glowing light of his oil lamp, Levi pulls out a blank sheet of paper and begins to turn his feelings into thoughts, thoughts into words, and words into sentences as his quill meets the white surface.

Hours later, he finds himself in front of your quarters, a candle in his left hand while his right held a pristine white envelope. The envelope containing unsaid words, unspoken wishes, and hidden feelings.

Your eyes are sleepy when you answer the door, half lidded and hair a mess when his knocks had woken you from your slumber. You rub your eye, adjusting to the light as you stare at the person in front of you.

“Captain?” You ask, stifling a yawn. “What’re you doing here so late?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he opts to look at you with an unreadable expression as he asks, “Can I come in?”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, and the thought of you slamming the door on his face crossed Levi’s mind; but that didn’t happen. Rather, you nodded and ushered him inside your bedroom, closing the door behind him as you once again flopped onto your bed. 

He places the candle down on your bedside table and now he was unsure what to do. He had a plan— or, he thought he had a plan— but awkwardly standing in your room in the middle of the night wasn’t part of it.

Quietly, you chuckle at the sight of Humanity’s Strongest looking so odd and out of place, unsure and slightly panicked. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit, and he complies.

Both of you had your knees pulled up to your chests and you were thankful when you noticed Levi had taken his shoes off before sitting on the bed. A comfortable silence encompasses the atmosphere in the dimly lit room. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the close proximity. 

From the corner of your eye, Levi looked like he was deep in thought. Not the kind you saw plenty of times in the battlefield or in strategy meetings, not the kind you saw when you entered his office as he hastily tried to hide his mirror. But the kind you saw when he quietly suffered through his own living hell. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, finally breaking the silence. He shakes his head. 

“Well, what brings the mighty Captain Levi to my humble little room?”

“Levi.” 

“What?”

“Call me Levi.” He murmurs, downcast staring intently at the envelope on his lap. “In this room, I’m not your captain. I’m not your patient. I’m not Humanity’s Strongest.”

You feel your eyebrows scrunch as surprise and curiosity paint your face, but not because of the captain’s offer to call him so casually. No— the surprise you showed was because he unclasped the prosthetic you made, not even sparing it a second glance as he carelessly threw it to you, and you barely managed to catch the limbs you’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights to create.

“Levi, what are you—“

“But I’m not a broken teacup for you to fix either.” He says, eyeing the stumps on right hand. “I’m not a doll who’s missing some parts. I’m not a charity case accepting donations.”

You were looking at him now, head turned in his direction as he unclasps his eyepatch and lets it fall onto his lap. He raises his head, eyes making contact with yours.

“I’m just Levi.”

A few moments of silence pass but neither of you look away. The reason why the captain continued to stare wasn’t something you knew. But the reason why you never looked away was because of his eyes. 

Levi’s eyes were still as gorgeous as you remembered them to be. Though his right eye was a different shade from his left, a lighter and paler shade of gray; though it lacked the light and emotions his unharmed eye bore; though it had a jagged scar running through it from where he was hit, you couldn’t help but think that his eyes were still the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen.

Gingerly, you lift up your hand to touch the right side of his face where his battle wounds lie, the prosthetic forgotten as it falls somewhere in the sheets. He doesn’t flinch like he did the first few times you did it, when you reached for his face during checkups to inspect his scars. But it didn’t stop you from asking.

“May I?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings your hand to rest on his cheek as his head leaned closer to your touch. His eyes closed momentarily, almost as if he were reveling in your warmth. But they opened once more, and you willed yourself not to get lost in the sea of gray.

“You were never a charity case to me, Levi. Or any of the things you just said.”

“Then what am I to you?”

Your heart stops, eyes widening ever so slightly at his question. Would you tell him? No, you couldn’t. Not when—

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.” His grip on your hand tightens a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to distract you from your thoughts. You realize the hand that held your own against his cheeks was his broken hand, his mutilated hand.

...would you really tell him?

You sigh, eyes finally leaving his. “You’re just another soldier who got hurt from a battle, asking a medic to take the pain away.”

Your hand slips out of his grip and goes back to your side, and you turn away from him once more. 

“Are you lying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Then look into my eyes and tell me what I am to you.”

“I can’t.”

Your voice cracks ever so slightly, hesitant but determined to stick to your words. And Levi knew that he was never going to get an answer. He sighs, shoulders slumping down in defeat. It was now his turn to look away from you, gaze falling to his lap. The envelope holding the letter crinkles and he’s reminded why he’s here.

“I know.” He whispers back. “But do me a favor.”

He doesn’t look your way as he hands you the letter. He doesn’t look your way when you silently took it, eyeing the red wax seal that bore his initials, fingers tracing over the edges before—

“Don’t open it yet. Open it tomorrow morning before you come in for my checkup.”

You only nodded in response. You reached out, placing the envelope on your bedside table before once again sitting next to Levi. Just as you had started, a comfortable silence blankets the atmosphere. Shoulders touching, heads not daring to turn because of the proximity.

But this time, it was he who breaks the silence.

“I don’t know what the future holds.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what the future holds.” He repeats. “I could die in action tomorrow and be one of the bodies they wheel back from war, or you could die trying to save someone in the battlefield. Even if neither of us die tomorrow, there’s always a possibility that we’ll die the day after that. And the day after that and the day after that. Such are the risks of our jobs.”

He takes a deep breath. “But tonight, I don’t want to focus on tomorrow. I don’t want to focus on what the future holds. I don’t want to focus on titans or enemy troops or looking after my team.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“You.” 

Your eyes soften. “But what am I to you?”

You didn’t know what to expect, what his answer may be. But you know you didn’t expect it when Levi’s fingers gently grabbed your chin and coaxed your head to look in his direction. You didn’t expect it when you opened your eyes and met his, his warm palm resting on your cheek. And what you didn’t expect most was for his eyes to look at you with so much love, so much care and adoration. Gone were the facades of boredom and disinterest; the stoicness and detachment they always seemed to reflect. All there was left was softness, warmth, and what seemed to be the unmistakable swirls of vulnerability.

“You’re just another medic too busy putting other peoples’ lives before your own.”

“Are you lying?” 

“No.” He whispers. “But you make me want to plan for a future I know we won’t have— a future we can’t have.” 

And for the first time, you knew he meant it. You knew what he meant. 

In your line of work full of death and violence and risks almost too big to take. In what you once thought was your little world, turning out to be too big for you to handle. In your personal brand of hell where tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, and loss was the only constant— it was enough. This small moment was enough.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” You whispered, entranced. A soft chuckle leaves Levi’s lips, eyes turning into crescent moons so fitting of his gray orbs and your heart twitches at the sight and sound of his melodious laughter.

His thumb brushes over your cheek and your eyes meet his once again, the beautiful shades of gray staring you back. You didn’t know who did it first but at this point you didn’t care enough to find out because slowly, you both leaned in. Slowly, you both closed your eyes. And slowly, you both tilted your heads.

He pauses.

“May I?” Levi asks, lips merely inches away from yours. You nod.

“You may.”

And suddenly, the distance between your lips was no more.

There were no fireworks, no explosions in your heart or butterflies in your belly. There was no feeling of cloud nine, no feeling of want or need. There was only warmth in your chest, the feeling of a small fireplace crackling and glowing in the coldness of the night. The feeling of warm sheets and warm bodies cuddled up in an embrace.

Home. 

The feeling of home.

Because that’s what you were to Levi, and what Levi was to you.

“Name and business.”

“Y/N L/N. I’m here for your routine checkup.”

“Come in.”

As the door opens and you set the tray down on his desk, hands gently holding the kettle to pour him his cup of tea, you noticed that Levi was still trying to write. But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that it was no longer his name he tried to scribble, opting to write down complete sentences. What caught your attention was that he was wearing his prosthetics, and his eyepatch wasn’t on.

“Did you read the letter?” He asks. His hands were still writing and his eyes were still staring at the papers in front of him. But you could tell he was anxious.

“Yes.” You simply reply, and he nods.

“Good.”

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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#the bit where levi visits oc #is my favorite part to write #and the lil banter at the start too #i love banter but i also love sweet little words #this is proof that i can be romantic without calling someone a dumbass #writing #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi imagine #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk imagine #shingeki no kyojin imagine #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagine

[taechaos]

A Parting Gift

Continuation of Blackmail from Textbook Love

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: "He told me he would leak your video if you don’t give him a handjob."

warnings: deception/manipulation, dubcon, handjob, spit, slight angst

word count: 2.4k

tag: @mwitsmejk

a/n: jungkook is a bit cruel in this 😖 a flop.

Every time you think about Jimin seeing you in your most vulnerable state, you want to cry, gag, vomit, but all you can do is look down and walk away from his direction in a hurry. Jungkook told you to avoid him, and it’s the easiest option for you right now, but you wish you could tell him it was an accident. If he doesn’t see you, he’ll forget it quicker and save you the embarrassment.

It’s been three days since the incident, and it’s Monday as you clutch your binder to your chest while walking to your afternoon lecture. The coast is clear when you scurry down the halls, the lightning dim due to the gloomy weather outside. It’s going to rain soon, but you got off easy by arriving early. The campus is not crowded yet, just as you expected before coming. Chances of seeing Jimin are supposed to be lowered in this instance, but the boy really can’t take a hint.

You hear him holler your name from a distance in the corridor, and you quicken your steps anxiously. You’re internally begging for him to leave you alone, to forget you exist, just to not approach you. The chants don’t matter when he gently holds your shoulder a few seconds later. You screw your eyes shut the moment you’re turned around, hoping he would just go away and spare the shame.

“Hey,” he exhales, out of breath from his short sprint to you. “Why were you ignoring me just now?”

“I didn’t hear you,” you lie and open your eyes. Jimin frowns.

“That’s not true,” he mumbles, “I was pretty loud and you don’t even have earphones in.”

You don’t say anything and grimace at the floor instead, avoiding his gaze for as long as you can. You’re not a good liar, and Jimin realizes that all too quickly. He continues quietly, “Is this about the… video?”

“It was an accident!” you blurt out with flushed cheeks, “J-Jungkook was going to send it to himself, but…”

She’s so dense, Jimin thinks in astonishment. “He told you that?” He knows it was on purpose; Jungkook was sending him a message beyond the media: that he stands no chance; that you belong to him. He was telling him to back off, but Jimin is more strong-willed than that.

“Yes… please forget about that video.” You avert your gaze to him pleadingly.

“I’m not judging you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he tries to comfort, “but are you sure it wasn’t intentional?”

Both of you miss Jungkook exiting the lecture hall when you respond. His brows furrow the moment he notices the interaction, but his vision is blocked by other students leaving. He shoves a few as he watches you from afar, your back facing him and Jimin’s expression angering him with its doubtful look. Why the fuck is he still talking to her? He fumes in his spot until you turn back on your path to attend your lecture. You glance at him mid-way and all of your worries vanish the moment you lock eyes. You are taken aback by his glare as he waves you off and stalks up to Jimin who is just idly standing by without moving.

He only breaks out of his trance when Jungkook grabs him by his collar. “I’m guessing you didn’t hear what she said,” he refers to the video with a subtle snarl.

“Heard it loud and clear,” Jimin retaliates obnoxiously. The halls are emptying itself out, and he grows a bit more nervous when he realizes that he’s alone.

“Are you fucking dense? Why are you still following her around like a fucking creep?” He’s greeted with silence, and another possibility dawns on him. A cheshire grin crosses his features as he scoffs, “Oh, you liked it, didn’t you?”

Jimin blinks, dumbfounded, but doesn’t respond. He’s harshly shoved and the back of his head bangs against the wall, echoing in the otherwise silent area. An oomf escapes his mouth at the force, but Jungkook isn’t apologetic.

“You jacked off to it, Jimin?” he closes in on the suffering man who only stares at him. “Answer me.”

“N-No, I wouldn’t-” He’s cut off by the stinging pain on his scalp. 

Jungkook yanks his hair back without mercy, and sings, “Stuttering, avoiding eye contact, taking too long to respond… all signs of lying, no?”

“You’re hurting me,” Jimin holds onto his wrist with both hands as he groans. Jungkook only tugs on it harder.

“I’ll let go if you answer me honestly.” 

Jimin knows that Jungkook is waiting for one specific answer; it is obvious by the sick glint in his eyes. Alas, he tries again, “I-I didn’t do that!”

A deep sigh leaves his mouth with an eye roll, and he brings his free hand to wrap his fingers around Jimin’s neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on him yet, and Jimin is helpless because of the weight pressing against his legs to prevent him from kicking. “Pity,” he mutters, “I never took you for a pervert and a liar.”

The air leaves Jimin’s lungs all too soon when Jungkook tightens his grip on his throat, crushing his windpipes without so much as an expression on his face. Jimin claws at his arm as he wheezes, and Jungkook doesn’t react in the slightest; he looks psychopathic. “Yes,” he finally croaks, “I did.”

He coughs the moment Jungkook removes his hands from him. He bends on his knees as he catches his breath, and the deadly man waits patiently. “You did what?”

“I-I… I jacked off to it,” he swallows audibly.

“Jacked off to what? Your sex life doesn’t interest me.”

“I jacked off to the video of you fingering… her.” Jimin is once again reminded of how cruel Jungkook is, and all he wants is for you to realize that before it’s too late. But he isn’t any better when he is admitting the truth of his wrongful actions.

“Christ…” he trails and shakes his head. He’s feigning disgust, but it works in making Jimin feel worse. “I bet you’d pay to watch it live.”

“Jungkook, please,” he begs hoarsely, his throat dry and scratchy from the suffocation, “stop this. You don’t even love her.”

“Jimin,” he says monotonously, “count yourself lucky that I don’t have any scissors on me, because I’d cut your tongue off right about now. Your voice gives me a headache,” he sighs, “meet me in the lounge at 4.”

You’re worried and twitching on the edge of your seat during your lecture. Conversing with Jimin was awkward, and him telling you Jungkook had lied to you was infuriating, but it shifted to anxiety when Jungkook appeared upset with you. Why do you always do things wrong?

Dwelling on your feelings is not an option when you have to focus on your professor, and you’re overwhelmed with so many things at once. Your exams; Jungkook’s assignments; Jimin’s persistence are all taking a toll on you. You don’t hesitate to escape reality when your phone vibrates in your pocket. It’s a message from Jungkook and your heart fills with relief as you open it under the desk. It reads:

come straight to the lounge after your lecture.

He’s been interacting with you outside of academical topics, and it feels like you’ve hit a milestone. It’s progress at its finest! He’s waiting for you. Time passes too slow for you, and you eagerly take notes to distract yourself; it works, and you’re out of the hall in a rush.

Students are packing up their belongings just as you stride into the lounge. Jungkook is sitting at the far back, and you almost miss his figure. He’s scrolling through his phone when you reach him and your shallow breaths make him look up. 

“Hi,” you breathe and place your sling bag on the coffee table. The room is spacious and the couches are wide and comfortable. You sit down next to him, your leg touching his spread one.

“Hey baby,” he greets with a smile. You internally scream at the rare pet name, unaware that he’s intentionally riling you up. “How was your lecture?”

“It was good! I missed you so much,” you lean into him, “I didn’t upset you earlier, did I?”

“Of course not, princess. I missed you too,” he palms your cheek before pecking the tip of your nose. “Oh, and Jimin will be joining us today.”

You don’t get to relish in Jungkook’s affection long before your eyes widen. “What? Why?”

“I spoke to him earlier today, and well…” he sighs guiltily, “He told me he would leak your video if you don’t give him a handjob. And I agreed on my terms.”

Your lips part as hatred consumes you. Jungkook knows you would do it, and he knows you’ll hold a grudge. And Jimin… well, he’ll definitely have this experience to keep him satisfied for a while.

Said man stands before the both of you timidly. You’re still in shock when you avert your gaze to him. Jungkook is unexpectedly friendly as he stands up and says, “Jimin! Take a seat.” Jimin sits in his former seat wordlessly as Jungkook plops on the loveseat across. “I don’t think we should drag this out longer than it needs to be.” He juts his chin at you, “Start.”

Jimin is perplexed when you hide your face from him as you unbuckle his belt. “Wh-What are you doing?” he asks, but doesn’t stop you.

Before you can respond, Jungkook says, “She knows.” You and Jimin have two different interpretations of his words, and he is baffled by your reaction to it. You’re going to pleasure him because of what he did? Or is this all an attempt at cutting his dick off?

Your upper body covers your actions from any outsiders, but Jimin is worried he won’t be able to stay quiet when your hand massages his crotch over his briefs. It’s a wet dream come true, really, as he involuntarily inches closer to you. Jungkook leans his cheek on his palm as he watches you in boredom. “Take it out,” he instructs you. You don’t glance at Jimin as you push down his underwear and wrap your hand around his erection. He’s not fully erect because he’s still confused, but the more you stroke him, the harder it grows. “You like it?”

Jimin is conflicted between responding and ignoring, but his noises are the only answer Jungkook needs. He is suppressing moans with gasps, shuddering in his seat because your hand feels so soft and you look so pretty and shy. When you pick up your head to gaze at him questioningly, he replies, “Y-Yes.” 

He is entranced by your doe eyes but Jungkook breaks the building tension by mocking, “You look like you want to kiss her. Calm yourself.”

There’s a brief pause before you ask, “Would it make you… cum faster?”

Jungkook leans his elbows on his knees in interest, a smirk plastered on his face at the power dynamic: both of you are playing along to his strings, two puppets under his control. It makes him curious to see how far you’re willing to go before he’s completely rid of Jimin. The only reason he’s allowing this to happen is because of how pathetic Jimin looks now, and how he’ll be utterly crushed when you never speak to him again. It’s a bittersweet parting memory.

“Um…” he hesitates, but thinks if you decided to give him a handjob, a kiss wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. “Yes?”

You inch your face closer to his, and the both of you look like middle schoolers with how slow your lips eventually meet. It’s a sloppy and amateur kiss with Jimin whining into your mouth, his tongue swiping across your lips recklessly. He’s lost in the pleasure, and it’s clear to you that he’s never done anything like this before. Your thumb grazes the tip of his stiff length, and he begins to twitch under you. You use your other hand to pump his girth, your lips awkwardly pressing against his plump ones.

“Spit in his mouth.”

You abruptly pull away to gawk at Jungkook, but he only raises a brow intimidatingly, as if daring you to defy him. “Open,” you demand Jimin. His eyes are hazy, and he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s drunk on your touch as he parts his glistening lips and slightly sticks out his tongue. You spit on it and he flicks his tongue out to collect all of it, swallowing with a deep rumble resounding from his chest. He’s enjoying this far too much.

You don’t notice him cum with a thrust in the air when you kiss him, but as it begins to coat your fingers, you look down to see his oozing leak. It’s not spurting, and you’re grateful for it when you scoot away from him. He’s panting with his head thrown back on the couch headrest. 

Jungkook breaks his silence by cooing to you, “Are you okay, baby?” You nod with a pout, head turned away from Jimin. You’re waiting for Jungkook’s cue to leave so you can speak your mind. “You can go now.”

Without skipping a beat, you seethe, “Fuck you, Jimin. Don’t talk to me ever again or else I will report you to the dean. I hate you, and I hope to never see you again.” You make your grand departure right after, and the man sputters incoherently in confusion.

“What did I do…?”

“Now, Jimin, you heard the girl,” he grins and clasps his hands, “she may take pity on you, but I won’t. One word from you to her, and you’re fucked.”

“If you’re so jealous, why would you let her do that to me?”

He merely shrugs. “Who is she waiting for after giving you a handjob?” he stands up and towers over the seated man who is fumbling with his belt. “I was being nice to you before she completely cut contact with you. You’re welcome by the way.”

As he exits the lounge, he scoffs to himself, “Jealous. What a joke.”

He has no reason to be jealous, because when he's outside, you're shuffling on your feet with your hands held behind your back with a bright smile as you turn to look at him.

"There's my girl," he affirms with a lopsided grin.

It shouldn't feel so reassuring when you reply, "Always yours." And as long as you are, you should be content with only having him in your life.

Because he's never going to catch you talking to another boy again, even if it's his former best friend.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jimin smut #jungkook imagines #jimin imagines #bts #park jimin #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jjk smut #pjm smut

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 1: Just Keep Swimming // Ch. 4

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 2,000+

Masterlist

————————

It is early in the morning by the time you wake up. So early that the sun hasn’t even risen over the horizon. Over the ancient city of Athens.

Even Triton is still in bed at this time. Cocooned in a thick fluffy blanket on top of Alexander The Great—The righteous name for the Stuffed King Turtle—with pillows surrounding him like a nest. It was at times like these that you wondered if Triton was part bird, perhaps the son of a harpy, rather than aquatic.

However, that was the last thing on your mind right now. Your eyes flickered down to your phone, staring at the text messages Bella had sent you last night.

—Heyyy (y/n)💕💕! Long time no see! Thanks again for helping out with the festival again ur the best. —

—Btw I heard from the rumor mill that u have a son. Why don’t u bring him along for the festival tomorrow? We can watch him quickly during ur shift and then you can have fun with him after. —

—There is also going to be cotton candy and fireworks! It will be lots of fun for the kiddo 😉😙.—

Letting out a sigh, you rub your aching temples, already feeling a headache coming on. You knew Bella meant no harm, she really is just a playful airhead at heart after all. But, it didn’t reassure the fact that it sounded like the whole school by now has found out you have a kid. Which didn’t please you in the slightest.

Especially since some of your classmates can be as toxic as snakes. You didn’t want to bring Triton anywhere around people like them.

Then again, it wasn’t like Triton couldn’t handle himself, he was more than capable after all. You found this out the hard way after he picked up a Boulder twice his size yesterday like it was nothing.

It would also be nice for the boy to have some fun for once instead of staying inside all day. Today was going to be sunny and nice out. A perfect day to play and go outside.

Decisions. Decisions.

“…Mom?”

At the call, You peel your eyes away from the screen to look over. Triton had already scurried out of his nest like bed in the corner of the living room by the time you looked up. His hair was tousled in every which way direction as he rubbed his eyes with sleepiness. A cute yawn left his lips before he finally opened his eyes. Their pale Ocean blue glory looking up at you.

“Good morning Triton.” You cooed at the young boy as he stumbled his way over to you on the couch. He practically collapses onto you, rubbing his face into your stomach for a couple of seconds before relaxing.

You chuckle as he mumbles a good morning in return, at least what you guessed to be, though it is hardly hearable.

It is silent after that for a few as you two take in the quiet morning atmosphere. The birds chirped from the window and you could even hear the soft sounds of footsteps from your neighbors above. The world was slowly waking up.

However, as much as you wanted to stay there for longer and relax, the alarm on your phone dings. A painful reminder that you should start getting ready for the festival.

Groaning, you attempt to peel Triton off of you so you could get up but the boy doesn’t budge. You attempt a couple of more times but after hearing a small giggle from said boy, you give up.

Shuffling up from your spot, you stand up but still Triton doesn’t budge. His knees drag on the ground slightly as he falls off the couch but he recovers quite quickly by using some of his powers. Making himself float effortlessly in the air as he stays latched onto you.

You let out a small sigh but don’t care to stop the boy. Instead making your way to your room so you could finally get ready.

As soon as you enter your room however, the peace doesn’t last long as after you tell him how he has to get out so you could get changed, Triton is forcibly thrown out of your room with a pout on his face.

“Mommmm!”

Triton leans against your door with a whine. Already missing your presence even though he knows it hasn’t been that long. He stares at the door handle in temptation but frowns as he knows he shouldn’t. That he should respect your privacy as you get ready.

“Mommmmmmm!”

“Triton, please! I’ll be out in a few!”

—.—.—.—.—

You wondered if you should have asked Zeus more about aquatic gods. Especially in a time like this.

“Triton… Sweetheart? I need you to let go of my leg so I can walk.”

“B-but—“ Triton stutters out, his grip on your leg tightening as the bus begins to screech to a halting stop. You weren’t sure what was up with him but he was very clingy today. He wouldn’t take no for an answer when you told him to stay home today. Forcing you to bring him along.

You seriously wondered if today was something special that was making him act so strange. Perhaps something that pertains to gods. Aquatic gods especially.

“You can hold my hand instead. I just can’t walk with you holding onto me in this long dress and sandals.”

Hesitantly, Triton lets go of your leg and grasps your hand. He seems content with this type of contact for now but you don’t know how long it could last. Especially when you start waiting tables. The last thing you need is Triton using his powers to spill hot tea onto customers.

“(Y/n)!”

“Oh, Bella.” You announce as said girl spots you in the crowd as you enter the festival.

“So nice to— Oh my, This must be your son!” Bella coos out, squatting down slightly to look at Triton who quickly hides behind you. “Such an adorable boy and… Oooo~ Look at how nice you are dressed up.”

Startled by Bella’s comment, you take a step backwards, “Huh?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me. You are like the bell of the ball. The—“ As you and Bella bicker back and forth, you miss how Triton puffs his chest out at Bella’s previous words. He knew how beautiful you—His precious mother—looked right now.

You were wearing a white and blue thin silk-like dress, one that flowed as effortlessly as the waves of the sea. Bracelets, Choker, earrings, all of it was shining gold. Not even Apollo, god of the sun, glimmered with as much gold as you. Your makeup was flawless with your cheeks and lips dusted in a light red to add color to your face.

Honestly, in Triton’s opinion you were even more gorgeous than Aphrodite herself. Though, he would never say that out loud… you would be in trouble with the goddess if he did.

“Woah… Dude look…”

At the sudden voice, Triton looked over. A group of males were looking at you from afar. Clearly, mentally agreeing with Triton on how pretty you were. Though, it seemed as if they couldn’t bring up the courage to make their way over to greet you. Chickening out whenever you happen to even accidentally glance their way.

“You can look but you can never touch…” Triton snickered to himself, humming a small tune in content as you finally wave Bella goodbye and go on your way.

After a while of mingling in and around the crowded area, you finally make it to your section. It was thankfully easily spotted with all the decorations of colorful fish and blue fabrics that flowed throughout the air.

“Woah! It’s like we are underwater!” Triton awed as he looked up. “Mom, this is—“

“Ahhh! Is that your son (y/n)?”

“Wait, he's here?”

“Oh my!”

Startled, you two look over to your right as three of your classmates walk over. It seemed that you were correct when you thought that the rumor must have spread about the whole school by now.

“His name is Triton.” You explain to the girls as they looked down at said boy. Triton once again hid behind you but that didn’t do much as they still cooed and asked questions to him. Feeling bad for the poor boy, you decided at that moment it would be best to leave him in the back where more of the male staff was located so he would stop being ogled at. Though it would also sadly leave him out of your sight for a while. “Well, we have to get going for my shift. I will see you three later.”

“Of course!”

The girls smiled kindly at you before all at once cooing, “Bye Triton!”

“B-bye…” Triton stutters out, looking at them from around your leg quickly before hiding again.

“Ahhh so cute!”

“I know right!”

“My. I’m so jealous of—“

As you walk away, you wait a little for the girls to be enough ways away before looking down at Triton, “You're really shy today, Triton.”

Triton lets a smile whine out in detest and clutches onto your leg more, “You can’t blame me, mom. I’m not used to girls and affection from them. My old mom scared all the women away from the palace, remember?”

“True. True.”

Finally, after many obstacles—too many in yours and Triton’s opinion—you had made it to the tent. By the time you had got there, it was already bustling full of customers and you knew you had to hurry.

“Now this way, Triton.” You tell the young boy as you bring him to a seperate tent. Being careful not to bump into the other waiters or chefs as you lead Triton to an area in the corner with the supplies. “Mom has to wait tables for now so I need you to stay right here alright. I’ll be back soon, if you get hungry you can ask Jeremy or Paul for food.”

At the sound of their names, two of the chefs look over and wave.

“But mom…” Triton whines, upset that he has to let you go, “…Can’t you stay.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t. It will just be an hour until the actual waitress I’m covering for arrives. Then you have me for the rest of the day alright?”

Triton’s face looks unsure. Still not completely content with letting you go just yet.

“Don’t worry little man.” Triton jumps a little as Paul pats the top of his head, “Your mom won’t be gone for long. In the meantime, I know how to pass the time real fast. I can teach you how to make a mean sundae.”

“R-Really?” Triton questions out, looking worriedly back and forth between you and the male. Seeming to be struggling to fight against taking the bargain the man has given him.

“Of course, you won’t even notice time has even passed by the time mom picks you up. Now, what do you like in your sundaes?”

As Paul takes Triton away, you mouth a small thank you to your classmate before giving Triton a wave goodbye. Just as you are about to turn to walk a way, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry (y/n). I’ll make sure to watch your son while you are gone.” Jeremy says, shaking his head in discontent as he remembers, “I saw how those girls were harassing the poor boy earlier.”

“Thank you so much. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Of course don’t worry about it.”

As you leave the tent, you give Triton one last look goodbye. He wasn’t looking at you at the time as he was much to busy scooping huge chunks of oreo ice cream into his bowl. Concentrating to make sure they were stacked perfectly on top of each other.

You felt a sting of worry and doubt bubble up in your stomach as you continued to stare at Triton. Unsure if it was okay to leave him like that. But, you quickly push it away, once you see Paul right behind him. Close by to help him if needed.

Triton will be okay.

Triton will be okay.

Okay.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But, little did you know,…

…that wasn’t the case.

Author Note: I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I’m sorry I left it on a cliffhanger though lol. I didn’t mean to, it just worked to break up chapter 4 and chapter 5 at this point. Anyways, other things. I’m going on vacation with my extended family next week 🎉. But don’t worry, I am going to spend tomorrow and Friday writings so you will stay have chapter 5 and 6 for next week, don’t worry :)). It’s also fitting since I’m going to the beach, Poseidon I’ll see you there 🤣🤣.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv poseidon x reader #snv poseidon #snv #record of ragnarok #bivalve

[guardianofrivendell]

Reckless

Meludir x gender neutral reader

Requested: Yes! Anon asked: “Hello, can i please get a oneshot between meludir and reader where reader is injured from an orc attack and meludir is looking after them?”

Warnings: I tried to write something fluffy, I really did, just a normal fluffy kind of oneshot but the force of sarcasm and sass is too strong! 

A/N: I didn’t know Meludir that well, and there isn’t much information about him besides that he’s from the Mirkwood guard, so I just went with my own interpretation of his character. This was also a request that was long overdue (by now all of my requests fall into that category, I AM SO SORRY).

“I can’t believe we’ve waited so long,” Meludir chuckled, gently wiping the hair out of your face.  

You were both relaxing together at the edge of the forest, right at the other side of the bridge where the trees stopped and the palace grounds began. It was one of the more quieter spots in the kingdom, away from all the hustling and bustling of the palace, but still close enough so you would notice if something was wrong. Your sense of duty as a member of the Mirkwood Guard was never far away, even if you had some time off.

Meludir was sitting with his back against a tree, your head resting in his lap, your eyes closed. One of his hands was intertwined with yours and the other one was now lazily going through your hair. For a moment it felt like it was just the two of you, and time stood still. 

“Maybe we were a little too blind to see what was right in front of us,” you said in response, and brought the hand that was going through your hair to your lips to kiss it, marveling at the softness of his skin. “But I’m glad our eyes finally opened, Meludir. I don’t think I could have gone another day dancing around each other, meleth nin.”

Meludir hummed softly and placed a kiss on your forehead. “I could not agree more. Gi melin, mîr nin. An uin.” (I love you, my treasure, forever)

He then started singing to you, his voice soothing and barely above a whisper. You focused on the caresses of his thumb on your hand, and when his fingers started gently scratching your scalp, you felt yourself slowly slipping away. 

“Sleep, meleth nin. Sleep, my one true star.”

The high-pitched scratching of a chair dragging across the floor pulled you out of your more than pleasant dream. 

You desperately tried to focus on the last images which were still lingering in your mind but alas, the loving words sung by Meludir were slowly replaced with the soft thumping of a massive headache and your head was no longer resting on his comfortable lap but on a fluffy pillow instead. Which was also nice but, you know, not the same. 

Someone took your hand in theirs, followed by a soft squeeze. No, no, no, you weren’t ready to wake up yet! You weren’t done with that dream! Who needed the cruel reality where your best friend was just that, your best friend - with the emphasis on friend - while in your dreams he was your intended? So hello dreamworld it was! 

You tried to turn on your side so you could try and go back to sleep, but as soon as your right leg shifted just the tiniest bit, a shot of pain went through it, setting it on fire and making your body go rigid. 

Okay, so moving was a big no no. What happened to you?

You inhaled a little deeper to try and breathe through the pain, when the scent of herbs and starched linen filled your nose.  Wait a minute... The pain in your leg, the smell of herbs and linen…  This was not your own comfortable bed you were lying in! 

You were in the healing wing! 

Okay… Maybe you should open your eyes and check? Just to be sure?

But you were rather comfortable if you were being honest - if you didn’t count the slight throbbing in your head and your leg that was still hurting - and as long as your eyes remained closed, you didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of whatever happened to you. 

Better make the most of it and try and sleep some more! 

But alas… there was no rest for you when flashes of what had happened shot through your head, making you forget about the pain for a moment. 

You had been on a patrol through the deeper parts of the forest with your friend Meludir and a few other guards when you’d stumbled across a couple of spiders. Despite being far outnumbered by the vile creatures, you came out victorious, but you couldn’t prevent some of the less experienced guards from getting hurt. While you were taking care of their injuries, Meludir had spotted an orc pack in the distance. 

So of course you had to go after them… By yourself, leaving a very upset Meludir with the wounded. You’d deal with him afterwards. He will come around eventually, he always did. That’s why you were such good friends. 

You were all about impulsive decisions. It’s what made you join the Mirkwood Guard in the first place and usually that turned out for the best. This time? Hmm… not so much. 

You were caught off guard during the fight and suffered a stab wound in your leg because of it, there were simply too many Orcs for you to face alone. Oh you could almost hear Meludir’s ‘I told you so’! While you were distracted trying to get the dagger out of your thigh as soon as possible - afraid it was poisoned - one of the remaining Orcs saw its chance and charged at you. Your reflexes were too slow and you failed to deflect the hilt of his sword. That’s when the lights went out. 

“Y/N?”

Another squeeze in your hand. 

Seriously, how impatient can someone get? You were sleeping! Or trying to, your leg was still hurting after all. Didn’t they teach them how rude it was to wake a sleeping, injured person? Not good for the healing process! 

But the sounds surrounding you were getting louder, reverberating against the insides of your skull and making your head throb even worse. Guess that blow to your head actually did do some damage there. Better keep those eyes closed for a while longer, you thought. 

But you were also curious, and you couldn’t help trying to concentrate on the sounds closest to you. You could hear a voice talking softly to themselves, it sounded oddly familiar, it had sung to you in your dream not ten minutes ago. Meludir…

You suddenly remembered who exactly you were dreaming of a few moments ago. Oh Eru, you didn’t talk in your sleep right?!

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

Yeah, that was Meludir alright. You could almost hear the smirk coming through his voice. The hand covering yours was probably his too. 

Oh, he was not going to like this. He’s probably worried sick, or angry. Or both. Either way, you were in trouble. 

You opened your eyes a little to take a small peek. If there was even the slightest hint of anger on his face, you were going to pretend to be asleep for a little while longer.

Meludir seemed relaxed at first sight, his elbows were resting on his knees, his hands holding onto your left one. He was still wearing his uniform, covered with blood stains from the encounter with the spiders, and you noticed some black Orc blood as well. But he was unharmed, thank the Valar. 

His dark eyes were already staring at you as soon as your eyes met his, boring into yours with such an intensity that you couldn’t help but look away in shame...  Busted.

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” you tried to joke, trying to assess his current mood. He looked like he was relieved to see you awake. This might not be so bad after all.

Oh how naive could you be...

“Now that you’ve finally opened your eyes...” he began. 

The relief that was etched on his face slowly turned into anger. Uh-oh. 

“What were you thinking, Y/N?!” he whisper-shouted, smacking your arm. 

“Hey hey, no assaulting the injured!” you protested, grasping your arm.

“Your arm is fine! Wish I could say the same about your leg and your head,” he huffed.  

You rolled your eyes and let go of your arm. 

“Both are still attached to my body so clearly you are overreacting, Meludir!”

“I am overreacting? Who exactly went after an entire Orc pack by themselves?! You! And without even telling me, you just ran off!” he ranted, seeming to forget he was in the healing wing. “You could’ve died, Y/N!”

“But I didn’t,” you countered. 

Meludir rushed to stand, his swift movement unbalancing the chair. 

“But you could have! I could have lost you!” he snapped, his hands going through his dark hair in frustration. 

You didn’t know if he said that last sentence to himself or not, but this was the first time you saw him in such a state and you didn’t know what to think of it. 

You hated it when Meludir was angry at you. He just had to get it all off his chest, you knew that, but that didn’t mean you liked it when he yelled at you.

One of the healers nearby reprimanded him for raising his voice, and that seemed to calm the Mirkwood Elf a little. He looked at you apologetically.  

“I’m sorry I yelled at you, I was just- Never mind…” He took a seat on your bed this time, carefully as to not hurt your leg. “Tell me, how are you feeling?” he asked, taking a deep breath. 

Oh. Okay, we finally have worried Meludir. That’s a good thing. You could work with him.

“Killer headache and as long as I lie still, I should be fine. I’ll be back up in no time.”

“You had me- and us, you had us worried there, Y/N.”

Meludir’s hand wrapped around yours again. Weird, since when did you guys start to hold hands this much?

“Awww, you were worried about me?” you teased him, trying to ignore the strange feeling in your stomach when you looked at your joined hands.  

“Y/N, I found you unconscious and bleeding on the ground with Orcs leaning over you. Of course I was worried!” he raised his voice, his eyes wide in concern. “You were out for several hours!”

After a few seconds Meludir let go of your hand and sighed. 

You finally got a good look at him and you noticed his hair was messy, some strands sticking to the side of his head. He looked tired, you didn’t think you ever saw him tired before. He was a complete mess. Very unlike him.

The poor Elf had probably been at your side the whole time. Guilt started settling in your stomach.

“I’m sorry I made you worried,” you apologised, “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Meludir chuckled. “Yeah, we both know that’s not going to happen.”

You lifted your head a little to look around, and you were surprised to see the other beds empty. Where were the other guards?

“How are the others?”

“Some scratches and minor injuries, a few spider bites. Nothing the healers couldn’t fix. You were worse off than them,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

You let your head drop back into the pillow dramatically, relieved to hear the others were fine. But something still bothered you.

You rolled your head to the side to look at him and pointed at his chest.

“Why is there Orc blood on your uniform?”

“Well, someone had to finish what you started.”

Is that a smirk you saw? The cheeky bastard!

“Oh, just you wait until I get back on my feet, I’ll happily remind you who’s the better fighter,” you challenged him. 

“That’ll take some time, the healers said you can go to your own chambers once you wake up, but…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead looking at you in apprehension. 

“What? What’s with the dramatic pause?”

“You have to stay off guard duty for at least two weeks. Orders from the healers and King Thranduil.” 

“What?” you gasped, and you winced when you sat up a little too fast and careless, hurting your leg in the process. Your hand flew towards your thigh and you saw Meludir’s hands doing the same. 

“Don’t hurt the messenger! Or yourself!” he joked, but you didn’t miss the slight hint of fear and worry in his eyes. Good.

“Meludir,” you whined, dragging out his name, “you don’t understand! I’ll die out of boredom!”

“Your wound needs healing, Y/N. You cannot use your leg and you need your rest.” 

He grabbed your hand and traced your knuckles with his thumb. 

“And in the meantime I’ll be there to take care of you.”

Oh. Oh.

Well in that case...

He squeezed your hand again, and smiled at you. It lit up his entire face, and you couldn’t help but mimic his expression. Maybe with him as your private nurse it wouldn’t be so bad after all. The prospect of being carried around by Meludir all the time made it all seem almost enjoyable. 

“But before I carry you to your chambers, I need you to explain something to me first, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, what is it?”

The corner of his lip twitched and his entire demeanour changed. 

“Why did you call me ‘meleth nin’ in your sleep?”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @myrin1234​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​ @aredhel-of-gondolin​ @leethology​ @elvish-sky​ @moony-artnstuff​ @kirenia15​ @hey-its-nonny​ @moarfandomtrash​ @beenovel​

#Meludir x reader #Meludir x gender neutral reader #Meludir #The Hobbit #The Hobbit Oneshot #The Hobbit fanfiction #The Hobbit Imagine #Meludir Oneshot #Meludir Imagine #Mirkwood #Mirkwood Guard #Mirkwood Elf

[justbreakonme]

(A and B are both training to become soldiers/spies/guards/astronauts/etc. in a boarding school situation)

A woke up to a pitiful gasp outside her dorm door, followed by a small knock. She was out of bed in an instant, flinging the door open just to see B crumpled outside it, sobbing.

A and B were regular rivals, most commonly seen at each other’s throats. Everything was a competition here, but B was her primary competitor.

“Please..” he wiped his eyes, trying to gather a little bit of the dignity that was all but lost, “I don’t know what to do..”

B didn’t know anyone else here as well. He wasn’t close to anyone, not even that close to A, but he knew that she fought fair, and didn’t hit any harder than she needed to. He couldn’t say that for anyone else.

“B, what the hell, what’s going on?” her voice was hushed, the slightest touch of anger overwhelmed by concern, “Get in here before someone sees you, come on.”

She helped him up and inside, shutting and locking the door behind them.

He took a deep breath, trying to explain himself without losing it. “I- I can’t sleep, I haven’t slept all week, I just can’t, and I don’t know what to do, please, I don’t know who else to go to…”

His voice broke, and he was crying again.

She’d never seen him cry…

“What do you mean you can’t sleep?”

“W-whenever I try to close my eyes, my heart beats faster and I start to panic, I don’t know what’s going on…”

The desperation in his eyes and his voice, the way he was still clinging to her hand, the fact that he had come to her of all people…

This wasn’t a trick.

“Okay, alright, let’s get you calmed down…” she coaxes, letting her voice soften into the honey tones she usually reserved for cooing at the local cats, “You want to sleep in here for tonight?”

He just shrugged, and she could feel him still shaking. “Does being alone make it harder to sleep?”

He nodded.

“Okay, well you’re welcome to stay… here, sit down for a second. Let me get you some pain medicine for the headache that either is coming or already started.”

He’d stopped crying and sat quietly and obediently at the end of her bed, seeming to try to regain his composure while she rooted around in her bathroom cupboard.

“Here, these should help,” she folded the pills into his shaking hand and handed him a water bottle as well, leaning against her bed post as she watched him take them, “So, what’s freaking you out?”

“Exams, I guess… I can’t fail this…” he looks up, locking eyes with her for the first time, “I can’t.”

“What would happen if you did?”

“My dad would kill me. And I’d let him.”

“Why?”

“Cause everyone on my dads side has made it through, and I’d rather be dead than deal with how he’d treat me otherwise. I have to make it through, but- I don’t know if I will…”

She sighed and plopped down next to him, looking over.

“You’re gonna make it. Assuming you can get some sleep and stay focused, you’re gonna make it. Your scores are awesome, and the only person you can’t beat is me.” she jokes, elbowing him gently, and he can’t help a weak laugh.

“Maybe…”

“But if you don’t get some sleep that might make it more difficult… So come on. Shimmy up.”

They both shift farther up the bed, till they could tuck themselves in, and he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Bothering you.”

“Well that never stopped you before,” she teases, trying to keep thing light, “But seriously. We may beat the shit out of each other out there, but in the end, we’re all on the same team.”

He’d never thought of it that way before.

All this training wasn’t just to impress his dad, or wasn’t supposed to be. It was to protect people, A included. They were, in reality, supposed to be willing to die for each other…

He nodded before he could start crying again, and stared up at the ceiling trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

He didn’t know when he had started to drift off, just knew that when he woke up, A was pressed up against his back, holding him like a teddy bear.

He glanced at the clock, praying to whatever god was out there that it wasn’t time to get up yet, and let out a sigh of relief when the clock only registered 2:06 am.

B sunk back into the bed with another soft sigh, and did his best to avoid jostling A. And, he slept again, dreamlessly and peacefully, till the alarm sounded in the morning.

#literally just pulled this outta my ass #enjoy #rivals to lovers #rivals to friends #whump #exhaustion #panic attack #family expectations #daddy issues #caretaker #cuddling is my fave

[yesimwriting]

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

--

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is. 

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?” 

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real. 

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark. 

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become. 

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created. 

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt. 

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?” 

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.” 

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.” 

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long. 

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.” 

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me. 

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand. 

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want. 

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.” 

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.” 

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.” 

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.” 

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie. 

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?” 

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.” 

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.” 

His confidence sparks something angry within me.  “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.” 

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.” 

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.” 

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me. 

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.” 

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips. 

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.” 

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.” 

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.” 

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.” 

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.” 

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.” 

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.” 

#shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #sab imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (3/4)

It dawns on Jaskier that in the span of only a few days, his and Geralt’s roles have reversed.

(3.2k, lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, blood and injury, miscommunication)

The reverse trope series masterlist.

AO3

Jaskier is perched on the edge of the bed, exactly where he woke up an eternity ago. The barmaid is filling the bathtub with one bucket of water after another, but he pays no attention.

He fidges with the splints on his arms, careful not to tug on the tendons. With how swollen his wrists are, that seems like an impossible feat.

“You alright by yourself?” the girl asks, pouring the last of the water.

“Yes.”

Jaskier lets the word out without a fight. It wouldn’t do much good anyway. The barmaid is gone within a second, and Jaskier sits alone in the inn room with both arms immobilized and a hot bath waiting.

Untying the laces is painful. Jaskier ends up with a head full of sweat by the time his doublet hits the ground, and the intricate bindings on his chemise give him an even bigger headache. His arms tremble like they are getting more broken by the minute.

It takes forever for Jaskier to strip himself nude and notice the bloodstains all the way down his neck. The wound at his nape is sewed close neatly, barely stinging by now, but with one look of himself in the mirror, Jaskier knows he’s a mess. The dried blood, added by the dark circles under his eyes, makes quite a harrowing picture.

He sinks into the hot water and rests his arms by the edge, the warmth loosening his muscles and clearing the smell of blood. Gradually, he lowers himself under the surface and feels his lungs burn.

Drowning himself would be a nice idea, if only he isn’t sticking out his forearms just so the splints don’t get soaked. Also, Geralt will blame himself even more, so there goes the thought.

Jaskier emerges and shakes away the droplets like a wet dog. He can’t get soap into his hair anyway. Sitting there in self-pity and regret is his only option.

And what right does Jaskier have to feel sorry for himself? Geralt is the one hurt by the poison he spewed, curse or not, and yet he still sewed up Jaskier’s neck and bandaged his wrists. He even ordered a bath for Jaskier when he left, for good this time, Jaskier is sure. There’s no reason for Geralt to stay after all, now that he believes Jaskier is ready to turn on him at every chance just like everybody else.

In the end, it doesn’t matter that a fae in the woods made him say it. Geralt will never be his friend again, let alone anything Jaskier has only allowed his heart to entertain in the wildest dreams.

That’s why he sucks in a surprised breath when a knock comes from the door. Jaskier bites into his lips, just to be safe.

“It’s me.” Geralt’s voice is small, tentative. “Do you need help?” After a stretch of silence, he pushes open the door slowly. “I only want to check on you—Gods, Jaskier, are you in pain?”

Is he? Perhaps soaking his wound in hot water and clutching at the tub with his broken hands isn’t that wise.

“I…” The chair screeches against the floor and Geralt settles next to Jaskier. “I know you don’t want to see me, but you can’t treat your injuries so carelessly. Here.”

Geralt picks up a bar of soap and dips it into water. The next thing Jaskier knows, gentle hands are threaded through his hair and massaging his scalp.

“I’ll just clean it and bandage it. It won’t take long.”

Jaskier looks into the unbearable sadness in those amber eyes, and hates that he’s doing this to Geralt.

“I hate that I’m doing this to you, Jaskier. I—” Geralt sighs. “I wish I could go back and leave you alone after the mountain. I’d make sure we never meet in that damned tavern in Posada if it means you won’t get hurt. Seeing you like this, I—”

Jaskier catches Geralt’s gaze, pleading and seeking, and feels the witcher still under his attention. No, he doesn’t deserve any comfort, not when he’s the one completely at blame. It’s bad enough that Geralt believed all those awful things, and Jaskier won’t ask for more.

“Jaskier?”

He looks down again and lets Geralt go back to his ministrations.

Geralt sighs with relief, and Jaskier swallows the lump in his throat.

Gods, he wants to explain, wants more than anything to erase the hurt he inflicted—if that is still possible. Letting Geralt believe those things is so fundamentally wrong. But how will Jaskier explain? With his voice gone and wrists ruined, there’s no real way of communication, and the thought of more awful things slipping out by accident is enough for Jaskier to wish for death by drowning again.

He let twenty years pass without ever admitting his love, and now he’s lost the chance.

The water trickles down Jaskier’s temple when Geralt rinses out the soap. His movement is achingly gentle, rough calluses ghosting over Jaskier’s skin only by accident. If only tenderness can kill. Tears well up again, and he’s losing control.

“Does it still hurt?” Geralt asks while retrieving a towel.

“No.”

The first preferable lie of the day.

Slowly, Jaskier turns around to let Geralt dry the curls near his forehead, his jaw clenching tight again. There’s a crease between Geralt’s brows, his amber eyes unconvinced. A large sheet is wrapped around Jaskier’s frame when he steps out of the tub.

Jaskier hisses when he tries to catch the hem of the sheet, and Geralt stills. “Let me see your wrists.”

Jaskier stares into amber eyes, silently hoping that without an answer, Geralt will leave him to his misery. He can’t afford another slip. And yet, determination creeps into Geralt’s features, and there’s no point in fighting anymore. A determined Geralt is not someone Jaskier can refuse.

“I’ll be quick,” Geralt pauses. “Please?”

It’s unfair how kind Geralt is being.

Jaskier’s shoulders sag when he pads across the room to sit on the bed, arms gathering the sheet into a heap near his midriff. He should maintain at least a shred of dignity.

Geralt sits down next to him, shoulders weighed down, looking just as tired as Jaskier feels. Still, when he unwraps Jaskier’s wrists, his motion is the most precise thing, touching just enough for practical purposes, not sparing even a brush of knuckles.

Even the slightest probing sends a sharp bolt of pain up Jaskier's arms, but it’s nothing compared to the torture of being so close to Geralt, dreading his fate—being left alone once again. This time, it’ll be permanent and he’ll deserve it.

Jaskier holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable blow that is Geralt declaring he’ll leave on first light. For reasons beyond this world, it doesn’t come. Instead, Geralt lets out a strangled sound.

Jaskier frowns. His wrists are painted with a plethora of black and purple bruises, the edges fading into green and yellow, which is just to be expected.

“You’ll never play again,” Geralt whispers. “If we don’t do anything about it.”

Does it matter? He has long since forgotten how to sing without Geralt in his songs.

“I—” Geralt wraps the gauze around the splints, one by one, tucking in the end. “I asked around just now. Word says a mage is only a day’s ride away. No one at the market was sure, but I am. Yen is only a day away. We can make it tomorrow.”

At the mention of the sorceress’s name, the press of teeth against his tongue is the last of Jaskier’s worry, and he retracts his arms instantly. Under the thin sheet, Jaskier shivers.

“Jaskier, I can’t leave you like this. You need your music when I—” Geralt shakes his head, the pursed line of his lips impossibly sad. “—When you go. Yennefer can fix it. I know you can’t stand me, but at least grant me the peace of mind. Let me know you will be all right, after.”

The dim room turns hazy in the candlelight, and Jaskeir can only curl into himself to stem the tears. He sits there for too long, not sure if he nodded. Wrapping the wound on his head doesn’t take long, and then Geralt is gone without a word.

Jaskier hugs himself tighter, and sobs into the quiet night, the aches of his body finally tiring him out.

 ~~

Strapping the lute case to Roach’s saddle is a task Geralt has done hundreds of times, and yet he fidgets with the contraption in the morning, adjusting it so many times, pulling at the knot again and again.

It’s almost like he wants to stretch their journey longer.

But then, one look at Jaskier’s splinted arms and bandaged head, he smoothes a hand down Roach’s mane and deemed her ready to go.

Riding on the mare while the witcher walks ahead of them is not the most novel experience for Jaskier. Despite Geralt’s overprotectiveness of his mare, he’s always let Jaskier ride if he was truly distressed—or simply complained loudly enough.

There’s no complaining during their one-day journey, even Roach is behaving like the good girl she is. Jaskier gladly endures her glares as long as she doesn’t throw him off her back. Perhaps she senses that will certainly kill him.

The small village looms by the end of the road, right next to the setting sun, and Jaskier’s knees almost buckle under him as he dismounts. He catches the saddle by instinct and chokes in a grunt. There’s fresh blood between his teeth. Geralt’s hands steady Jaskier by the elbows as he breathes through the pain, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Walking into Yennefer’s cottage like this is the last thing Jaskier wants, but what choice does he have? She has long since figured out how pathetic he is. A mere human plastered himself to a witcher’s side, never once considering the possibility that he’s unwanted. A mock or two from Yennefer of Vengerburg aren’t anything new.

To Jaskier’s surprise, when violet eyes meet him, there’s no mockery.

Yennefer stands from a workstation full of vials and bottles. Without sparing a glance at Geralt, she walks right past the witcher.

“Oh, bardling,” she says, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

It takes a brave man to not cower under her knowing gaze, and Jaskier is far from one. He wishes to hide in the setting sun and the darkening room, his feet quiet on the wooden floor and lips sealed. Without a voice, Jaskier is left with no presence anyway.

Pulling Yennefer away, Geralt must be explaining the situation. Once in a while, they will both turn their heads at Jaskier with a pinched look, an almost identical one. Paying attention to the conversation becomes difficult as exhaustion hits Jaskier at full force. The blood loss from the makes him dizzy after traveling on horse, his bones aching from all the jostling. Jaskier sinks into a soft armchair and lets low grumbling witcher baritone and Yennefer’s silvery voice wash over him. The sorceress could make a singer in another life, he muses. A great one, even. Not that he’ll ever admit it to her face, but a bard should recognize talent anywhere.

When Jaskeir is shaken awake by the shoulder, the sky is pitch dark and the tiny cottage is lit by a single candle. It gives out way more light than it should, illuminating everything in sight. Witchcraft will never stop giving Jaskier the creeps.

Geralt is nowhere to be found, and Yennefer looks down at him in pity.

“Come on.” She sounds even gentle; perhaps Jaskier is dying from these broken bones, he muses inwardly. “Do you want it fixed or not?”

Jaskier sits up against soft cushions while Yennefer gathers her herbs and medicine. A cup is shoved before his face and he barely manages to catch it with his hands heavily wrapped, and the content is the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted.

Shuddering, Jaskier lets loose of his lips just for the momentary satisfaction of revenge. “You are vile, witch.”

Yennefer’s hands stop mid-air right before grabbing another bottle. Sharply, she turns around to observe Jaskier closely, her expression stone-cold, raven hair falling to frame her face elegantly. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Gods, you are the ugliest person I’ve laid eyes on.” Stopping seems an unlikely task right now. Jaskier feels horror sinking into his very core as the warm light gleams in violet eyes. “Your eyes are the most dreadful, and then there’s your voice. Utterly uninspiring. You’d make the most terrible singer if given the chance.”

Seconds tickle by, and Jaskeir expects to be turned into a toad on the spot. It seems Geralt has miscalculated. Bringing Jaskier here will solve his problem once and for all, because he’ll never play the lute again if the rest of his life will be spent on a lilypad. Jaskier feels heat draining from his cheeks, but for the second time, Yennefer surprises him.

The corners of her mouth turn upwards as she casts a silent spell with her fingers. Eyebrows raised, she asks without heat, “more comments for me?”

With a huff, Jaskeir launches again. “Has the great Yennefer of Vengerburg gone soft? I’d imagine with the amount of broken hearts you left in your wake, you would have remade yours with stone.” There’s a sizzle in the air, like magic appearing and fading at the same time, but Jaskier ignores it. “Now what? Not even one insult for me? After I called you the most beautiful person on—” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, and feels for his tongue.

He’s free.

“Oh,” he lets out the longest exhale, and immediately, “shit.”

Jaskier watches in horror as a smile spreads across Yennefer’s face, the smugness unmasked in the way her arms crossed before her chest. Oh, the price he’d pay just for the ground to swallow him whole right now.

“The most what?”

Jaskier stares at the empty cup in his lap, and then back up at Yennefer.

“You—” he splutters. “Of course.”

“The fae curses come in all shapes and forms. This one was particularly whimsical.” Yennefer leans against her workstation, putting down two corked vials on the table. “Your wrists are bad, but not unsalvageable. Drink these in seven days and they’ll be fine.”

“I thought you could do magic.”

“You might have time to nurse a broken heart, but the rest of us don’t have the luxury. There’s a war. It costs magic.”

Yennefer turns away, and Jaskier looks at her—really looks at her for the first time since stepping into this town. There’s a weariness in the way she carries herself and the self-soothing gesture of pressing her palm on her stomach from time to time. Her make-up is immaculate as ever, but the droop of her lashes speaks of a haunting experience.

“Are you okay?” Jaskier clears his throat, legs tense and ready to go to her, but thinks better of it.

Violet eyes meet him sharply. “And you’re calling me soft?”

Jaskier huffs, almost offended. “You just lifted a fae curse for me out of the goodness of your will. I’d say that’s a reasonable accusation. I … I realize I haven’t said it. Thank you, Yennefer. It was kind of you. Despite what I may have said a few years ago in a drunken fit, I’d hate it if the war claimed you too.”

Remembering that night has Jaskier cringing, but Yennefer only lets out a dry laugh. After all, she did get him back on a few hours later, by tripping him on stage with the wave of a hand. Geralt was never amused by their petty squabbles.

“You are never what I expect you to be, Jaskier.”

“Did you think me incapable of a little gratitude?”

“I thought you incapable of many things.”

“Such as?”

Yennefer straightens her back, the soft curve of her lips fading. “Such as hurting Geralt.”

Shame washes over Jaskeir anew, and he winces. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Jaskier has always been aware that the mountain was not just an ending to his world, but one for the fated romance between Geralt and Yennefer as well. And yet, no matter how angry at the djinn wish, Yennefer still sounds fiercely protective of Geralt.

“I see this is where you turn me into a toad.”

Yennefer taps the vials absently, eyeing at Jaskier’s broken body. “Somehow I feel like you’re punished enough.”

She says that as if Jaskier’s physical wounds are anything compared to how deeply he must have hurt Geralt. The absence of him takes up all the space between Jaskier’s ribcage, and the grief is almost crushing. He sniffles, his nose sore and throat tight.

“You told him?” Jaskier asks, voice small. He doesn’t know which is worse, Geralt leaving believing those words were genuinely Jaskier’s, or him learning about the curse and then choosing to go. A liar, Geralt once called him with affection. Did he anticipate Jaskier would be lying to him too?

He’d hate either answer from Yennefer, but she doesn’t give one. Instead, her tone gentles, “did he realize?”

Jaskier snaps his head up with a crease between his brows. “What?”

“When you were cursed and bleeding, did he realize those lies weren’t yours?”

Jaskier sags with sorrow.

“You know the answer.”

Yennefer moves around the table and sits behind it, the magic candle obscuring her expression. There could be a hint of regret, but Jaskier doesn’t dare to assume.

“He didn’t recognize the looks of a man with his choices taken.”

Jaskier shakes his head like a rattle. “It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t have known.”

“Because Geralt was ready to believe your lies from the start,” she sighs. “As if you could ever utter those words. As if someone might want to stay with him simply because they wish to.”

No, his heart was not the only one that broke on top of the mountain.

“Do you think,” Jaskier tries, “if he told you about—”

“It’s too late for us,” she waves him off, readying parchment and a quill. “I don’t bother myself with could-have-beens, and neither should him, but.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Jaskier gets up, observing Yennefer’s long, meaningful look, and chuckles tightly. “You truly have gone soft, witch.”

“Don’t come to me dying again, bardling. A third time, I might just let you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Thanking Yennefer again is easy, so is the jab she returns, but finding Geralt becomes the only thing on Jaskier’s mind, so much so that he’s only doubling back after rushing out the door.

“Almost forgot.” He pockets the potions, albeit clumsily. “And where…?”

“There’s only one way out of town. He left not long ago.” Yennefer has begun writing a letter, not even looking up.

“Perfect.”

“I’m serious about the dying.”

Jaskier suppresses the urge to give her a kiss as they bid a final goodbye, and runs out into the night.

It’s not too late for them.

He just needs to make it right. Apologize, explain… Anything that can convince Geralt that he never meant those words, that he’s never seen Geralt as anything but the truest friend, that he’s loved, completely and unreservedly.

It dawns on Jaskier that in the span of only a few days, his and Geralt’s roles have reversed.

~~

A big thanks to Beginte on AO3 for pointing out the parallel between Jaskier and Geralt. Now they've switched roles and Jaskier is the one who said words he didn't mean and desperately wants to apologize.

Ah, the final chapter, here I come. Although I have no timeframe for my writing these days; school is starting to get busy and I am whelmed by the amount of paperwork involved in moving to a new country. Be patient with me, as I am with the local banking efficiency.

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #lying spell #reverse tropes #lying potion #hurt jaskier #blood and injury #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerburg #cursed jaskier #angst #(not for long)

[skellebonez]

How's about Shadowpeach with 10 and 73, specifically with Wukong taking care of Spider Macaque in the Spider Monkie AU?

The ShadowPeach in this fill is pretty vague, so if you don't ship them I think you could still read and enjoy this! I really wanted to just have an introspection from Macaque about what the transformation has done to to him and how much he thinks it had done to Sun Wukong as well.

Stop it! You’re only making it worse!/You’re putting an awful lot of trust in them.

"Macaque?"

"I'm fine, Peaches."

Macaque was not, in fact, fine. In any sense of the word. His back and shoulders ached horribly, deep set into the muscle, aches that stemmed from what he had willingly put his body through. The extra height. The new grown fur.

His extra set of arms, totaling four overall, set below his regular arms that had their own shoulder blades to ache with. No, he was not fine.

Not to mention the headache from his extra eyes...

The fact he was laying face down on a pile of leaves because he ached too much to make it back to any of buildings was a pretty clear sign to anyone passing that while he sounded convincing, as always, he was clearly lying.

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?”

The question made Macaque pause in his musing and look up. It wasn’t as if the offer to help was unexpected, no. Wukong had made it very clear since they reunited that he can and would help in any way possible. It was the way the help was offered. Or, rather, the way he was asking if he could offer any to the ailing demon.

It was... different.

Maybe because now that Wukong went through something similar he could possibly understand a bit more.

It was odd for the dark furred monkey to have to crane his neck to look up at the other now. Sun Wukong towered over... well, everyone. Even Sandy was shorter than the new Spider-Monkey King. The only person who could probably best the other in stature now was possibly DBK, and that was on a day he wasn't using his own magic to shift to his smaller form.

He'd also been granted a third set of arms, instead of the extra eyes that Macaque had to get used to and deal with on a regular basis. But often he wondered if the trade off was worth it...

The places where they matched transformation wise, however, were their fur and eyes. Both had grown a mixture of coarse spider fuzz and soft monkey fur, often times mingling into a warm mixed coat that granted extra protection from the elements. Macaque's black fur had grown a deep purple over his chest and arms, offset by silver bands and stripes in places. Wukong's, on the other hand, became a soft white and a light peach fuzz shade that mixed with his natural deeper fur color. And their eyes each attained a brilling green hue.

Spider Queen once said they shone like emeralds and Macaque couldn't find himself arguing with that.

What he could argue with, however, was the fact that HE got really cool purple markings around his eyes and Wukong's face marking didn't change at all.

So point 1 to him for getting something extra.

Built in eyeliner.

"Mac? Mango?" Wukong asked again, pulling the other from his thoughts abruptly. "I can leave you alone for a bit if you want. Check in on you later?"

Macaque tensed and pain shot through his spine and, for some reason, the thought of suddenly being alone again filled him with dread.

"Can you..." he started slowly, low enough that he was uncertain that the other could hear him. "Can you groom my back for me? I couldn't finish it and..."

He trailed off, to embarrassed to admit that the whole reason he was even in this mess was because he had stubbornly tried to clean the fur on his own back when it had gotten caught on some brush and the stretching of his already painted muscles proved too much for him.

"Sure," was all Wukong said before sitting down beside the other and quietly getting to work.

They sat silently for a while. Wukong doing his best to run his many fingers through only the glossy tangled fur. The coarser fur would require a comb or brush and Macaque douted that the other wanted to even attempt brushing his fur out in this situation.

And while the deep set ache in his spine didn't vanish, the longer he laid there and felt the other working on his fur the longer he relaxed and felt the surface aches slowly dampen themselves.

“What did Syntax say about the next batch?” Wukong finally spoke up as his fingers worked their way through the knotted fur between Macaque’s second set of shoulder blades. Every graze against the skin beneath the fur felt like a new ache, but the touches we so soft and fleeting that Macaque knew the temporary pain would be worth not having to attempt to groom his own back again. “It’s supposed to last longer, right?”

"He thinks so," Macaque said, voice tight but clearer than he expected it to come out. "I know it will. He's never failed me before."

For better or worse.

"Seems like it," Wukong agreed quickly, apologizing as he pulled a stubborn knot just a bit too hard and earned a pained yelp from the other. "You're putting an awful lot of trust in him... but his serums have been working so far so even if everything is guess work he seems to know what he's doing."

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

The reply came so fast that Macaque knew that it was practiced. Said so clearly that even after all this time he knew that the other spider-monkey mutant was hiding something. His actions never ceased, though. Grooming continuing on as if nothing was said, hundreds of years not being dampened by the addition of size or number of fingers in the slightest.

“You can’t expect me to believe that you went through a transformation more drastic than mine so quickly without anythin-”

“Yes,” Wukong interrupted, voice more form and snappy than he has sounded the entire time he was tending to Macaque’s fur and muscle aches.

“You’ve always been a shit liar, you know. That’s my forte.”

Now the movements slowed, not to a stop but noticeable enough to be felt. Not until he finished working through the fur after another minute or so of silence.

"Only to you," Wukong admitted, running his fingers through the finished patches of fur to catch any missed knots. "Apparently I'm pretty good when it comes to others."

"That's because they haven't known you as long as I have," Macaque said, sitting up against the urges from the other to keep laying down.

And the sight before him, closer and clearer in the light than before, proved his suspicions that he'd had since the other's transformation correct in his mind.

Sun Wukong looked exhausted. Not physically, except for the dark bags under his eyes that Macaque could see forming. But his posture and the dull shine of his eyes gave it away. The way he leaned forward and his eyes were half lidded and the way he smiled in that awkward nervous way that showed far too much teeth.

"You've been treating me differently," Macaque continued as he stretched and the pain was worth the light rush of relief from the way the stretch relieved some pressure on his back. "Since your transformation. It's because you know how I feel now, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop it!" Macaque snapped, startling the other. "You’re only making it worse, pretending it doesn't happen! Have you even gone to Syntax for any treatment?"

In the back of Macaque’s mind he could swear he heard "hypocrite" shouted at him for the pretending bit.

"... no," Wukong admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with two hands. That wasn't from embarrassment or nervousness, that was from pain. Macaque recognized it from so long ago. "He comes to me, though. Practically throws the stuff at me while insulting me for being too stubborn for own good."

"He's right you stubborn ass," Macaque said with a half chuckle, standing with more than a bit of effort. When he stumbled forward he was grateful that Wukong held out a hand to grab his own and didn't catch him, who knows how much that would hurt. It had when he'd caught him before. "The new batch should be ready, actually. We should go see him together."

Macaque smirked up at the other, hoping he was playing his cards right.

"Besides, I know how much you like proving people wrong."

The loud laughter that resounded through their little patch of forest told him he was still good at playing that little game of chance.

"Alright, yeah," Wukong agreed, smile softening as he held out one of his lower arms from Macaque to hold onto as he walked. "I do like proving people wrong. I'm not too stubborn to accept help after everything that's happened."

"Now tell Queenie that next time we see her so she can stop worrying over you so much," Macaque chided with a laugh of his own as they walked the path to home Wukong had built for the spider demons on his island.

As they walked Macaque felt the soft and firm brush of Wukong's tail against his own and he wrapped his around it. Their tailed wrapped together, twining like rope behind them, and they just had to hope that Syntax wouldn't have a rant planned out for the two of them when they arrived.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #hurt comfort #fanfic #prompt fill #sun wukong #money king #six eared macaque #shadowpeach #(vague) #this is the HAPPY fill just wait for the other spider monkie fill #that ones gonna be sad

[saturnsummer]

impatient

When Jiho and Sol B find themselves in a questionable situation.

aka: if jiho and solb had a one night stand.

ao3 link

notes: all credits to @ohcoolnice @sxfik !! i’m taking a spin on a one night stand jisolb edition, which originally came from a solhwi one night stand idea. feeding the jisolb nation with this spicy one shot. it’s my first time writing a more mature piece, so do bear with me! i’ll continue to learn and grow! once again, editing, grammar and incorrect facts will be taken responsible by me! thank you for the love and support, feel free to suggest prompts and more!

rating: mature! implications of sex, definitely steamy and spicy. 

(as promised, tagging the fam that went nuts: @ohcoolnice @sxfik @affablewritesfables @cathartichaoss )

words: 3166 words

Ouch.

Jiho hated hangovers. He hated how he would repeat his mistakes over and over again, chugging back the glasses and shots of alcohol. Each time, he would remind himself not too much. But he would throw that advice out the window when he chases his high.

The warm sun rays of his window filter in through the sheer curtains as he squints his eyes closed, grabbing the sheets and pulling them over his head. God, he really hates hangovers. He can’t even remember what happened last night, and he didn’t really want to at the moment.

Realising the sun was not going to go away, he grunts in frustration, before getting up and propping himself upright with his arm. The bed was messy, and he knew something was off. Of the many times he came home drunk, his bed was never this messy. Ever.

And that is also when he realises he’s naked underneath his black sheets. Strange, he’s never really gone to bed naked. He had the habit of putting on a pair of boxer shorts, for sure, but he doesn’t remember getting naked.

A throbbing pain stops his train of thought as he groans from his headache, slowly getting up to find a pair of sweatpants for him to wear before getting his hangover cure of painkillers. He needed to order some spicy jjamppong as well. And he’s definitely not going to work on his reports today.

Just as he runs his fingers through his hair and opens the door, he’s greeted with the sight of someone already in his house. Seated by the dining table and chair, with a mug of hot steaming coffee and in an oversized grey T-shirt, her hair was long, slightly messy and her eyes were clearly still sleepy.

There, in all her glory sits his rival, Kang Sol B.

Sol was up just a good ten minutes before him, in the same state that he was in. A moment of confusion, before realising that across from her, one arm draped loosely around her bare stomach was Seo Jiho. Not wanting to wake him up and send him into a state of panic, she chose to crawl out of bed and grabbed the first thing she sees: his grey shirt.

She brewed herself a cup of coffee and made an additional one for him, knowing how he would need this. She nurses her headache and recollects her memories, before muttering curses to herself as her memories come back bit by bit. When the door opens to see a shirtless, well toned Jiho in his sweatpants and disheveled hair, she locks eyes with him and the puzzle pieces fall into place over last night.

The memories of last night suddenly come hitting back at him like a bullet train, as his eyes meet hers and he can only blink back in shock. He doesn’t even care that she’s in his house, or that he’s shirtless. He’s suddenly thrown back hours before.

The memories of them drinking with their friends to celebrate Joon Hwi’s promotion as well as Seungjae’s having a second child comes back. How he kept knocking shot after shot back. How his rival was one moment next to him, the next moment in his arms. How he was attempting to bring her home, but she was quick to kiss him, and he was already enjoying it too much to say no.

How one moment they were kissing on the couch, and the next in the bedroom, and the next…

Jiho was stumped. Did he really just have a one night stand with his rival? Kang Sol B? Still standing by his door, he grabs his glasses from the edge of the table, fumbling with it out of nervousness and slips it on as naturally as he can. Sol doesn’t look away, but only slides another steaming mug to him when he sits across from her. They both sit in silence for a bit as Jiho takes scalding sips while he processes his hangover and his memories.

“How are you feeling?” Sol asks, her manicured fingers drumming the side of the mug. She notices the way he bites his lip, the same way he does when he’s nervous. The way his hair was messy from his pillow, it was so different from the man she knew since middle school. As best as she could, she tried not to look at his toned abs, as she remembers running her fingers up and down those muscles last night.

“Terrible. You?” Jiho simply replies, too nervous to say anything else.

“Feels worse than the time after the mock trial.” She says, taking another long sip. Another silence ensues. Jiho unconsciously bites his lower lip, and Sol feels her heart skip a beat.

She’s used to his habits, how he clicks his tongue when he’s thinking. The drumming of his fingers. How he adjusts his round glasses every five minutes. Yet, she has never noticed the way that she feels whenever she catches him doing it. She has never noticed how her heart flutters when he leans over to her to grab a paper, or to glance at her report.

“You remember everything?” Jiho finally asks. Sol looks up at him, thoughts suddenly cleared as she takes another sip of coffee to collect her thoughts. She closes her eyes, the way she does when she’s thinking, leaving Jiho in a moment of silence, and observance.

Jiho notices the way her hair is so messy, it’s so unlike the Sol he knows. Her jet black hair not styled and straightened, the morning frizz just taking effect and her hair knotted made her look so different than the judge in the courtroom he was so used to. Her small frame hidden away with his big grey shirt, yet her slim collarbones are showing and the neckline so low and big, one of her shoulders are exposed.

Jiho was sure that the alcohol had worn off. So why do the words ‘cute’ and ‘sexy’ resonate with her now? Why does he find the way that she bites her lip when she’s thinking about her schoolwork cute back in school? Why was he always flustered whenever she looked at him? Why will his heart skip whenever she brushes his hand or arm?

Did he… have feelings for her?

“Most of it, I think.” Sol’s reply brings his thoughts back down. Sol brings her hand back and combs her mid back length hair back. She outgrew her short hair styles when she graduated school, and has stuck to growing it out ever since she moved out of her home. Jiho can’t help but notice the way the shirt exposes her shoulder and collarbones, he wants to throw a jacket on top right away.

“I… I’m sorry, for last night. I probably should have been more sober and brought you home, not to mine.” Jiho blurts out, fumbling with his glasses again, his hand pushing them up and naturally combing his bed hair back. Sol doesn’t say anything, but just scoffs.

“No use apologising now, don’t you think?” Her voice comes out harsh, but Jiho is used to it. That was her, after all. And Jiho could tell the slightest differences between each tone. Jiho only leans back on his chair, and shuts his eyes for a moment, letting his head tilt back. Sol tries her best not to stare at his muscles, and the way he shifts his glasses up. All she’s thinking is how hot her rival looks in front of her, and how everything about this feels wrong.

“Was it…your first?” Jiho asks, his eyes still closed. He dares not face Sol if she says yes, and he dares not face her if she says no either. He rather wishes to disappear. Only, she returns a light scoff.

“What, you scared?” She mocks. Jiho’s eyes open slowly, and Sol is there with a mocking smirk on her face, almost in amusement. Jiho feels almost fluttery and giddy from her smirk.

“I’m just asking. It’s not mine, I can tell you that.” Jiho bluntly says. Well, it was true. He’s never had serious relationships before, but he did have a couple of casual relationships in the years after graduating Hankuk. It was always bland, though. Never enough time to meet, and the sparks died the same month they met.

“It’s not mine either.” Sol admits to Jiho. Sol wasn’t lying, either. She was never one for serious long term relationships, being so driven by her career. But men kept chasing after her, and she attempted a few flings that mostly landed with one night stands. It never went any further, and she knew that they just wanted her for her body. Ever since, she hasn’t been on dates. This time, Jiho scoffs. Sol hears it and her face darkens.

“What?”

“I never thought you would be like this. I always thought you were so pure.” Jiho says, the taunting smile on his lips. Sol knows that smile. It was the smile from last night, the one he gave her that drove her right over the edge. The one smile that she finds herself so utterly helpless against.

“Well, I’m sure last night I provided enough evidence to support that.” Sol says, leaning forward slightly, eyes darkened. Jiho loves her eyes, the way they change and sparkle, but also how mysterious and dark they are. Two could play this game, Sol thinks to herself.

The both of them lock their eyes for a moment, the tension in the air heightened.

Jiho’s certain he wants her. He wants her, like how he wanted her last night. The entire sight of her was enough to bring him down. Her messy hair falling into her face, the way his shirt drapes loosely around her. He wanted to feel her and caress every spot he hasn’t touched. He wanted to ravish her, to taste her, to mark her as his. To show her that she’s his, and no one else’s.

Sol was equally brought back to last night. How she loved the smirk he gave her, how gentle he is. How good he made her feel, till she was out of breath and dizzy. But yet, it felt so wrong to feel this way. They were friends, classmates. She wasn’t even certain if she liked him for being Seo Jiho, or for the sex itself. She just felt so wrong to want a man to please her like how she felt last night.

Sol breaks her eye contact first, a red blush creeping up to her face. Grabbing her phone nearby, she scrolls through to try and book a taxi.

“I’m sorry, I should go.” She says, as she wants to get up. Jiho brings his hand up to her arm and sets her down back on the chair.

“You’re leaving in this?” Jiho says. Sol looks down, embarrassed and admits defeat. Her clothes from last night reeked of alcohol, and there was no way she was going home in those.

“I’ll drive you home later. Let’s get some jjamppong to eat first.” Jiho says, shifting his glasses up and clicking two orders of jjamppong from his phone. Sol instinctively grabs their two mugs of coffee and brings them to the kitchen to wash.

Jiho watches as she washes the mugs from the glass panel of the kitchen. When she returns, Jiho shifts himself closer to her. They sit in silence for a moment, before Sol breaks her silence.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Sol admits. Jiho knows what she means, and of which, he rebuts.

“Why?”

“We’re… we’re not a couple. I don’t want you to get lead on, and sour our friendship.” Sol says, her hand sweeping her hair back again. God, that move, Jiho thinks. She stands up abruptly, pacing from her chair to the wall nearby.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” Jiho says, stopping Sol in her tracks. He continues on, while taking slow steps towards her.

“I realised way too late just how much I love you. And you’re not going to lead me. Because I’ve already fallen for you, Your Honor.” He says, now closing the distance between both of them. He brings a hand up to Sol’s hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. Sol hitches a breath, as she feels his fingers.

“Kang Sol, I, Seo Jiho, love you.” Jiho slowly leans in, giving her enough time to push him or dodge if she wanted to. But Sol doesn’t move and only lets him kiss her. She feels his soft lips, as they dance together, her hands finally letting it glide over those abs she’s been staring at the whole day. She’s thrown back to the previous night, remembering how she did this too.

Jiho tastes the coffee on her lips and hers. He loves the way she tastes, how perfect his hand rests on her hips, the other hand snaking under his shirt to feel the bare skin. She shudders as his fingers glide over her thighs, but only kisses harder from the feeling.

“You love me?” Sol asks between those kisses as his hand comes into contact with her hip bone, rubbing it lightly. Her hands trail to his waist, pulling him closer to her and taking steps back, such that she’s leaned against the wall.

“I do. Ever since law school.” He growls back and sweeps her hair back from falling into her face. He bites and nibbles on her lip, a sigh of pleasure escaping her lips, before she gently sucks on his.

Pulling away to catch her breath, Sol hates how she’s given in to the man in front of her. She stares deep into his eyes, as she thinks back to the years they spent in school. Had all the meals they shared together, all the one-on-one study sessions and all the reports she’s willingly helped him in just really out of pure friendship? Has she been so blind to her feelings?

“Still think it’s a bad idea?” His voice is so raspy and breathy from all the kissing, she can’t help but feel so lusted. In response, she only dives in for another kiss, thumbs gliding over his muscles, savouring it under her touch.

Jiho smirks under her kiss, as he shifts his attention to her jaw and neck, leaving a trail of light kisses. He thanks the shirt now, leaving a whole side of her collarbone and shoulder exposed along with her neck. Peppering her with kisses, he finds her sensitive spot when she gives an audible gasp as his lips brush through.

“Ji-Jiho...” She hates how whiny she sounds, how her voice is so breathy as she holds him closer to her. But she wants it. She wants him so bad. She wants him like how he was last night.

“You look so good dressed in my shirt… God, you’re such a tease.” He whispers softly, before lightly sucking on her spot. Sol is slowly giving in, as a sound of pleasure escapes her lips, eyes closed.

“Don’t leave a mark there...” Her voice so soft and gentle, unlike the other times he’s heard them. It’s the first time he's heard her so vulnerable and weak. The air between them was so hot, and it didn’t help that Jiho could feel the bulge in his sweatpants slowly forming.

“So you’re letting me mark you, Your Honor?” Jiho teases, the same smirk that he knows Sol is weak to on his face when he looks at her. But Jiho is equally weak to her pleasured face, the way she bites her lip. His fingers rub on a sweet spot on her hips and she rolls her head back, nodding in response. She’s so needy and she can't wait any longer.

Taking it as a go, he attaches his mouth on a spot of her collarbone, sucking lightly and gently, as her whines fall from her mouth. He moves on from spot to spot, nibbling on the skin of some. Sol’s face is red from the heat, and she only palms Jiho’s head, guiding him to the spots she loves. Jiho leaves a trail of bites along her collarbone and her shoulder, but leaves one on her neck for good measure.

Pulling away, he locks his lust filled eyes to find Sol’s eyes equally drunk on lust. He knows he has fallen in love with her with the way she rivals him. It was opposites attract, how he’s always chasing up to her, and sometimes it’s her who’s chasing him. How she was silently there during his low moments. Their physical attention was just another confirmation of how Jiho needs her in his life.

Sol finally accepts the suppressed feelings she’s locked away. She’s been so caught up in her career, from breaking free from her mother’s fingers, she’s forgotten that she had a life, that she was more than just a puppet with her mother pulling the strings. She had feelings for Seo Jiho. More than the way he makes her feel, she fell in love with the persistence he had to clear his father’s name. His entire being comforted her, knowing how it felt to grow up in her mother’s palm.

“I... I love you too.” She whispers back a whisper so soft, she almost feels giddy from all the kissing. Jiho gives a rare smile, almost delighted to know she feels the same, and she manages to give one back.

Diving in for another kiss, Jiho takes the next step further, letting his hand glide on her thigh before going up to her hip and slowly crawling up her toned stomach. Sol was no stranger to such teases, as she sucked on his lips, her leg sliding up and down his inner thigh. Jiho audibly groans in the kiss and Sol loves how she’s taken control.

“Excited, are we?” he growls. Sol only smirks in reply, her hands reaching to the waistband of his pants, feeling the V-shape of his hip bone. Jiho only groans in pleasure, watching as the girl in front of him could be so controlling in a matter of seconds.

“You could speak for yourself, Prosecutor Seo.” And that was all Jiho needed before he fully decided to ravish her in his bedroom. Sol wanted it herself as she continuously teased him by pulling on his drawstrings or letting her fingers slip over the waistband.

But they pull apart, when the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of their hangover food.

Jiho pulls apart, not wanting to let her go and Sol’s hands still rest on his waistband, a finger fingering the band. Jiho reluctantly pulls her hand away, collecting their food and letting it sit on the table. With one fluid sweep, Jiho picks the younger girl into his arms and shuts the door to his bedroom.

The jjampong could wait. But they couldn't.

#law school #jtbc law school #jtbc drama #netflix #jtbc #seo jiho #kang sol b #jisolb #kang sol b x seo ji ho #law school kdrama #kdrama #lee david #lee sookyung #slightly mature #steamy #spicy #implied sex #one night stand #original by akinosakiya

[jetaime-jespere]

Old Times All Over (Part 1 of 2)

A very special thank you to @sequinsmile-x for the beta!

Exactly six months pass before he can’t stand it anymore.

Aaron takes a risk and goes to Emily while she's undercover in Paris.

Rating: M

Exactly six months pass before he can’t stand it anymore. The weight of her absence is unbearable; it follows him around as if lingering in hidden shadows and settling deep in his soul, an indelible stain that doesn’t fade as the days pass by. He bears the team’s grief, shoulders it and doesn’t let himself handle his own. It feels wrong to mourn her as if she were actually dead when in reality she lingers somewhere very different, another kind of hellish existence. He often finds himself wondering what she’d say about all of it. Emily would have scoffed at the ornate casket, rolled her eyes at the formality of the Catholic service the Ambassador insisted upon. He’d been the one to make the call on the flight back to DC. Elizabeth knew right away why he was calling, and the detached coldness in her tone was merely a coping mechanism, for the older woman’s grief seeped through the phone as he relayed the news. Aaron could scarcely reach her eyes as he offered condolences in person, the words heavy and thick on his tongue. Elizabeth’s questions were answered with the vague formalities that were constructed as part of a grand lie, held together with threads that ran the risk of being unraveled with the slightest misstep.

Read the rest below the cut or on Ao3

Emily’s life depended on the sanctity of those lies, as did his own.

No one can ever find out about this, JJ had whispered to Aaron and Clyde behind a firmly closed door in the depths of that hospital in Boston. It was eerily dark, their heads bent together in near silence as initial plans were laid. For her safety, and all of ours. It felt oddly conspiratorial to plan her disappearance as she laid just feet away, oblivious to it all and very much alive. But Doyle escaped into the night like a ghost, and that meant Emily had to go too whether they liked it or not. It didn’t matter that they hunted monsters like him every day. They knew the moment her heart started again, that she would pull through, that she’d never be free. He’ll never stop looking for her. Clyde’s voice was like rubbing salt in a wound that burned through his skin.The tension between them was thick, laden with the unspoken tension of a tentative truce and a keen awareness of the pain that coursed within each of them. He will go to the ends of the earth to find her.

Aaron disliked Clyde Easter from the moment he laid eyes on the man. Perhaps it was his closeness to Emily - she trusted him, more so than she did Aaron, as was being made abundantly clear. It still stung - that she’d gone to him in her moment of need without even once considering just maybe the team could have helped. Maybe it was the way Clyde knew her so intimately, almost as well as a lover would - a delicate balance of adoration and indignance, a fierce desire to protect the oaths they’d sworn years ago, loyalty and trust woven from years of brushes with peril only to do it all over again. But it was more than that; he knew from the moment Clyde sat before him in an interrogation room in Boston his loathing ran deep. Only later would Aaron realize they both paid a similar price for loving the same woman.

The idea to go to her comes to him once Dave has finally disappeared for the night and the bottle of scotch is empty once again. It’s a ritual they share now, unspoken yet expected, an attempt at burying the worst of their grief. It never quite hits the mark, because Dave doesn’t know the truth. His words are wise and well intended, but he speaks of loss in terms of death, and it’s one thing Aaron can’t think about for too long. But it’s some of the only company he has once the building quiets down, so whenever he shows up at the door, he doesn’t object. Most nights they leave together after a round. The echo of their shoes striking the marble floors is the only noise between them when they pass the framed photos of agents long gone on the walls, now with Emily among them. He wants to shake someone, tell them she doesn’t belong there. “Don’t look,” Dave tells him every time. “It won’t bring her back.”

He always looks.

Tonight Aaron lingers, the idea now an intrusive thought reverberating through his weary mind. It’s dangerous - violates every rule of her disappearance - and puts anyone who knows at risk. He shuffles the files on his desk only to do it once more, rearranges the pens in the cup and flips through a few reports that still require his signature. His phone rings; he doesn’t have to turn it over to know it’s Jessica asking where he is, that Jack is asking for him. He was supposed to have been home a few hours ago. Instead of answering that phone, he digs for a different one. This one has stayed hidden in his desk since the night they returned from Boston. Clyde had pushed it into his hand at the last possible moment before he boarded a flight, his face stony and solemn. “If you ever need to reach me, use this.” It might be the closest thing to a friendship they’ll ever have, a twisted kind of bond that comes along with a shared secret they very well might take to the grave.

“I was wondering when you would call,” comes the lilting British accent on the other end when the line connects. “I thought for sure it would be sooner.” Clyde’s voice is haunting; it takes Aaron right back to Boston when it was just the two of them in that interrogation room, piercing blue eyes up against his darker ones as the pieces fell into place. If you want to stop that man, you have to put a bullet between his eyes yourself. He barely recognizes his own voice; it strains when he explains exactly why he’s calling, once the doors of his office are firmly shut. Even then, it’s a near whisper.

“You do realize what you’re asking of me?” Clyde demands. He’s not exactly surprised by the request, though. After all, he and Aaron had a few things in common. “The risks of all of this?” He’s whispering, the hiss of his voice biting even from thousands of miles away, wherever the hell he might be. “I thought you did things by the book at the BAU.”

“Can you make it work or not?” Aaron’s terseness matches Clyde’s hostility, a thinly veiled shield for his grief that consumes him.

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a contemplative inhale as if he’s considering his answer, like he holds the power in his hands himself. “You should have more faith in me, Agent Hotchner.”

...

It’s all a little too easy to coordinate once the initial call is made, much to his surprise. For two weeks, things continue as normal, or as close to normal as possible, a period of limbo-like freefall. A case takes them to Portland, another to Providence. While the team is across the country, Clyde takes care of the multiple identities and aliases Aaron will use in Europe, along with a reservation at a nondescript hotel and God only knows what else. He’s barely back in Virginia for an hour when a text message on the burner phone reveals a series of coordinates, a meeting location.

“A direct flight to Charles de Gaulle might seem suspect,” Clyde whispers, nestled amongst the shadows along the Potomac River three nights before Aaron slated to leave. “There’s a flight from Regan to Heathrow, then to Paris. You’ll have a different identity for each, so best not to get confused.”

Aaron bristles at the snarkiness in his tone. “And my cover story?”

Clyde scoffs, as if disgusted by the question. “You’ll tell your team you’re being called to London to consult with Scotland Yard as a favor to a friend. I’ve already taken care of those details as well - a fake case report. Familiarize yourself with them so they don’t suspect anything.” He passes over the thick envelope, holding onto it for just a moment too long.

“How will I find her? Once I’m there?”

“Leave that up to me, Aaron. She’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” is all Aaron can say once he holds the weight of it in his hands. “I know you took a huge risk to do this.”

Clyde stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets and shuffles his feet awkwardly. “I love her too, you know.” It’s certainly the most honest he’s ever been, something that looks like hurt flooding his features. But he stiffens a few seconds later with an authoritative clearing of his throat. “Bloody hell, Aaron, for all of our sakes, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

...

Aaron drops Jack off at Jessica’s. He relays the same details he told the team a few hours before with the same feigned degree of calm assurance and mock annoyance - just a few days away, work related. No one suspects a thing. In fact, the rest of them seem almost happy for him to go. “A change of scenery might be nice,” Dave says as they walk out of the BAU.

It’s risky, inherently a bad idea and yet, it isn’t enough to deter him. There’s an element of betrayal he feels for lying to the team, for they’re still reeling from their collective loss. They miss her just as much as he does; none of this is fair. He drowns it out with a pair of headphones and a stiff drink as the plane roars to life and lifts into the sky as the sun sets.

He wakes up hours later in London with a headache and an all too familiar ache in his chest.

…

It’s another few hours of travel before he actually lands in Paris. He’s completely focused, determined as he collects his luggage and leaves the airport. He destroys the first passport moments after the plane touches solid ground and tucks the next one in his jacket pocket for easy access, the others will stay safely in his travel bag. Aaron calls Clyde on a new burner phone, one of several included in the envelope of documents that was passed over in a shadowy spot by the Potomac. He answers on the first ring, doesn’t even bother with a greeting. Instead he rattles off an address Aaron commits to memory and adds, “she’ll be waiting for you,” before the line goes dead. The address, he soon finds, is a small cafe in the fifth Arrondissement, the Latin Quarter. At first it seems risky, to meet in public, but it’s probably safer than somehow having a record of her address.

The woman at the small table in the back of the cafe is inconspicuous, but he spots her immediately upon opening the door. She could be anyone; she fits right in. One slender leg crossed over the other, a chic knee-length boot peeking out under the table. A simple raincoat, hair cut just below her chin. It’s lighter than it was the last time he saw her but still a rich shade of brown.The only giveaway is the state of the nails on her right hand - not manicured, bit down and ragged. It’s her, exactly where Clyde said she would be. He doesn’t make a big show, just simply sits in the empty seat across from her, his heart pounding in his chest when he sees her face for the first time in months. Emily’s hand is unsteady as her fingers wrap around the espresso on the table. “I’ve been waiting.” It sounds formal; she makes no move to shake his hand or hug him, or display any bit of emotion, but her lips tremble and her eyes well up a little.

“I got a little lost along the way,” Aaron shrugs a little, keeping his tone light for any ears privy to their conversation. She smiles, probably picturing him lost on the maze-like streets of Paris, the streets that still don’t feel like home to her either. “I’m here now.” It carries more weight than it ever would; all he wants to do is touch her to prove to himself this isn’t just part of the fucking nightmare he’s lived since March, one he’ll wake from wrapped in sheets damp with sweat and a pounding heart. She’s very much real, very much alive in front of him, but what the Emily he sees isn’t the Emily he remembers. Paris might be beautiful but it hasn’t been kind to her. She’s thinner and paler, shades of exhaustion on her face. Over the years Aaron has seen her sleep deprived more times than he could count - the toll of back to back cases added up - but this is something else entirely. It’s the culmination of fear from constantly looking over her shoulder, the toll of the unknown. Would Doyle ever stop looking for her, or would the rest of her days be spent on the run, alone, days that blend into weeks into months and years? Would she ever come home, to the only family she’s really ever had?

Emily studies him too, undoubtedly shocked at what she sees. Time hasn’t been kind to him, either. He’s a shell of what he used to be. A subtle shadow on his face that’s new, he’s weary eyed and tense. She knows it’s not because of the better part of a day he’s spent traveling - it’s much more than that. It’s a haunting look, with the memory of how quickly things spiraled out of control. He’d been helpless to stop any of it; Emily knows the blame he places on himself. If their hurried goodbye in the hospital was any indicator of the torment of what he’s been through the last six months, then she knows it’s been hell for him. Just like it’s been for her. She pushes another espresso, this one untouched, in his direction. “How much time do you have?” English feels foreign on her tongue. It’s been weeks, months maybe, since she’s had a real conversation not in French. It’s an act. This is all an act, but one her life depends on. Every minute she spends walking the arrondissements is a risk. The fear curls around her spine a little too tightly. She glances around the coffee shop, eyes scanning through without spending too long on any one thing. It can’t look obvious, only effortless.

“Not nearly enough.” Aaron wonders how much she knows about this, just what Clyde told her about the logistics of his visit. “We have about forty eight hours.”

He doesn’t miss the longing, wistful look in her eyes when she nods, the slightest tip of her head. It’s not enough time, it never will be. But it’s all they have, all they might ever have. They speak in short sentences, vague and cryptic, as they sip the espresso. It’s stronger than he expected, she seems immune to its effects. She doesn’t call him Aaron, and he’s careful not to call her Emily. He doesn’t know her new name, either. Not even Clyde could give him that information - it was probably better that way. They make superficial conversation - the rain here and the heat there, the bakery on the corner with chocolate croissants and the headlines on the newspaper that sits on the table. He plays along as she explains, as if he fits into this world she’s had no other choice but to assimilate into. To anyone in the cafe, they could be old friends, lovers even, with years of history between them, a casual intimacy spun like a web. The ease of lulls in conversation, a subtle glance every so often, the comfort of the proximity of someone else.

And hidden somewhere in their conversation, behind a facade of lies, is something else. What no one knows, what they haven’t quite managed to forget themselves, is something happened between them once before.

...

It was spring, after the dust had settled from Foyet and the world started to turn again, albeit slowly. Only when things settled into a new kind of normal - the humble experience of single parenting, relying on Jessica like he never had before - did Aaron realize something had changed between them. Perhaps it was the unwavering way Emily stood by him even when he wouldn’t admit to needing it, or how she picked up his loose ends without making him feel like his life was unraveling before his eyes. It was the way she mourned Haley’s death, a steadfast presence at her funeral, and her attentiveness to Jack in the months after.

He’d been divorced for more than a year, separated for at least two. Aaron no longer mourned his marriage, but the loss of his son’s mother, the woman he’d shared more than half of his life with. But someone else started to preoccupy his mind - dark hair, a blinding grin, a wicked sense of humor. It was becoming harder to ignore; she was everywhere. So a few months later in the spring, when he found Emily, nursing a drink at the hotel bar that had clearly seen better days, after a particularly brutal case in Scranton, he knew exactly how the night would end. It would cross a line - railroad through any professional boundary they still maintained. But an unsub had walked free earlier that night, a child was dead, and while it wasn’t her fault, he watched any trace of composure vanish from her face when they got back to the hotel as she retreated into herself.

It shouldn’t have happened that way - definitely not how he imagined it would. But Emily was desperate in her need to forget, he was desperate to help her do so. It was frantic, the clash of her teeth against his an ironic reminder that this was the first time he ever kissed her. Aaron pressed her back against the wall, sucked a bruise into her neck, and buried himself inside of her with one smooth push. He swallowed her moans with his mouth, the snap of his hips brutal and sharp. She reveled in it, her need for him and this, legs hitched over his hips as she clenched around him.

“Wanted you for so long,” he growled as she came around him. Her fingers were like vices around his shoulders, clinging to him as he fucked her through it, unrelenting. “Thought about you, about this.”

“Me too,” Emily gasped, the simple admission triggering his own release until he came apart and took her with him one more time.

Aaron had to carry her to the bed in the middle of his hotel room. It was the most gentle he’d been all evening, gingerly placing her in the center of it, following her down and pulling her into his arms. She was bruised and sore, he wore the scratches of her nails on his back and shoulders. Emily curled into him like she’d been doing it forever, snuggling into his chest. “I still can’t feel my legs.”

“We should have done that a long time ago,” he mused into the darkness, dragging his fingertips down her spine, listening to her slow, even breaths. It’s an admission more than an observation, and the low laugh that comes from her is all the confirmation he needs to know she thinks the same thing.

It happened again hours later, in the middle of the night, this time softer, slow and unhurried. He made her come twice with his mouth, coaxing her through each one. Aaron took his time, marveling at her and whispering praises into her skin. She beamed under his touch, besotted under his gaze. He studied the sharpness of her ribs, the curve of her waist, the length of her legs. And then he held her hands in his own above her head, rocking into her, metronomic and even. He kissed her like a lover should, his lips still wet with her slick, her legs pressed tightly wrapped around his waist as she crested against him. He collapsed against her shortly after, grappling for her hands, leaving kisses along her collarbones - anything to be as close to her as he possibly could.

But it was over after that.

Timing once again failed them. Not because they didn’t have the chance, but because they were both afraid something would change, whatever friendship they built over time, and they wouldn’t be able to take it back. They never talked about it, never even acknowledged anything had happened in that hotel room in Scranton once it was over. It lingered between them, the awareness of it sometimes all-consuming if she got too close or they somehow ended up sitting beside one another on the jet. But things happened - JJ’s untimely departure, coupled with Seaver’s arrival, the grueling toll of case after case. It was buried, hidden behind the burden of their jobs and the baggage they carried, both too stubborn to admit what was right in front of them.

And then she slipped away, shortly after a case in Montana. Emily’s typical professionalism, her unmatched level of skill was marred by uncharacteristic lateness and a short fuse, as if something had settled into her mind that she couldn’t shake. She was secretive and jumpy, slowly withdrawing from them all before his own eyes. And he’d been too caught up in what they weren’t saying, what they were hiding from, to even ask what was wrong.

Aaron never saw it coming. Until it was too late.

…

The cafe suddenly feels suffocating, the four walls trapping them in. What started as an alluring scent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries now feels cloying, overwhelming. It’s just a little too loud as their conversation fades into silence. After all, there’s only so much small talk that can be made when he only has one question. Why? Across from him Emily shifts in her chair yet still wears her pleasant smile, still playing the act she’s perfected over the last several months. But she’s tearing at her fingernails, a sure sign that she’s nervous. He knows her tells by now, all of them. “What do we do now?” She asks, her voice barely audible. Whether it’s intentional or not he isn’t sure,

He leans in, takes her hand in his own. “Let’s get out of here.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #so not canon #hotch x prentiss #I love these two idiots so much #but I will make their lives angst and hell for a little bit #and slow clap for Clyde Easter #angsty but no one dies I promise

[e-jaegerenthusiast]

so this is goodbye

aot manga spoilers (everything + 139 included)

sketch by me (ik, ew)

warnings/tw; angst. heartache. agony 😁

summary; except for mikasa and armin, what did eren say to the others when he came to visit them?

song; visions of gideon-sufjan stevens

note; i was expecting the extra pages for 139 to be this. but oh well, i love them either way— aot has many stories to tell still. cant wait.

it was the least eren could do for him. after being his captain for so many years, making countless sacrifices for him, listening to him. he knew levi didn’t have a dream for himself, he knew his dream was erwin’s dream, erwin’s promise. so he could only guess what else he would like.

Levi flinched, one second he was sitting with the others on that damned ship, on their way to stop eren, but with a blink of his eye, he was sitting behind a bar. he glanced at his surroundings, trying to figure out what’s happening, he was always good at that, he needed to be. it wasn’t a bar, it seemed to be a counter of some sort, he ran his hand on the underside of the wooden counter, yet no dust came off when he brought his fingers to his own face.

the faint sound of a kettle diverted his gaze onto the stove not so far from him, he furrowed his brows, where was he? as he listened to the way the kettle boiled slowly, a familiar voice caught his attention. “hey...captain,” he had heard that voice call him captain one too many times. he didn’t even need to turn to know who it was, yet he still did. wanting to see with his own eye. eren was sitting in one of the round tables with 3 chairs, he looked younger. he looked like the same fifteen year old brat levi taught and looked after himself. his hair short, eyes burning a bright jade, no longer teal like present..present?

levi wanted to beat that brat up so much, didn’t matter if he was taller than him, or held the power of three powerful titans, he wanted to beat him to a pulp with his own knees. teach him how he has wasted his whole life protecting the boy, was war and genocide how he was going to repay him? repay their sacrifices? repay his sacrifice?

all thoughts were dusted away, sucked away into oblivion as eren spoke to him, levi looked down at his own fists, why were they clenched? why was he mad at fifteen year old eren? he was just a kid. “this is your tea shop captain, do you like it?” eren talked with a monotone voice, it felt like deja vü to levi, yet he didn’t know why. he couldn’t tell why his voice didn’t match his appearance. yet there was this nagging feeling in his brain , he shouldn’t be here.

“tea— tea shop? tsk, i don’t own a damn tea shop.” never in his life levi had doubts about anything, yet for once he spoke his words without knowing the truth behind them. eren looked down at his hands, stretching his fingers out before unstretching them again, he let out a sound, levi’s brows furrowed. was the damn brat laughing? or was he crying? he couldn’t tell what emotions eren held anymore.

“y’know captain,” eren spoke slowly as he got out of the table in the corner of the shop, making his way to the counter and sitting infront of levi, “you’re an ackerman. so obviously you won’t buy this stupid fake reality i made to try and condone my actions to you.” eren put a hand on his own forehead, tugging at his own hair, a tear drop rolled down his face, “it’s pathetic really, out of all the others, i don’t have anything planned to tell you, captain levi.” levi’s eyes widened and he seemed to be deep in thought, “it doesn’t matter if i apologize captain, it won’t bring back the lives of our soldiers who died for this, who died for me.”

levi was getting glimpses of memories back with each word that left eren’s lips, erwin’s limp body laying on that rooftop, petra’s neck pulled back against that tree, “i’ve failed you, captain levi.” hange’s hopefull eyes even as she dived into her own demise.

levi’s eye twitched, lunching towards eren over the counter, both of them falling down to the ground with what should’ve been an ear deafening noise, yet it was quite. it was quite as levi’s punches landed against the boy’s cheeks. it was quite until levi broke the silence, finally shouting. letting it out, “why?! why?! why did you do all this?! huh?” another punch to eren’s nose, yet he wouldn’t say anything, his eyelids low as he looked at levi with a grim expression. “god dammit you brat! why?! if you’re the all knowing! why couldn’t you change things? make it so that so many people wouldn’t have to die?!”

‘tell me if there’s another way!’ he had shouted at hange past the cells of his prison. he knew she was going to die. he knew and yet, shouting at her about not being able to change things was the last encounter between them before she burned within eren’s hell. he would see her later, not in this life. but he would cry and beg for her forgiveness as she smiles at him, making jokes about the bang she went out in.

levi’s knuckles were dripping blood now, yet he didn’t feel even the slightest of burning pain. he brought his hands up, the blood dripping down his fingers and onto his palm, painting it red. with a flick of both his wrists, the blood from his palm splattered onto eren’s face, mixing with the blood running down his nose. “this blood,” levi clenched and unclenched his fists, making more blood drip onto eren’s neck. “all of this blood, it’s on you, it’s on me, it’s on us.”

bang! a bullet. a damned bullet. shot by a young girl, a young hotheaded brat that reminded him too much of himself. he had seen it. he knew it was going to happen, yet why? why was he shaking? why was his heart trembling for the potato girl? why did he burst out crying? his own friends family forgetting the way he copes as they accused him of laughing at their friend’s death. how would he laugh? how could he laugh? it was all on him. he knew it. but he had to continue. for them.

with that, levi rolled off of eren, sitting on the wooden floor next to the boy as he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. what was this feeling? he felt it all the way in his guts, traveling up his vocal cords and settling right above his adam’s apple. his lips trembled, his bloody hands coming up to cover his face, to try and mix the blood with the tears running from his eyes. why was he hitting eren?

they wouldn’t mix. his tears were hot, steaming down his cheeks as it burned him. eren’s blood.. eren’s blood had ran cold. blood shouldn’t be cold, levi of all people knew that, having felt it cover his hands and face one too many times. blood was supposed to be warm.

blood. blood everywhere. it was warm, burning his palms, burning his soul. he was just a kid, yet he had just killed two grown men. blood covered his hands, blood covered his soul. he knew he wouldn’t be the same. he knew the girl wouldn’t be the same after he wrapped the scarf around her.

he looked next to him, eren sitting with his legs crossed as they both sat in the center of the tea shop. levi looked down at his own hands, covered in blood, matching eren’s face. he blinked, eren’s face now clean, levi looked down at his own hands again, the blood was gone.

eren got up, holding his hand out for levi to hold, levi sighed, getting up as he used eren’s hand for leverage. “captain levi, i’ll explain everything to you as fast as i can, but you have to promise me something,” levi looked up at him, a sad expression on his face. “you have to help mikasa kill me. it’s the only way.” eren said as his face contorted into his older self, messy bun with loose strands falling down to his forhead. only way to what? it gave levi a headache.

-

levi never wanted to visit that god forsaken island again. he was content in marley, he had made a life for himself. his own tea shop, somehow it looked exactly like the one eren showed him. gabi and falco helped him take care of it, while taking care of him without his knowledge. sometimes he would find himself wishing he could visit eren’s grave, so he stared at the wooden floor of the tea shop, blood passing by his eyes as he wishes he didn’t paint the floors with it when he saw eren. he looks away as he feels a tear sliding down his cheek. that selfless brat.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

he would always be fighting with the boy, over things that did not need fighting over. but that’s what they say about frenemies, even as they act like they despise eachother, they truly admire eachother secretly. that’s what Jean felt for him. he was jealous sometimes, but mostly out of admiration for the brunette.

he always wanted a peaceful life, wanted to live happily next to someone he loves, he wanted a normal life. he didn’t even want to join the survey corps at first, wanting to thrive in the easygoing state of the military. yet, something about the hotheaded, determined boy sparred him on to risk his life, over and over.

Jean opened his eyes, the sunset could be seen on the distance not too far from the hillside. tall, green spruce trees sat around him, a cool breezing hitting them as he closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath. he was at peace, he didn’t know why but he was comfortable.

he opened his eyes the moment he heard the annoying voice of his rival, “oi, jean,” eren was sitting next to him, hair fanning around his neck. he looked like he was sixteen, but in jean’s mind, he always looked like that.

jean rolled his eyes, closing them and sighing as he laid down, feeling cool grass tickle his ears. “what are you doing here, idiot? don’t bother me when i’m relaxing.”

eren raised a brow as he looked down at jean, a small smile creeping its way accross his lips, “you’re always smart when you’re giving orders jean, what happened now?”

jean opened his eyes again, this time a slight shock twirling in his hazel orbs, leaning on one elbow as his face relaxed a bit, “right. we’re sitting here in your brain or something, as in reality, you’re actually destroying the whole world.”

eren rolled his eyes, a sad smile residing on his features. “listen jean, this isn’t going to be easy, none of this is. i’m just asking you to see eye to eye with me here?”

jean gave eren a sympathetic smile, slowly nodding his head, motioning for him to go on.

eren didn’t expect that, he didn’t expect jean to just sit and listen to his point of view of all people. his face contorted into one of confusion.

jean put his hand on eren’s shoulder, squeezing slightly as he nodded his head again, “i trust your judgment, eren.”

eren could feel tears pool in his eyes, threatening to fall any second, he was quite literally exhausted in every way. he needed a shoulder to cry on, he knew armin saw him breakdown, but it wasn’t enough. he felt like he could cry a river if he let himself. if his pride let him.

there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, the weight of the whole world, the weight of his friends’ and comrads’ lives, the weight of his own dignity, the weight of his decisions. the weight of the past, present, the future.

a single tear rolled down his cheek, he turned his head to the side quickly, wiping it away with his elbow but it was too late, jean had noticed it.

jean frowned, getting concerned as he wrapped one arm around eren, not really knowing what he’s doing.

eren’s body stiffened, his breath getting caught in his throat. jean took the silence as welcoming, wrapping another hand around him hesitantly, bringing eren close to his chest.

involuntary, the next breath eren let out turned into a broken sob, taking himself and jean by surprise as he broke down in jean’s arms, his screams echoing in the mountains and hilltops around them.

after a few seconds, eren calmed down a bit, moving away from jean as he wiped his eyes, hiding his head in his own arms.

jean chuckled, “idiot, did you just cry? what a baby.” he teased. eren looked at him with red eyes, letting out a chuckle, and several after that. playfully hitting jean’s shoulder

after their shared laughter died down, jean took a deep breath, “y’know eren... i never really hated you, i hope that—“ eren caught him off, saying in a low voice “i didn’t either, promise.”

jean gave him a sad smile, tears burning his own eyes as he tried to blink them away, “i know everything that you’re doing is for us. i know the others don’t realize it, but i do. i know it all has a reason behind it, yeah? suicidal bastard.”

eren nodded rapidly, weakly smiling as he spoke “i promise, yes. yes it does, i’m trying—“ his voice shook, “trying to do the right thing here, jean. everything— everything is happening so fast and at the same time and i just—“

jean ran his hand up and down eren’s back, “i know eren, i know. actually no, i’m stupid, and probably not even half as smart as you are. i can’t imagine or even begin to know what you’re going through.”

eren sniffed, looking back at jean with a pleading look in his eyes, “live a long life jean, please.”

jean gave a broken chuckle, “if you let me, yeah, that’s the goal.”

with that they both broke down, their tears not stopping as broken laughs left both the grown men’s mouths, pressing their foreheads together as they couldn’t even tell the difference between laughter or sobs anymore.

“and jean— make sure mikasa’s happy.”

jean tried to speak but eren shushed him,

“please, draw me for her. i know you can. make sure she doesn’t forget my face, yeah?”

“and take care of her jean, make her happy.” he said with a broken sob.

-

he would hug his own knees as he visited eren’s grave, he would talk to him as if he was there, teasing him and calling him an idiot, in hopes he could hear it from somewhere. he would sit in silence, covering his own ears occasionally. suicidal bastard, he thought as he would repeat their conversation in his head by the hillside as the sun rose.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Connie was always the goofy guy of the group, he’d make eren laugh a lot when they were together. his compassion being shown with jokes and snarky comments here and there.

they were really good friends, eren didn’t know when connie stopped being his goofy self, he didn’t know when he stopped making jokes with him. he had forgot it all, his memories like broken fragments of glasses all messed up in his head.

maybe it was when sasha died, when connie was left alone and broken. when he lost his twin, his other half. when he looked eren in the eyes with horror swirling in them instead of humor, tears rolling down his cheeks as it seemed all of the color from his face was drained and thrown off that damned airship.

maybe he lost all hope in eren then, maybe he thought of him as maniac, a complete psychopath who would laugh at his own family’s death.

little he knew all that eren was going through for them, little he knew all the things the young boy had to endure just because he was born into this world.

hot embers of fire swirled around in the cold air as wind blew, it was silent, peaceful. connie looked around himself, the crackling fire burning brightly on what seemed to be a rocky side of the beach, the sound of waves crashing against nearby stones filling his ears.

he looked up, sky littered in twinkling stars that seemed to be winking just for him. and not long passed before he heard eren’s smooth voice, mildly startled as he looked next to him.

eren was sitting there, staring up at the stars as each of them seemed to twinkle in his emerald green eyes, he looked fifteen, like when they first became friends. like when he would hear his stories and be impressed by the brave boy that wanted to take on all the titans by himself.

“hey, connie, why do you think starts die?”

connie chuckles, “i don’t know, they get sick?”

eren raises his brows, “well, kind of, yeah.”

eren sighed, “fine i’ll tell you, you’ve always been bad at riddles anyway.”

connie pushed him with his elbows slightly as he rolled his eyes.

“they die out, one day they just... get tired and exhausted of shining. even though they look really pretty, they die too.” eren sighed.

connie frowned, slowly realizing where he is and why eren is there. he looked at eren with wide eyes.

eren turned to him, eyes pleading as he spoke, “i’m sorry about sasha, connie. i really am. i swear i couldn’t stop it, if i could, i would. it’s not like that it’s—“

connie stopped him, startling the boy as he hugged him. “it’s okay eren. she would forgive you.”

eren smiled, another tear rolling down his cheek, god dammit.

“your mom can be saved, i’ll save her. i’ll do it connie. live a long life with her.”

-

he would smile at the sky constantly, always staring at the starts as they twinkled down at him, he knew eren was one of them. he hoped at least. “my mom did live eren, thank you.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

eren would look up to Reiner like his own older brother, like his mentor. times were he fell on his ass during training, reiner would be there to pick him up. to always lend him a hand when he needed it.

he didn’t know he would have to go against eren numerous times, every battle of theirs ending with both of their titans beaten down and their souls exhausted, never really having a clear winner.

reiner hated that part of himself, that part that thought of eren as a younger brother, as an ambitious kid that was too goal-driven for his own good.

he also hated the part of himself that longed to kill eren, to finally fulfill his task that made him lose bertoldt, to finally have that weight off his shoulders. to finally be at peace with his family.

in conclusion, reiner hated all parts of himself. he wanted to put an end to himself, yet he couldn’t do it, he was too cowardly, and he also hated himself for that.

the sound of a river could be heard in the distance as reiner sighed, his head aching and not knowing his surroundings, he wasn’t supposed to be here. he was supposed to be fighting. fighting for his life, fighting for other’s lives.

“oh, reiner.” eren’s voice startled him as he looked to his side, eren’s hair long and facial hair on his face was bringing deja vu to reiner. if he weren’t terrified that day, he would be impressed by how much eren has really grown.

reiner sighed, nodding his head in response. “help my friends, they were once yours too. they still are, reiner.”

reiner felt a stinging in his eyes, yet he couldn’t tell what it was as he looked at eren, nodding rapidly, “i am. i know. you were all my family too, eren.”

reiner cried, eren having a sad smile on his face as he watched him. “i want you to live a long life reiner, just like all of them, okay? please don’t end it yourself.”

reiner’s hands shook as he looked at eren, “i’m not even half the man you are eren.”

“you looked out so well for all of us, i promise i will too, i’ll take care of them, bro.”

“good.”

-

he never thought suicidal thoughts anymore. he stopped hating himself for everything. he would visit eren’s grave with a smile, thanking him under his breath quietly, checking in on all of his friends more and more as he found his true self.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Annie didn’t feel much towards the boy, he thought he was a hotheaded idiot who was going to meet his end by annie herself.

yet she was wrong, he was way stronger than she thought. and she admired that.

annie blinked, warm sun dancing on skin as she stood up, she was surrounded by flowers, the smell of colorful tulips filling the air with the soft breeze.

she walked through the field, closing her eyes as she breathed in the scent of the flowers, calming her senses.

when she opened them, eren was standing infront of her, hair short and physique small as he looked just like the last time she saw him, the last time she tried to kill him.

“long time, annie.” he mumbled, his hands inside his pockets as he walked closer.

annie clenched her fists by her sides, taking a deep breath as she looked at him, and then she realized it.

she realized where she was and how she was one of the many people who started this. who turned eren into this, a frown sat on her features as she started panicking, wanting to scream.

she felt eren’s hand on her shoulder, calming her breathing slightly and taking her out of her trance.

“calm down, annie. it’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“i’m sorry, eren.”

eren gave her shoulder a squeeze, reassuring her as he gave her a soft smile, “take care, annie.”

-

she kept the ring, it reminded her of eren, the only stupid little thing reminding her of all the hardships she’s had to overcome, all the things eren had to overcome as she was frozen in time in that damn basement. she would live her life to the fullest now. his sacrifices wouldn’t go to vain.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

and so, even if war continues, even if all eren’s sacrifices barely made a dent in history, at least his friends were thankful. they were thankful as they lived long lives without no longer having to fight for it constantly. thanking eren and holding him dear in their hearts at all times.

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