#I was going to a little preference to end my official summer prompts but I’m down for a Drabble my version

[cloveroctobers]

The neighbors to left of me are so corny. You allow your two little boys to run around the house at all sorts of hours instead of taking them outside, mind you they can be running and jumping off furniture creating loud noises as early as 2 in the damn morning when people also have to go to WORK/GET UP to work at home!! They’ve even thrown a damn ball against the wall—I witnessed it when they had the audacity to have their curtains open then the mom tried to close the curtains real fast. The minute I play music to drown out the noise and shut it off, here they go copying not even ten minutes later and playing music too lmao. It’s one thing if y’all were respectful and we were the ones making all the noise but when you blatantly make it obvious that you’re trying to get your lick back, all you can do is laugh.

I should write a little messy Drabble on this but idk which character it feels more like: Armando, Rio, Manny, Mikey B, or Luca. Let me know? 😈

[percabethfeelsfandom]

Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best Friends to Lovers

PART 6: Age 18 

“California is pretty far away,” Percy says softly into the night as Annabeth lays on the rooftop by his side. He hears her shift so that she can look at him, and he mirrors her, looking at his reflection in her pale eyes. 

“2914.9 miles,” she answers. 

“You really had to choose the farthest college from me didn’t you?”

Annabeth snorts and shakes her head. 

“Yes Percy, I chose it purely because it’s the furthest from you in particular.” He pouts and pushes himself up on an elbow so he can look down at her. 

“Why are you leaving me?”

“I’m not just leaving you Perce, I’m leaving everyone else as well. My Dad, my brothers, Thals, Grover...not just you.” Her face shifts and he sees sadness replace her joking smirk. 

“Yeah but I’m special...I’m your favourite.” Percy is half-joking but he wishes with all his heart that the first part of his sentence is true, that he is in fact special to Annabeth. Special in the same way that Annabeth is special to him. 

“Don’t let Thals hear that,” Annabeth says, rolling her eyes but Percy leans in closer, poking her repeatedly until she’s laughing. 

“You’re only saying that because it’s true.”

“Shut up.” Percy notices how she doesn’t deny it and it brings a smile to his face. 

 “I’m going to miss you.” His heart gives an uncomfortable squeeze as his voice softens and his smile drops. Annabeth gives him a sad look and pokes his chest trying to get him to look at her properly. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me now Seaweed Brain, we’ve still got summer.”

“And then you leave and forget me, and find a cool Perry Johnson to be your new best friend.” He says and dramatically throws his head back, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like he’s about to faint. 

Annabeth groans and pushes him away so he falls back on the blanket they’ve laid out. The other two aren’t due to arrive for another hour, but Percy has been spending so much time at Annabeth’s house already, that it made no sense to go back to his last night, so he stayed over and helped set up the apartment rooftop for their sleepover under the stars. 

He thinks they’ve done a pretty good job for the two of them, there’s an array of pillows, blankets and sheets all over the floor, and plenty of snacks to last them through the night. A couple of years ago, way back when they were younger, Mr Chase set up fairy lights along the edge of the roof, so they’re not in complete darkness, not that New York can ever be truly dark. The lights illuminate Annabeth’s features as Percy turns his head to her, she looks like a goddess and Percy swallows deeply when she returns his stare. 

“What are you looking at?”

Percy shrugs and sits up so he can rearrange snacks that don’t need rearranging to hide his blush at being caught. 

“Oh, I nearly forgot! Can you sign this, you never did?” Annabeth says changing the subject and tugs on his arm so he can come back and sit with her. 

He looks at her confused until she brings out her yearbook. Their school emblem shines on the front cover, and she places it in his lap, pressing herself to his side, so she can flip the pages, looking for an empty space to write. On the back, there’s an entire blank page and she smooths the paper down and hands him a marker. 

“All yours.” She says and watches him expectantly. 

“Are you going to watch me write in it?” He twirls the pen uneasily and rubs the back of his neck, slightly uncomfortable under her intense gaze. 

Annabeth huffs. “Do you want me to leave?” 

“Can you?” He asks half-jokingly. 

“You’re such an idiot. Fine. I’ll go check if there’s anything we forgot downstairs. Do you want anything?” He grins as she shakes her head, pretending to be annoyed. 

“Anything blue.”

“Of course,” she mutters and gets up, using his shoulder to steady herself. He leans into the touch and tries to ignore the way his body misses her warmth when she leaves.  

When she leaves Percy flips back to the front, reliving their senior year, one page at a time. He skips past the photos of the people in his grade and goes straight to the events. It starts with homecoming, and there’s a photo of Percy, Annabeth, Grover and Thalia all dressed in black suits. Percy smiles fondly at the close-up photo of Thalia and Annabeth posing together, in matching suits and corsets. Since Thalia broke up with Luke, she’s reintegrated back into the group with no issue, and it’s like she never left. 

He turns the page, skipping through the other homecoming photos, and pauses at the one of him and Annabeth. It’s a candid, and even though he’s already seen it, his heart still stutters, because in the photo she’s fixing his hair in the photo right before the official photos like she always does, and Percy can’t help but think about how much they look like a couple. 

He keeps turning through the pages, trying to find more photos of their group. They’re not a very social group, preferring to hang out with each other than go to school events, but they’re at all the major ones. 

There are small snippets of them at the football games, student fairs and pep rallies, it’s not till the end where there are photos that focus more on students not part of clubs that he sees more pictures of his friends. 

There’s one of them all laying on their back enjoying the sun looking up at clouds the way they used to when they were kids (completely unaware that someone is taking photos of them). There’s even a photo of Grover with Thalia on his shoulder as she tries to climb a tree with toilet paper in her hand from prank day. The next one is a blurry photo of Percy completely wrapped in toilet paper and chasing Annabeth. 

Moments from their senior year have been captured and immortalised in these pages, and Percy’s heart heaves at the thought of leaving this all behind or watching people leave. 

Tears start to prick at his eyes as he reaches the graduation and prom photos. There’s a huge shot of his entire grade, a choice of a few students throwing their caps up. In the corner on the page before the prom photos, there's a small snapshot of the four of them, their arms thrown around each other, heads pressed together. He remembers this moment vividly. All of their names are relatively close together in the roll, so as soon as they were announced, he had bolted straight to Grover, who had bolted to Thalia, who had bolted to Annabeth, and they had all ended up screaming and jumping into each other's arms. 

He’s going to miss this. 

He finally comes to the prom photos, and he’s not surprised when his breath catches in his throat when he sees Annabeth in her prom dress again. It’s a deep blue, the colour of the sky above his head, and it makes his stomach flutter each time he sees it. In the photo, she’s posing with Thalia again, but she’s mid-laugh and Percy would be lying if he said it wasn’t one of his favourite photos of her. He has copies of photos from the night on his computer, but the ones taken at the venue are better quality, it’s almost like he’s back there in the moment. 

Thalia had come with a date, once again wearing a tight-fitting suit, a girl on her arm and Grover had brought Juniper, his girlfriend. Percy and Annabeth had agreed to go together, just because it was easier. 

“Platonically,” he remembers telling Grover. He remembers Grover laughing and shaking his head. 

“There is nothing platonic about you two but okay. Have fun, Perce.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grover had never explained what he meant and it still haunted Percy. 

There isn’t a photo of the two of them at prom together, at least not in the yearbook, but he asked for a favour from a friend in the yearbook committee and has the photos that didn’t make it on a USB drive back home. His favourite is his wallpaper, and it’s of him and Annabeth dancing their heads bent close together. It’s not obvious it’s them two but he can recognise her blonde hair anywhere. That’s another moment he holds close, them dancing and swaying to a song they don’t recognise, whispering to each other in the night. He’d almost told her that night. Told her everything, about what he felt, about how he would always feel, but when she let go, he realised that he didn’t want to risk losing what they had. It was too precious to him. 

Percy finally reaches the page that Annabeth initially brought him to and he uncaps the pen, tapping the back of it against the page a couple of times trying to think of a message. It’s not an accident that he didn’t write in Annabeth’s yearbook. When they were all doing it, Percy had purposefully avoided her because he knew that what he had to say to her couldn’t be said like this. 

He sighs as he begins a doodle instead. A little owl because he knows that they’re her favourite, and a dolphin because they’re his. His mind is still blank at what to write to her, but he knows she’s not going to let him get away with not doing it this time. 

He hears footsteps coming up the staircase and he writes the first thing that comes to his mind. The only thing that never leaves his mind when he’s around Annabeth. It’s not a long message so he’s finishing it just as Annabeth sits back down. He slams the book shut and chucks it behind him so that she can’t immediately read it. She notices and raises an eyebrow. 

“Read it later. It’s embarrassing,” he says sheepishly. She laughs and hands him a bag of sour blue candy stripes. He tears open the package and starts eating as he hears other footsteps. Grover and Thalia appear in the doorway, holding pillows and even more bags of snacks. 

“Let’s get this party started!” Thalia exclaims and drops her stuff unceremoniously on top of Percy, burying him under the wright. Everyone laughs at him as he sputters his way out. 

Thalia plugs in some music and Annabeth helps pull Percy to his feet, and they start the feast of snacks. Grover helps Percy set up a projector for their movie and it’s nearing midnight when they finally settle on Disney’s Hercules. 

As always Grover falls asleep halfway through the movie, murmuring about how his tummy hurts in his sleep. They take group selfies with him, and Percy grabs the marker next to Annabeth’s yearbook so that he can draw on Grover’s face. He’s holding back giggles with Thalia as they pose next to him and Annabeth takes a photo of them. 

He pulls both girls close to him when he falls back and squeezes their shoulders. 

“I can’t believe my favourite girls are leaving me to deal with this idiot,” he says and nods to Grover who has started snoring. Thalia scoffs and pushes his face so that he lets go of her. He gives in but doesn’t take his arm off Annabeth, and he swears that Annabeth cuddles just a bit closer to him. 

“We’re not dying, Percy, we’re just moving to the West Coast,” Thalia says as she opens a can of coke and Percy briefly remembers how he first met Annabeth and how she had protected him from Nancy. He exchanges a look with her and sees that she’s already smiling at him, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. 

“Betrayal. That’s what this is,” he says and squeezes Annabeth’s shoulder again. She threads their hands together and Percy tries not to react and turn to her again. 

Thalia catches his eye and smirks at their interlocked hands. 

She stands up and brushes her pants. 

“I need to go pee, do you two need anything from downstairs?” 

They both shake their heads and she nods before carefully stepping over a sleeping Grover and leaves the two of them. 

Percy and Annabeth stay like that, leaning on each other, hands interlocked and Percy wishes he could freeze this exact moment. 

“Did you write something?” Annabeth asks softly as she pulls away from him, but doesn’t let go of his hand. Percy nods tightly and she smiles as she reaches across from him and grabs the yearbook from their makeshift table. She skips straight to the back and opens to his page. She gave him an entire page to write on, but there’s only one sentence in the middle and two small doodles. She stares at it for a moment, rereading it before she looks up. 

“You’re my number one,” Annabeth reads, holding the yearbook open at his page, “What does that mean?”

Percy swallows, suddenly terrified. There’s no time like now to tell her, and he has no real doubts about loving her, but with her unflinching gaze on him like this, it’s hard not to be nervous. He tries not to overthink and takes a deep breath, speaking the truth that he’s kept under wraps for years. 

“There’s only one meaning, Wise Girl, what else could it mean?” He says with a shrug and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it. “My Mom once said that people who have a big heart have a lot of love in them to share, but they’ll always have their number one, and that’s you. That’s been you for years, my entire life probably.”

He takes another breath and waits for Annabeth to respond. When she doesn’t he continues, suddenly full of words. “You’re the one for me. The only one that I could ever want. The one I put before everything. You’re my-”

“Do you mean that?” Her face is full of doubt and Percy brings their joined hands up so he can press his lips to the back of her hand. 

“Of course,” he breathes, and pulls her closer. He’s barely breathing when she puts the yearbook down for a moment. They stay frozen like that, pressed against each other, foreheads touching and breath mingling.  

“I think I was made for loving you,” he whispers and carefully pushes her hair back. 

The smile she gives him is one to rival the sun that is going to rise in a few hours. 

“If that’s so, then I was made for loving you just as much.”

She kisses him, and he almost forgets his name. He brings his hands up to cup face and bring her closer and she smiles against his lips and-

“Seriously? You two couldn’t wait until after I was asleep. Jeez.” 

Annabeth jerks away from him and they both stare at Thalia who is giving them a tired look from the rooftop doorway. Percy can’t help it and starts laughing, shortly after Annabeth joins and falls onto his chest, laughing too hard to keep herself up. Eventually, Thalia sits back down and bites her lip trying not to laugh, but the more she tries to keep it in the funnier it gets. 

By then all three of them are laughing so hard their stomach hurts and Grover stirs awake. 

“What’s going on?”

“This,” Annabeth says and proudly holds up her hand that is still firmly clasped in Percy’s hand. 

Grover blinks sleepily at it and shrugs like it’s not a big deal. 

“About freaking time,” he says and lays back down. 

Percy and Annabeth look at each other again and he smiles at her before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. 

“It was worth the wait.” 

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

[robininthelabyrinth]

Hello! I love your writing! I'm gonna send five prompts, I hope at least one of them inspires you and you have fun with them. Prompt #1: Wang Lingjiao (Wen Chao's mistress) interacting with Meng Yao in Nightless City, can be a ship but not necessarily (I... guess you could count shipping it as infidelity towards Wen Chao??? so def don't write ship if it makes you uncomfortable). Preferably WLJ pov, with her making numerous not always accurate assumptions about Meng Yao's role at Wen Ruohan's court, maybe sort of assuming he is to WRH what she is to WC and therefore approaching him with something like ~camaraderie (whether MY plays along or laughs her off I will leave to you)

ao3

Friends were a luxury that Wang Lingjiao had never been well-off enough to have, not when her tenuous position might be lost at any minute by a pair of seductive eyes or a new (not better) pair of tits, but it wasn’t like she was totally without any fellow feeling.

“Well done,” she said to the boy with Nie braids in his hair like he thought it’d make him something he wasn’t.

He blinked, surprised, and fixed her with the same pleasant, competent, I’m-here-for-your-pleasure smile that she’d seen him use on everyone else. “Lady Wang, whatever do you mean?”

Wang Lingjiao rolled her eyes. Sure, he wasn’t doing anything more stunning than getting himself some off-hours food from the kitchens, same as her, but there was no way he didn’t know what she meant. 

He knew. Oh, he knew.

“For selling something else,” she clarified, and saw the darkness creep into that bright and clear gaze he was always pretending with, hiding behind; he couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what she was saying now. Personally, she’d rather be on her back in Wen Chao’s bed than helping out in the Fire Palace, but it was the principle of the thing. “And drop the ‘lady’ shit while we’re in the Nightless City. There’s no point in pissing off Lady Ma.”

His face didn’t give away any obvious tells, like eyebrows shooting up or eyes going wide, but she could feel that he was surprised. “You – care about that?”

Ma Liyuan was Wen Chao’s wife, officially, and Wang Lingjiao’s official job was as her maid, except of course she didn’t do any maid stuff because she was too busy fucking Wen Chao. Still, she would have thought that this Meng Yao character would know better.

“Born in a brothel, were you?” she guessed, and his face closed up. “Don’t be so squeamish. She told me to do it, of course. If she can’t keep him, better that she control him through me than let someone from the outside sink their claws into him. Doesn’t mean she wants it rubbed in her face or anything, though.”

It wasn’t an uncommon story, and he nodded slowly as she went to pick out some food – she could get better fare when she ate with Wen Chao, of course, but he liked the illusion of her being dainty and pristine, as if you could get tits like hers without having a decent meal on the regular, and so she supplemented in private.

“Someone told me you were from Yingchuan,” he said from behind her. “Yingchuan Wang sect.”

“I am,” she said, tearing at the flesh of an apple with her teeth. “What, the intonation didn’t give me away?”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I thought – Yingchuan Wang is a cultivation sect.”

Gentry, he meant. 

“Sure is,” Wang Lingjiao said, and her lips twisted in derision. “What, did you think it was all fun and games after you get brought across the threshold? Did your mother fill your head with dreams of your legitimate father sweeping in and buying your freedom and hers, setting her up in a nice little courtyard and you in disciple robes, then seeing your merit and giving you the respect you deserve?”

He was quiet. Brothel girls, she thought to herself. Always the same old tune.

“My mother was a whore, too, only she did get brought in as a concubine,” she said. “Nice and official, past the threshold and everything. The official wives hated her, of course: shorted her on firewood in the winter and water in the summer, always gave her the worst pieces of cloth to make clothing and no allowance to buy anything else, gave us incense that’d give you itches and food that gave you the runs.”

“That happens everywhere,” he said.

“She got that nice little courtyard,” Wang Lingjiao said. “It even had a nice little gateway to the outside world – not for her to go out, mind you, that wouldn’t be proper for an official concubine. But it worked perfectly well for men to come in, with all the earnings flowing to the family coffers.”

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“It’s one pimp or another,” she told him. “Men always want something from you, always, don’t you know that? And when they think you’re already dirty, they don’t think too hard about what they’re asking. I was born inside the door to a proper legitimate father, never spent a day of my life in a brothel, and they still sold me out just the same as any madam – no, worse. The stuff these righteous bastards ask for is always ten times worse.”

“Worse?” he echoed.

“Isn’t it?” she asked him. “Even a whore that’s lost her charm still doesn’t have to do much more than lie on her back and spread her legs, but look at you – look at me. Running around catering to their every need, doing every nasty deed that they don’t want to do because that’s all we’re good for in their eyes.”

He grimaced.

“I’m in charge of getting new women for A-Chao’s bed, when he’s in the mood for variety,” Wang Lingjiao said. “And for getting rid of any accidents that might happen later, my own or others’. The Wen clan doesn’t believe in them, if you understand me; if he wants kids, he’ll get them through Lady Ma or nobody. And if a woman turns him down, it’s my job to punish her, or else he’ll start saying I don’t care enough, that I’m looking elsewhere…”

She laughed and took a bite of some pork.

“I’d do it anyway, of course,” she said, chewing. “All those little bitches that think they’re better than me, it’s a pleasure to knock them down to size. And surprise, surprise, once they don’t have their looks, suddenly they’re more than happy to come around begging at A-Chao’s door to see what they can get, since now the righteous ones don’t want them anymore…Peel off all that shiny exterior and it’s all the same underneath.”

Meng Yao didn’t like what she was saying, she could tell. Not that she cared.

“Find yourself a fool,” she advised him. “A-Chao’s not bad to me, all things considered. I’ve been by his side for a few years now and his tastes are pretty run-of-the-mill, not like his brother or his father; a bit of ego stroking - ooh, you’re so strong, so capable, I’ve never seen anyone as big as you, that sort of thing - and he likes coming on my tits. Sect Leader Wen, though? He’s too clever. You won’t be able to keep his interest for long, not even with those ingenious little torture machines you keep inventing for him, and then he’ll have you doing the real scut work.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” he said stiffly. Didn’t like his work being compared to someone like her, did he?

Men.

“I hear things about the brothels in Lanling,” she offered, just to needle him. “Not just perfume and flowers and a bit of witty conversation, not for men with all the money in the world; they like getting a little extra. If you’d gotten taken in the way you wanted, I’d bet that’s the job you’d get: you’d be seeing those women every day, bringing the women in smiling and taking them out crying – or worse. Some jobs you aren’t meant to come back from, after all; my best friend growing up ended up that way. You couldn’t even recognize the body as human below the neck.”

He was too well-trained to glare, but Wang Lingjiao could tell he wanted to. Someone like him, who signed up to do torture work, probably wouldn’t mind the bodies, she reflected, and shook her head.

“What’s Qinghe like, anyway?” she asked, nodding at his braids, actually curious. “Secretive sorts, and the one or two times my people acted as hosts to their inner sect disciples, they always turned down any offers for late night company.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Stop having a stick up your ass. I’m not saying you provided services yourself, and even if you did I’m hardly one to judge. I just want to know. You were close with that big man of theirs, their sect leader, weren’t you? Sect Leader Wen sure talks about it enough.”

Talked about it the way Wen Chao talked about Wang Lingjiao getting close to a woman he was pursuing, sometimes. There was really no accounting for taste – Sect Leader Wen could have any woman he wanted and often did, her and Lady Ma included, and even sometimes at the same time; yet what he really wanted, apparently, was to hear Meng Yao talk about Sect Leader Nie’s personal habits.

Probably he wanted the joy in breaking him or something. Wang Lingjiao didn’t make it her business to try to guess, though she supposed Meng Yao did.

“No way someone as sharp as you didn’t pick up some clues about what he likes,” she continued. “Come on, what is it? He like beating his whores or something?”

“He didn’t frequent whores,” Meng Yao said. “And he didn’t take lovers.”

He smiled, faintly, probably at her expression of disbelief.

“He liked slaughtering Wen-dogs,” he added. “Rather a lot. See that you don’t end up on the wrong side of his saber. He didn’t make allowances for women.”

Wang Lingjiao tossed her hair – there was no need to bring in blood and war into their perfectly nice conversation! – and huffed. “Oh, I get you. The marrying type, then?” she sneered. “The ones that’ll give you their heart and forgive you for everything, then end up wearing green hats for cuckolds when it turns out the one they like isn’t near as virtuous as them? What a fool!”

“I thought you said I should find myself a fool,” Meng Yao said mildly.

“You still have to be able to keep him,” she mocked. “If you could get someone like Sect Leader Nie on the hook, why would you be busting your ass here?”

That shut him up.

“Well, your loss is Sect Leader Wen’s gain, I guess,” she said, and put aside her plate without washing it. The kitchen staff could clean up for her. “Ugh, I can’t wait for this war to be over already. I miss the discussion conferences! Even though I had to stay back with the servants, at least you got to see some new people…that last one, with the archery, that was a fun one.”

She grinned. “All the sect leaders came here to sit at Sect Leader Wen’s feet, your father included. He asked all three of his housekeeping maids to serve him in bed, you know. All at once. Brave man, at his age…come to think of it, you might want to check the nursery. See if you have some siblings there. Who knows? Maybe they’ll grow up to be competition.”

Meng Yao said nothing.

Wang Lingjiao laughed again.

“Have fun in the Fire Palace, Meng Yao,” she said, sashaying away. “Try not to end up on the wrong side of it.”

See? It was almost like being friends.

[prouvaireafterdark]

See Something You Like? - Malex Sex Shop AU Part 1/2

It��s FINALLY here: the Malex Sex Shop AU you’ve all been waiting for! Well, the first half anyway (Part Two will be out soon!)

I dedicate this fic to my friendly neighborhood Thigh Riding Anon™️, who inspired this fic with her galaxy brain prompt, and all of you who have been patiently waiting for me to finish this absolute monster of a smut fic. I hope you enjoy it! 💜😘

Also on AO3!

***

When Michael moved to California to start his PhD in agricultural engineering, he’d grossly underestimated how expensive the move would be. The stipend that came with his teaching assistantship just barely covers the rent on his studio apartment, and finding a roommate off Craigslist that’s desperate enough to live in such close quarters isn’t exactly an option considering how many alien skeletons Michael’s got in his closet. The vegetables he’s planning on growing in his complex’s shared community garden will help, but if he wants to eat any time soon he’s gonna have to find a part time job.

Enter Jackie and Kris, the delightful middle-aged lesbian couple who live next door and share Michael’s enthusiasm for sustainable gardening and the occasional midnight smoke.

They get to talking one night while passing a bong back and forth over the railing that divides their balconies, first about DIY organic fertilizer and then about Michael’s degree. He lets spill in a moment of weakness that his coursework is a breeze, but he’s worried he’ll run out of money before he can finish the program. As embarrassed as he is about the confession, it ends up saving his life.

Turns out, Jackie and Kris own a sex shop named Pandora’s Box around the corner and have been looking for some help running the storefront while they focus on expanding their online business and organizing safe sex workshops for the local queer and BDSM communities. The hours would be flexible around Michael’s schedule and all they really would need him to do is stand behind the register, ring people up, and answer questions about their products with “affability and professionalism.”

It’s maybe not the work he imagined himself doing when he moved to California for grad school, but for $15/hr, Michael really can’t afford to say no. He sits for an official interview the very next day and leaves Jackie’s home office with a new job and a pot brownie wrapped in tin foil, eager to get started on both.

Monday afternoons at Pandora's Box are the best. They’re notoriously slow so Michael gets to work his shift alone, which gives him ample time to grade the assignments he procrastinated on all weekend while he sits behind the counter.

It’s a Monday afternoon, in fact, about a year and a half later, when Michael hears the bell above the door chime softly to announce the arrival of a customer who would change his life forever.

The first thing Michael notices when he lifts his head from the stack of exams on the counter is the black leather jacket that’s stretched across the man’s broad shoulders. When Michael’s eyes flick up to get a look at the man’s face, he’s met with sharp cheekbones, beautifully tan skin, and a pair of trendy but understated sunglasses. He looks a little lost—unsurprising, since Michael’s certain he would have remembered it if he’d ever seen a man that pretty walk into his shop before—but when he realizes Michael’s looking at him, he flips his sunglasses up onto his artfully messy dark hair and smiles.

And oh, what a smile it is—the most beautiful one Michael has ever seen, soft and sweeter that it has any right to be, his full lips capturing Michael’s attention with ease. His heart pounds in his chest as their eyes lock together, and if Michael didn’t know any better, he’d think he’s just fallen in love with a perfect stranger.

Before Michael can do more than shoot him a dazed smile in return, the man disappears down an aisle.

As a general rule, Michael doesn’t talk to customers who don’t approach him for help first. It’s best practice in a store that sells pornography and sex toys—most customers don’t want to be questioned about their kinks, and those that do usually already know what they’re looking for—but the pull he feels toward this man is undeniable. He’s curious about him for reasons he can’t explain, and as his feet carry him off in the direction the man went, Michael decides not to question it.

Michael weaves casually through the aisles until he finds the man staring up at the floor to ceiling wall display of dildos and other anal toys—because of course he does. He sends a prayer to a god he doesn’t believe in that this man isn’t buying something for his girlfriend before he steps in line beside him.

“See something you like?” Michael asks, toning down his customer service voice into something approaching normal human speech.

Up close, he can see the man has a septum piercing, which glints a little in the light. Michael’s seen plenty of people with body jewelry come through this store, but he’s never really thought of it as cute until now.

The man smiles at him, a little shy, but Michael’s not so distracted this time that he misses the way his eyes flick over his body in naked interest, and it leaves him feeling a little hot under the collar.

“I’m not sure yet,” the stranger answers.

Even his voice is nice, Michael notes, deeper than he expects and smooth like honey.

Michael nods in understanding. He gets it—this wall can certainly be intimidating, even for someone who’s been to a sex shop before. He looks the man over again, taking in his charmingly flushed cheeks, and wonders if it’s his first time in a place like this. If maybe he needs a little help after all.

It’s a good thing Michael’s an expert, huh?

He doesn’t want to come at him too strongly, though. Encountering an overbearing sales associate isn’t any more fun than being one, and Michael certainly isn’t looking to push the guy passed his personal boundaries. He may be smitten, but he’s not an asshole.

“Well, if you have any questions about any of our products, my name’s Michael,” he says, flashing him a warm smile.

He’s about to go off in search of a nearby display to straighten up so he can give the man some space, but his voice catches Michael’s attention once more.

“And if I don’t have questions?” the man asks, and when Michael turns to look at him there’s a real smile tugging at his lips this time. “What should I call you then?”

Michael laughs, shaking his head as he shoots back, “Okay, smartass, what should I call you?”

For a single, horrible second after his own words reach his ears, Michael thinks he’s gone too far, but the sudden burst of anxiety in his chest turns out to be for nothing—the man’s grin only grows wider.

“Alex,” he says, and to Michael’s surprise he holds his hand out for him.

Alex’s palm is warm against his when he shakes it, and Michael can’t help but wonder how it would feel anchored in his curls or clutching tight to the skin of his hips.

“So, Alex,” Michael starts, emboldened by the introduction. He finds he likes the way Alex’s name feels in his mouth. “What are you in the market for today?”

Alex flushes a little and it’s so endearing Michael has to bite the inside of his bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“That’s the thing—I don’t really know,” Alex answers honestly. “There’s just so many options.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with an easier question: are you shopping for yourself or a significant other?” he asks, and, yeah, maybe he’s planning on filing the answer to his question away for later. Sue him.

Alex looks at him like maybe he suspects ulterior motives, but Michael shamelessly holds his gaze.

“No boyfriend,” Alex says, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “I’m looking for something for myself.”

“Fantastic,” Michael smiles, before he slips a little deeper into salesman mode. “So, judging by the aisle we’re standing in, I’m gonna take a leap and say that you’re looking for a toy you can use for internal anal stimulation. Is that right?”

“Yeah. Think you can help me out with that?” Alex asks, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Definitely,” Michael answers with a smirk before he turns to the wall display. “As you can see, we have a pretty wide selection; you name it, we’ve probably either got it in stock or can have it shipped in three to five business days. Is there a particular price point you’re aiming for?”

Alex seems to think about it. “I’m not really looking to spend more than $100, but I could go up to $150 if it’ll change my life.”

“I can work with that,” Michael assures him. “Any other parameters I should keep in mind?”

“I’ve read that jelly toys can be dangerous, so definitely not anything made out of that,” Alex says, and Michael’s glad to hear he’s done his research. Jelly toys are frustratingly popular because they’re so cheap and Michael usually has to put in a little work to talk people out of buying them.

“Oh yeah, fuck that jelly shit,” Michael agrees, and Alex’s startled laugh makes his heart skip. “They’re impossible to sanitize properly and they’re full of toxic chemicals—you wouldn’t believe the horror stories I’ve heard about them since I started working here. If you’re looking for something with a softer texture, medical grade silicone is really the only way to go. Just make sure you stick to water-based lube or else you could ruin your toy.”

Alex nods thoughtfully, like he’s read that too.

“Glass and metal are also good options,” Michael continues. “They obviously feel a lot harder inside you, but they’re easy to clean, you don’t have to be as careful about what lube you use, and they’re naturally waterproof. They’re excellent for temperature play, too, if you’re into that.”

“Never tried it,” Alex confesses.

“It’s not for everyone, but it can be a fun time,” Michael says, recalling the scorching summer afternoon he spent fooling around with an ice cube tray and a girl he met on Tinder. “So, your options are metal, glass, and silicone. Any preference?”

Michael notices Alex’s eye catching on a set of stainless steel plugs, but he answers, “Silicone for now, I think.”

“Good choice,” Michael replies easily. “So, now that we know what material you’re looking for, let’s talk about your ideal experience. What are you looking to get out of your purchase?”

“An orgasm?” Alex answers, his confusion evident.

Michael laughs. “Sorry, I meant—how would you like to get there? What sort of sensation are you looking for?”

Alex looks a little lost at the question, so Michael turns to plan B.

“See, this one, for example,” Michael says, pointing to a familiar black prostate massager, “is great for when you wanna get off fast and hard. It’s not too thick, so you don’t have to spend a ton of time opening yourself up for it, and the curve puts the tip of it right up on your p-spot. It’s also got a bunch of different vibration settings and get this: It’s waterproof.”

Alex hums in interested acknowledgement, though Michael notes that the longer he talks, the more Alex’s attention is fixed on him, not the toy.

Feeling bold, Michael adds, “I’d advise caution if you’ve got thin walls though.”

“Why, does it make a lot of noise?” Alex asks curiously.

A slow grin spreads across Michael’s lips. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “But you will.”

Michael watches Alex try and fail to suppress a smile, his full bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“You seem pretty sure of that,” Alex says when he releases it. “That from firsthand experience, or are you just a really good salesman?”

Michael laughs, equal parts delighted by Alex’s flirting and embarrassed by the memory his question brings to mind.

“What?” Alex asks, a smile building on his face.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you,” Michael hesitates, his face heating up just thinking about it. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Aw, come on,” Alex goads him. “Don’t be such a tease.”

Michael gasps in mock offense. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but a tease isn’t one of them.”

“That mean you’re gonna tell me what’s got you blushing like that after all?” Alex asks.

“I’m not blushing,” Michael protests, even though he definitely is.

Alex raises an eyebrow at him. It’s stupidly attractive.

With a huff, Michael considers his options. He doesn’t usually give personal anecdotes like this to customers, but there’s just something about Alex that makes Michael want to give him whatever he wants.

“Fuck it, why not?” Michael says to himself.

Alex smiles victoriously and settles in to listen.

“So, about a year ago, I came in to work and found this box sitting on the table in the break room, which was filled with a bunch of different toys from the company that makes that massager. I asked my boss about it and she said the company sent her a bunch of free samples.”

“Does that happen often?” Alex interrupts to ask. “Companies just send you free stuff?”

“Eh, sometimes, if it’s from a new line of toys that a company wants retailers to hype up,” Michael explains. “It helps that my boss Jackie’s wife Kris has a pretty popular blog where she tests and rates toys, so she gets free stuff all the time.”

“Huh,” Alex says. “So I’m guessing you took one after your shift?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael nods. “Tried it out as soon as I got home.”

“How was it?”

“Intense is about the only word that covers it,” Michael answers. “Those vibrations can be really powerful, it was like nothing else I’d ever tried before. Definitely one of my top ten solo orgasms of all time.”

“Not number one?” Alex asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I came in, like, a minute, so no, not quite,” Michael laughs.

“Is that the embarrassing part?” Alex asks. “That you came so fast?”

“Not quite,” Michael winces, his cheeks flushing. “As I was coming, I screamed so loud that the little old lady whose living room is on the other side of my bedroom called the cops on me. Apparently, she thought I was being murdered.”

“Oh no,” Alex laughs, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Not exactly the happy ending I was after.”

Alex laughs again, but there’s heat behind his eyes too when he asks, a moment later, “Not usually a screamer, I take it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Michael winks.

“Mm,” Alex hums thoughtfully. He looks Michael right in the eye as he asks, “Well, what if I don’t want to get off that fast? What if I want to make it last?”

Michael tries not to smile as he gets back to business.

“Well, I should mention that this massager does also have softer levels of vibration intensity, which I only discovered after Officer ACAB knocked on my door,” Michael says.

Alex laughs before asking incredulously, “You didn’t read the instructions?”

“Uh, no,” Michael admits. “I’m more of a ‘take things apart and see how they work’ kinda guy, I’ve never been big on reading the directions.”

“Even after your little misadventure?” Alex asks.

“Hey, don’t knock my process. I got a fantastic orgasm out of that ‘misadventure,’” Michael reminds him.

“How could I forget?” Alex asks, shooting Michael a look that really tests his self-restraint.

Michael huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch the back of his own neck so he doesn’t do something stupid, like push Alex against the fucking dildo display and kiss that look off his face.

“So, anyway,” Michael starts, shifting the topic back toward the task at hand, “you can either learn from my mistakes or you can try something that doesn’t have vibrations at all. We’ve got a great selection of dildos in all shapes and sizes.”

“Do any of them come with a story?” Alex asks cheekily.

Michael snickers in spite of himself. “Maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Let’s see what we’ve got in stock.”

Michael hums as he looks over the display, searching for another recommendation he can make, when his eye catches on a purple dildo with ribbing along the shaft.

“This one’s a good starter dildo,” he says, pointing it out. “It’s a pretty modest size, but the ribbing feels really nice and there’s a suction cup on the bottom if you wanna stick it somewhere and fuck yourself onto it. There’s also a few by the same company that have a hole that you can slide a bullet vibrator into if you wanna get something that can do both.”

“Have you tried them all?” Alex asks.

Michael laughs, looking up at the expansive display of dildos. “Not all of them,” he says, glancing over to Alex as he continues, “but the employee discount here is very generous and, as you already know, sometimes we get free shit. I’ve built up a bit of a collection since I started working here.”

“I see,” Alex replies, the corner of his mouth turning up before he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. Michael tracks the movement hungrily when Alex releases it a moment later to ask, “Which one’s your favorite?”

“Depends,” Michael shrugs, aiming for nonchalance even though he can feel himself chubbing up in his jeans.

“On?”

“On how full I wanna feel,” Michael answers, and there’s no mistaking the heat that blazes in Alex’s eyes at those words, nor the sudden intake of breath that fills his chest.

If Alex wants him half as much as it looks like he does, Michael doesn’t even care if he gets fired for where this conversation is headed, so long as it ends with Alex’s hands on him.

“See, sometimes all I’m looking for is enough internal stimulation to get the job done,” Michael elaborates, his eyes watching Alex closely. “When I feel like that, I’ll use that prostate massager I showed you earlier on myself.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to the sleek black toy still sitting on the shelf that they’d just discussed.

“And the other times?” Alex asks when he tears his eyes away.

“Other times… other times I really wanna feel it,” Michael purrs, taking a step closer. Alex’s eyes drop right to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, and Michael can’t stop himself from asking, “You ever get like that, Alex? Like you just need something thick and heavy filling you up, so deep you’ll be feeling it for days?”

“Yeah,” Alex rasps.

“You wanna know what I fuck myself with then?” he asks.

Alex nods, eyes still on Michael’s mouth.

Michael gives him a sly grin before he backs up a few steps to find the sample of the eight inch galaxy dildo he treated himself to a few months ago. Alex follows him, as if they’re connected by an invisible string.

“This one,” he says, removing it from the shelf and offering it up for Alex’s inspection.

Alex takes it from him, his eyes passing over it with interest as he tests the give of the silicone with his fingers. Michael wonders if he’s imagining what it would look like inside him. He hopes he is.

“It might not look like much compared to some of the fucking horse cocks we sell here, but it’s thick,” Michael says, his cock hardening further the more he thinks about it, the longer Alex stands there holding it. “Takes me some time to work up to it, but it’s always worth it when I do.”

“Yeah?” Alex asks, eyes fixed where he’s shifting his hold on the dildo to measure it’s thickness with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Michael breathes, watching how Alex wraps his thumb and forefinger in a tight circle around the toy. They only just touch around its girth.

Alex hums to himself, sounding pleased, and Michael’s gut churns with the need to hear that sound again.

“I bet this stretches you out nice, huh,” Alex wonders a moment later, and with the way he stares at Michael then, like he’s trying to picture how he would look stuffed full, his rim taught over the silicone, he just knows Alex isn’t speaking generically.

“Yeah, it does,” Michael agrees quietly, trying not to squirm under the intensity of Alex’s gaze.

“How do you use it?” Alex asks him, stoking the flames inside him further.

“If you play your cards right, you just might find out,” Michael shoots back.

“You’d let me watch?” Alex asks, a smile teasing at his lips, and it’s all Michael can do not to get lost in the idea of riding that toy while Alex watches with his hand around his cock.

“Think I’d let you do more than that,” Michael admits.

Alex full-on grins at that, but before he can open his mouth to reply someone clears their throat behind them.

Michael’s heart seizes in his chest as he whips around to see Jenna Cameron, a regular customer and occasional drinking buddy of his, standing with her thumbs tucked into her police-issue gun belt. Michael can feel his erection flag at the sight of her.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some service around here, Guerin?” Cameron asks, somehow managing to look annoyed and amused simultaneously. He notices there’s a discreet black plastic bag dangling from her fingers. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t hear anyone else come in,” Michael apologizes, trying and failing to keep a blush off his face.

“I can see that,” she answers with a pointed glance at Alex.

Michael takes an instinctive step away from him and clears his throat.

“I’ve gotta—“ he says to Alex, jerking his thumb behind him.

“Yeah,” Alex nods, eyes on his shoelaces. It makes the pleasure that had been coiling in his belly sour further.

“I’ll be right back,” Michael tells him, soft enough that Cameron won’t overhear.

The smile Alex gives him in return is encouraging enough that Michael’s fairly certain he won’t disappear if he leaves, so he follows Cameron back toward the register, all the while pointedly ignoring the smirk he can feel her directing at the side of his face.

He walks around the other side of the cash wrap and crosses his arms over his chest before he asks her, without an ounce of enthusiasm, “What do you want?”

“Damn, you’re really earning that employee of the month trophy aren’t you, Guerin?” she jokes, tossing the bag on the table. “I bought a harness this weekend, but it was broken when I took it out of the box. Receipt’s in the bag.”

Michael takes the box the leather strap-on harness came in out of the bag along with the receipt.

“Do you want a refund or an exchange?”

“Refund,” she says. “I’m thinking about getting one of those strapless ones instead.”

“You should talk to Kris, she’s got opinions about those,” he says as he starts scanning the receipt.

“Oh?” Cameron asks. “Is she here?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “You can catch her at the bondage workshop she’s running later though.”

“Perfect,” she replies before leaning forward onto the counter on her elbows. “So are you gonna tell me who the hottie with the nose ring you were talking to is?”

“Why, so you can find out if he’s got any priors?” Michael jokes, not taking his eyes off his task.

“Very funny,” Cameron deadpans. “You fuck him yet?”

“None of your business,” Michael answers.

“So that’s a no, then,” she smirks, and Michael lets out a long-suffering sigh in response.

“Don’t you have places to be? Donuts to eat?” he asks, pushing her return receipt hastily in her direction.

Before Cameron can answer, the front door swings open and in walks a short middle-aged woman with a dark brown pixie cut carrying an iced coffee and a stack of papers.

Michael startles at the sight of her, realizing it must be later in his shift than he’d thought—exactly how long had he stood there talking to Alex?—but he’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Kris!” Michael calls to her. “Perfect timing, Cam’s got some strap-on questions for you.”

“Well, I’ve got some strap-on answers,” Kris answers cheerfully as she walks around them to drop the stack of papers—freshly-printed but yet-to-be-folded safe sex pamphlets, Michael notices—onto the counter next to the second register. “Step into my office, baby girl.”

Cameron shoots Michael a look before she steps to the side to talk to Kris, who’s leaning patiently against the side of the cash wrap.

With Cameron finally out of his hair but Kris close enough to notice him leave, Michael starts planning his escape so he can find Alex again, but it turns out he doesn’t need one. When he looks up after putting Cam’s broken harness in the bin under the counter, he sees the man in question approaching his register with a familiar black box in his hands.

“I was gonna wait for you,” Alex explains as he sets the box on the counter, “but I’m actually supposed to be meeting my brother soon.”

“Shame,” Michael says, wishing they had more time. “I was looking forward to finishing that conversation.”

Alex glances covertly at Kris and Cameron before he leans a hair closer and says, “Don’t know that it was the conversation you were hoping to finish.”

Michael blushes, casting a look at Kris and Cameron to make sure they’re too engrossed in their conversation to notice when he leans in a little further and says, low so only Alex will hear, “What can I say? I’m very committed to customer satisfaction.”

Alex laughs, a bright and happy sound that makes Michael’s heart feel strangely full, before he asks, “You charm all your customers like this?”

“No,” Michael says honestly. “Not even a little bit.”

Alex looks at him for a long minute, trying to spot the lie, and when he finds none he merely shakes his head with an incredulous smile.

“Lucky me,” he says.

Michael winks at him before he turns his attention to the box on the counter, shifting it in his hands until he finds the barcode. He usually never comments on his customers’ purchases, but with this one he simply can’t resist.

“Went with the prostate massager, huh?” Michael asks, as he rings him up.

“What can I say?” Alex answers, a smile creeping onto his face. “You made me curious.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” Michael says.

“No,” Alex replies, and the way he looks at him then makes Michael wonder if they’re still talking about the massager. “I don’t think I will.”

Michael smiles at him before he tells him his total. Alex inserts the end of his card in the reader and his receipt prints a brief moment later.

“Can you sign here?” Michael asks, passing Alex the merchant’s copy of his receipt and the green pen he’d been grading with earlier.

“Mhm,” Alex hums, plucking the pen from his fingers and signing his name in a delicate script.

Michael ducks under the counter to find a bag adequately sized for Alex’s purchase before he places the box inside it along with Alex’s copy of the receipt.

“You’re all set,” Michael says, pushing the box in Alex’s direction.

“Thanks,” Alex smiles, holding the merchant copy of the receipt out for Michael to take. “And this is for you.”

Their fingers brush as Michael takes it from him and Michael swears he can feel the tension crackling between them at the simple touch.

“Thanks,” Michael says, mouth a little dry.

Alex glances back to Kris and Cam before he says, “Have a nice day, Michael.”

“You too,” Michael says, his eyes straying pointedly to the black bag in Alex’s hand.

“Oh, I will,” Alex says, one corner of his lips lifting up into a smile before he turns and heads for the door.

Michael can’t help but watch his ass and those broad shoulders as he leaves.

Once Alex is gone, Michael unfolds the receipt Alex left for him. He’s about to slide it into the folder they keep by the register for receipts when he notices the phone number printed neatly beside Alex’s signature. Below, Alex has also written the words: Hit me up if you want to hear my review.

“You strike out?”

Michael startles, looking up to see Cameron leaning on the counter, a lot closer than she was a moment ago. He sees Kris at the far end, folding her papers into pamphlets for her workshop later.

“Not quite,” Michael grins and pockets the receipt.

[glimmerglanger]

Hi glimmer! I thought of some prompts for the spicy week that I’d love to see come to life in your talented hands! Of course I don’t expect you to do all of them, and if you don’t want to write any of these that’s totally fine, they’re just suggestions: rimming, sex toys, sleepy sex, lingerie (also I’ve seen a few kinktober lists floating around but they’re all wildly different and none are “official”). have a lovely day!

Anonymous said:

r u interested in lingerie-wearing obiwan? eg: anakin hyperventilating when he saw a hint of lace peeking out of obi's tunic

So, this is for the lingerie prompts. I never considered that much before, and I hope that I did it justice. Established relationship (an accidental theme of Spicy September Week, I don’t think I have any first-times!) set at a time post-war. I’m not sure what happened to Palps in this ‘verse. Maybe Anakin accidentally dropped him down the elevator shaft, such a shame. He’s dead, in any case.

INCREDIBLY NOT SAFE FOR THINGS STARTING WITH “W.”

~~~~~~~~

Obi-Wan had not meant to fall asleep after meditating, much less on the couch when his bed was a scant handful of feet away. Still, they were all still on the road to recovery after the end of the war. He had not realized he was so tired when he sat down to review more notes from the latest Senate session, and would have, likely, slept through dinner had not a strange sound from the door awoken him.

He cracked his eyes open, taking in the glow of late afternoon light through his quarters. There was warm light flooding in through his open door, as well, shining past a familiar figure.

Obi-Wan stretched a bit, his meditation tunic riding up with the movement - there was an ache in his back from how he’d laid - and smiled. He said, “Anakin, I didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

“My trip ended early,” Anakin said, his tone strange and tense as he stepped into the room, the door shutting at his back. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and dropped it to the floor without looking. He was just… staring.

“Mm,” Obi-Wan said, pushing to sit up, tugging his thin tunic to order. Coruscant was going through the hottest summer he could remember and even the Temple’s massive cooling system was not quite up to the task. It had been warm inside his rooms, bordering on hot, for weeks. “Well, I haven’t had dinner yet, if you want to--”

“What are you wearing?” Anakin asked, crossing the room and hesitating in front of him, his eyes dark in the afternoon light.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at him, glancing down at himself. He shifted, just a little, and said, “My clothes…?”

Anakin made a sharp little sound and asked, “What else?”

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to flush, fought with his expression and knew he won. He had long years of experience bluffing, after all. He should have expected trouble when his shirt rode up, and asked, with all the innocence he could muster, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Anakin put a knee beside his hip on the couch, reached out, grabbed the hem of Obi-Wan’s tunic, and lifted. Obi-Wan heard his breath catch and braced for the inevitable teasing. He’d really hoped to have finished with Luminara’s foolish prank before Anakin got back.

“I mean this,” Anakin said, his voice gone, abruptly, lower, as he trailed the fingers of his other hand down across Obi-Wan’s stomach, brushing across the lacy straps rising above the waistband of his leggings.

“Oh, that,” Obi-Wan said, determined to play the entire situation off if at all possible. He had no desire to be teased about it for the rest of both of their lives. “I’m afraid I lost a foolish wager with Luminara and as a result--”

“What?” Anakin asked, gaze snapping up to meet Obi-Wan’s, finally. “It’s -- you’re wearing lingerie as part of a bet?” He felt both relieved and confused. Obi-Wan wondered if he realized that he was slowly sweeping his thumb back and forth across the lace.

Obi-Wan shrugged, shivering a little. He’d found the lace annoying, for the most part. But something about the touch of skin through it was… making him feel warmer under his skin. Or perhaps that was just Anakin’s closeness, after a few weeks apart. “Why else would I be wearing it?” he asked.

“I don’t…” Anakin looked to the side, a muscle in his jaw jumping. He swallowed, hard. “I thought, maybe, you were… you know. Wearing it for someone. Someone else.”

For a moment Obi-Wan could only stare at him, chest aching sharply, before he shook his head and leaned away from the couch, sliding his hand to cup Anakin’s jaw, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not wearing it for anyone,” he said. “And there is no one else, Anakin. I don’t want anyone but you, I hope you--”

Anakin made a hungry sound, surging forward, and Obi-Wan found himself pressed back against the couch. Anakin kissed him, properly, pushing closer, desire overspilling the edges of his control. And this was, in fact, far more of the reunion that Obi-Wan had expected. He groaned, threading fingers into Anakin’s hair, pulling him closer.

He managed to find his thoughts after a moment, as Anakin moved on to sucking kisses to his throat, rasping, “It’s terribly uncomfortable, really. Perhaps you’d be interested in helping me take it off?”

Anakin went still for a moment, groaning, and then his hands were on the hem of Obi-Wan’s shirt, tugging it up and off, and freezing, as he got a look at the… contraption beneath. Obi-Wan didn’t know what to call it, really. The entire thing was lace and straps, all connected, somehow, to a little ring of metal at his sternum.

Anakin, staring at it, dark-eyed, demanded, “What the kriff kind of bet did you have with Luminara?”

“You know,” Obi-Wan said, because he preferred not to say, really. He heaved a sigh and added, “Look, go ahead and laugh, if you must.”

Anakin sucked in a breath and then he was kissing Obi-Wan again, hard and deep, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hand and dragging it down, pressing Obi-Wan’s palm to - to his cock. Obi-Wan made a surprised sound, touching him through his slacks, the hard length of him. Anakin panted, against his mouth, “Does it seem like I’m laughing?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan gasped back, because he’d expected, honestly, amusement. Probably some less-than-gentle teasing. But Anakin only felt like… hot want, shoving at him until he fell sideways across the cushions, mouth at Obi-Wan’s collarbone and slipping lower as he yanked and tugged at Obi-Wan’s leggings.

“We -- the bed is right there,” Obi-Wan rasped, shivering as Anakin caught one of the straps of the ridiculous… thing in his mouth, and then let it go, snapping against his skin. “We can just--”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Anakin said, roughly, breath hot through the lace across Obi-Wan’s skin, sucking a kiss right through the fabric, and, oh--

It was a different sensation, rough and soft all at once, a rasp of pressure disappearing as Anakin tossed his leggings aside and shifted up to just… look at him. Anakin was breathing hard, hair mussed, tunic hanging open. His gaze blazed a trail down Obi-Wan’s body, across dark lace and the, frankly, insufficient wisps of fabric currently serving as negligee. 

“Force,” Anakin panted, sliding his palm up Obi-Wan’s thigh, until his thumb brushed the lacy little thing over Obi-Wan’s cock. It had fitted decently earlier, but wasn’t currently up to the task. The lace clung to his cock, making him feel hyper-sensitive as Anakin gritted out, “You look like a kriffing picture.”

Obi-Wan meant to ask what kind of pictures Anakin had possibly been looking at, though he knew well enough that some of the troopers had gotten… more than a bit explicit with the materials they circulated during the war; Hardcase had nearly had a stroke when Obi-Wan accidentally discovered his stash, though some of the images were certainly a good likeness, Obi-Wan could admit, even if they misplaced the freckles, and-- And he got distracted when Anakin ground out, “I want to just… make a mess of you.”

The words hit him below his gut, made his cock twitch, helplessly, and he reached up to grab Anakin’s shoulders, hauling him down, groaning, “Do it, then.”

Anakin made a low, hungry sound, and suddenly his hands were everywhere, his mouth sliding across Obi-Wan’s ribs. He nipped at the edge of the lace again, fingers sliding across the little wisps caught here and there, electrifying.

Obi-Wan groaned aloud when Anakin kissed down his stomach, exhaling hot over the head of his cock. He expected, for some reason, that Anakin would pull the lace aside and perhaps -- But Anakin just - just licked across the lace, heat transferring so easily through the thin fabric, wet heat and the rough-soft sensation of the lace across his skin. 

Obi-Wan curled fingers into Anakin’s hair, panting as Anakin mouthed down the underside of his cock, making wet, hungry sounds, sloppy in a way he usually wasn’t and-- And Obi-Wan’s spine bowed quite without intention as Anakin hooked a finger into the lace and tugged it to one side, the edge biting against his skin, the rest of it pulled tighter against his cock. 

“What--” Obi-Wan started, when Anakin lifted his mouth away for a moment. He curled his shoulders up, trying to see what was going on, and watched Anakin suck briefly on two of his fingers, mouth wet and red. “Force--” Obi-Wan dropped his head back down, heat flowing through his body as Anakin sucked the head of his cock through the lace and - and slid his wet fingers back.

They had plenty of lubricant in the bedroom. That was, apparently, too far for Anakin at the moment, and something about the desperation, the need of it, made Obi-Wan’s cock jerk, made his gut get tighter and his pulse faster.

The push into his body burned, just a little, but he didn’t - Anakin knew well enough he didn’t mind that, not at all. He liked feeling the stretch, liked the slide of knuckles catching at him, strong and sure and implacable. 

Anakin appeared to be in no mood to play around. He crooked his fingers, knowing, and sucked when Obi-Wan jolted against him, crying out. Obi-Wan was aware, through the haze of his own pleasure, of Anakin’s other hand moving between his own legs. And there was something delirious intoxicating about Anakin needing to touch himself, about the hot wetness of his mouth, and the demanding movement of his fingers.

And, layered on top of all of that, the sensation of the lace, clinging to his skin, constant pressure and sensation. 

Obi-Wan clung to the back of the couch with one hand, kept his other anchored in Anakin’s hair, and it had been weeks since they touched. Anakin groaned against his cock, brushed a third finger against Obi-Wan’s rim, and Obi-wan let out a punchy cry, because three with only spit was--

Was on the edge of too much, grounding him into his skin, into the raw beauty of what they were doing. He barely heard Anakin rasping, “Come on, come on, give it up for me.”

Obi-Wan cried out, harsh, giving in to the sensation, the pleasure, making a mess all over the inside of the silly negligee, or adding to the mess Anakin had already made. Anakin tore another sound out of him when he dragged his fingers free, and Obi-Wan would have been indignant, if not for the expression of wild hunger on Anakin’s face as he shifted up onto his knees, bracing one hand by Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the other--

The other stroking his own cock, brutal, short thrusts as he stared down, just - just looking, his red bottom lip caught by his teeth, his eyes dark and intent. “Fuck,” Anakin ground out, gutteral, when he came, only moments later, come splattering across the lace and Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Fuck,” he repeated, dropping his head, finally, and taking a kiss.

Obi-Wan curled a hand around the back of his neck, pleasure still beating through his body with his pulse, and murmured, “Welcome home.”

Anakin huffed a little laugh against his mouth, smearing a hand through the mess across Obi-Wan’s stomach. “I suppose I should get cleaned up,” Obi-Wan said, nudging at Anakin’s shoulder, preparing to roll off of the couch, and Anakin made a dark, protesting sound, pushing him back down.

“Oh,” Anakin said, voice warm and rough, breath sliding across Obi-Wan’s skin, dark as a promise, “no, you’re not going anywhere.”

[obx-enthusiast]

Now that I have you ~ JJ Maybank x reader

Requested by: @maybebanks

word count: 2.5k

warnings: fighting, swearing, angst, sad jj

prompt: 6 for angst “don’t you ever do that again”

summary: Y/n’s parents forced her into a realationship with Topper. but what will happen when sparks fly between her and a certain blond?

The life of a kook was always interesting. At least to other people it seemed. Y/n could really care less about the social classes of the outerbanks. She preferred the pouge life. Freedom, not having to uphold reputations, being able to do what ever you want whenever you want. Y/n wanted that. And she found that when her best friend Sarah, started dating John B.

The pouges all loved Y/n. She would go help Kie at the wreck, John B with the HMS when it needed fixing, Pope with school and grocery runs, and JJ whenever he needed help with his dad or just a place to lay his head. But no one knew about her daily adventures with the pouges. Especially not her boyfriend Topper. And the pouges didn’t know about Topper either. She preferred to keep thoes two worlds separate.

Y/n held almost no feelings for Topper. The arrangement was made by both of their parents after him and sarah broke up. She was more drawn to a certain blonde pouge. But Y/n’s parents didn’t really care about her feelings. Saying things like ‘honey, this will bring such good things to our family. don’t you want that?’ her mother would tell her whenever she complained about Topper and his stupid friends.

————

The sky was black with the exception of lighting striking acrosst it. The summer rain was tapping on her roof, but little did she know that tonight was one of thoes nights when JJ needed help.

Y/n’s eyes were quickly taken away from the tv when she heard the sound of light tapping on her window. The tv screen was the only thing lighting up the dark room. She quickly crawled out of bed and made her way to the window. The soft rain drops were sliding down the glass. Her eyes scanned the view when she spotted JJ. She unlatched the lock and pulled opened the window. JJ pulled his arms up and started making his way into the room. Y/n grabbed ahold of his arm to help him steady himself. “I don’t know what to do” the boy whispered under his breath as he glued his eyes to the floor. Sadness was evident in his tone. The easiest way to describe it was that JJ sounded broken.

Y/n sighed as she grabbed the boy and pulled him into a warm embrace. JJ’s arms wrapping around her waist as he stuffed his head into the crook of her neck. Soft sobs shaking through his body. Y/n reached up and put her fingers in his hair. Playing with the soft strands as he let all of his emotions out. “shhhh Jay.” she whispered in his ear. “I’m right here. You’re okay.” Y/n said, now rubbing circles into his back. JJ’s sobs slowly came to an end and he finally looked at her.

“Come on lets go sit down.” Y/n whispered as she led him over to the bed. She sat down with her back against her pillows. JJ crawled over to her and laid his head in her lap and let out a deep breath. Y/n went back to playing with the long strands of hair. “Why didn’t she take me with her?” he let out. His voice breaking as he played with her anklet. “Was I not good enough? Y/n’s heart sunk as she watched the boy she cared for so deeply, question if he is worthy or not.

“oh Jay...” She whispered as he turned his head to face her. “you are one of the kindest, funny, amazing people I have ever met. You don’t deserve any of the stuff that has been handed to you. You deserve the world and I wish you could see your self from my eyes. Then you’d see how wonderful you really are.” She smiled as she brushed his hair off of his forehead. JJ moves so he was now sitting up, listening to every word she had to say, tears forming in his eyes. “Your mom really missed out on getting to know one of the most beautiful souls I have ever met. It’s not on you that she left, it’s on Luke.” She held his face and wiped the tears that were falling from his eyes. JJ nodded his head as she took her hands away from his face and dropped them in her lap.

“Thanks Y/n/n. I really don’t know where i’d be if it wasn’t for you.” he whispered as he looked deep into her eyes. “It’s not a problem Jay. I’m always going to be here for you.” she smiled at him. JJ took in a deep breath before he gently grabbed her face and brought his lips to hers. Shock filled her body but before she knew it she was kissing him back. She brought her hands to the back of his neck as his made their way down to her waist. This was different than any other kiss she’s had. This kiss made her feel weak in the knees and like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. That’s when she remembered Topper.

Y/n brought her hands up to JJs chest and pushed him back before jumping out of her bed. Her eyes widening as her mind ran at a million miles an hour. A puzzled look crossed JJs face and his brows furrowed together. “what’s wrong y/n? i thought you liked me too?” he said as he pushed himself of her bed and made his way to her. Y/n looked at the floor and whispered “I think you need to go..” “wait but Y/n-“ he tried to reason. “I said go JJ!” she shouted and pointed at the door. His eyes widened. She never called him JJ. She always called him Jay.

JJs shoulders slumped and his eyes sunk to the ground as he walked out of the room without another word. Tears brimmed Y/n’s eyes and she let out a shaky breath. She heard the front door close and she finally let out a sob.

She wanted JJ so bad. She wanted to call him hers and she wanted to never have to go on another horrendous date with Topper. She crawled into the bed and grabbed her pillow. The smell of JJ filled her nose and she hugged the pillow tightly wishing it was him in her arms instead.

————

The early morning light shined through Y/n’s window. The girl simply rolled over and groaned. She grabbed her phone and looked at the time.

6:00 am.

Jay🏄🏼‍♂️: 3 new messages, 2 missed calls.

Topper💕🏌🏼: 1 new message.

Y/n yawned and checked JJs texts first.

Jay🏄🏼‍♂️: Y/n I am so sorry I overstepped.

Jay🏄🏼‍♂️: I really thought you felt the same.

Jay🏄🏼‍♂️: Please forgive me?🥺

Y/n: Yeah, I forgive you :)

Sent.

A smile made its way to her face as she read his messages. He really did care about her. Her smile quickly changed to a frown as she checked Toppers message.

Topper💕🏌🏼: Dont forget we have a lunch date today babe.

Y/n: Crap I totally forgot! I made plans with sarah today. Any chance we can make it a dinner?

Topper💕🏌🏼: why are you so unreliable? Do you have any idea how many girls would drop their plans to go on a date with me? But I mean I guess I can switch some things around. So yeah that should be fine.

she now knew what she needed to do.

————

Y/n rolled her eyes and got out of bed. Playing some music before walking over to her closet. She grabbed a yellow bikini, a blue hawaiian shirt and a pair of high waisted shorts. She slipped the clothes on and tied a knot into the front of the shirt. She made her way to her bathroom and did the rest of her morning routine before she headed to the kitchen to grab a protein shake and get on her way.

She walked down the driveway to her coral 1967 beetle. It was her pride and joy. She had restored the whole thing with JJ last summer. It had a surf rack on the roof and ran like she was brand new. She checked the time as she opened the door and crawled in. 8:00 am. She shrugged her shoulders as the engine turned over and she made her way down her driveway to the chateau.

About 10 minutes later she pulled into the dirt driveway of the chateau. A smile spreading across her face at the sight of Sarah and John B curled up in the hammock. “Good morning lovebirds.” She cooed as she approached the two. “Morning y/n/n.” sarah blushed. “So what’s the plan today?” Y/n smiled. “Well we’re going out on the HMS with the rest of the pouges to go swim.” John B turned as he looked at y/n. “Sounds like a plan. When are we leaving?” “We’re picking up Pope and Kie around 9:00 and JJs already inside.” John B stated, pointing at the house.

Blush rose to her face at the mention of JJ. Y/n quickly looked at the ground trying to hide her face. “Well i better go make sure he’s up and give you guys your alone time back.” Y/n awkwardly said. Before they had the chance to respond she was already on her way to his room.

She made her way through the kitchen and livingroom before she was standing outside his door. Y/n opened the door to find a shirtless JJ in sweatpants standing in the middle of the room. “Woah ever heard of knocki-” JJ was quickly cut off when Y/n walked across the room and placed her lips on his. JJs body tensed but he soon relaxed into the kiss. His hands found her waist as she gently tugged at the ends of his hair. His tongue swept against her bottom lip and she gladly let him in. Y/n felt butterflies like she had never felt them before. The kiss was slow and sweet but equally filled with passion and hunger.

Their lips finally broke apart as they rested their foreheads against eachother. Both breathing heavily. “you have no idea how long I have wanted to do that.” JJ smiled at her, just above a whisper. Y/n stepped back to look at his face, his hands now leaving her hips. His hair was messy, his lips were swollen and his pupils were blown wide open.

“I want to be with you Jay. I want to be yours and I want you to be mine.” She smiled up at him. “I meannnn I guess it would be pretty nice..” JJ groaned out. Y/n’s jaw dropped as she playfully pushed his shoulder. A smile spread across JJs face and he pulled her by her waist into a hug. “I would love that y/n/n.” he whispered in her ear. “Good. I mean i’m not gonna lie, I have to figure some things out before we can make it official, but I promise it will be done and over with by tonight.” Y/n told him. A look of puzzlement crossed his face but before he could say anything John B’s voice called through the chateau. “Come on guys we’re leaving!” Y/n took that as her chance to escape but JJ quickly called after her. “We’re definitely gonna talk about that later.”

————

The boat ride and swimming went by smoothly until Sarah got stung by a jellyfish. Again. Causing their day in the sun to be cut short as they all made their way back to the chateau. The silence was broke when Y/n’s phone rang.

Topper💕🏌🏼 is calling..

She groaned before she brought the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?” topper asked his tone sounding angry.

“I’m with sarah, why?”

“We’re having a change of plans and i’m coming to get you.”

“No you’re not”

“Yes I am. Now tell me, where are you?”

“I’m at the chateau..” She winced out.

“i’ll be there in 10 minutes.” That was the last thing he said before he hung up. She felt her chest tighten. Worried looks crossed everyone’s faces as they looked at their friend. Sarah being the only one who knew what was going on.

By the time they got to the dock Topper was already there standing by John B’s van. If this was a cartoon there would definitely have been steam coming from his ears. Y/n hesitantly walked towards the angry boy. The rest of the pouges followed her, not too far behind. Everyone was in complete confusion at what she had to do with Topper.

“Damn y/n just when I thought I knew you. Rather than spend time with your boyfriend, you went hanging around some dirty ass pouges!” he shouted as he gestured towards the group. Y/n’s eyes narrowed as she stared down the boy. “it’s better than spending any time with you” she spat at him. Toppers jaw clenched and before she knew she was being pushed up against the van. Toppers arm holding her down by her throat. JJ immediately stepped forward, but John B grabbed his arm and held up a finger. Signaling for him to wait. “Care to say that to me again?” Topper dared her. “I said it’s better than spending any time with you!” she cockily smiled at him. He pressed his arm further into her neck causing Y/n’s face to turn a deep reddish purple. His hand met the side of her face. Y/n’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Now there was no holding JJ back.

JJ sprang forward, ripping Topper off of Y/n. She fell to the ground and gasped for air. Short shallow breaths and coughs were the only thing that could be heard from the girl. JJ and Topper were wresting on the ground. Each one fighting to pin the other. JJ finally got Topper to the ground. All JJ could see was red. He delivered blow after blow to Toppers face. “Don’t you ever!” *punch* “do that!” *punch* “Again!” *punch* JJ yelled in between punches. Y/n gasped as she watched the scene infront of her. “Jay stop!” she hoarsely cried out. He kept punching him. “JJ stop you’re gonna kill him man!” John B yelled. Another blow. Y/n dragged herself off the ground to where the boys were fighting. She put her hand on his back “Jay i’m okay. You can stop now..” she cried.

JJs eyes widened at his bloody fists and Toppers newly rearranged face beneath him. His anger scared him at that moment in time. But he wasn’t finished yet. JJ nodded at Y/n before leaning over and whispering in Toppers ear “If I ever fucking see you near her again, you better fucking run.” JJ said through gritted teeth. Toppers eyes widened and he nodded his head profusely. “Now get out of here.” JJ told him as he pointed in the direction of the road.

Before she knew it JJ wrapped her in a hug and pulled her to him tightly. He rested his chin on the top of her head and her arms went up behind his shoulders. “Jay are you okay?” Y/n looked up at JJ who now had a pretty good cut on the side of his face. He shrugged it off and smiled. “I am now that I have you” he whispered as he leaned in for the kiss.

————

A/N: i really hope you like this I had so much fun writing it! Also this is the car I based hers off of

[holmesapothecary]

'Schitt’s Creek' cast reflects on series' beloved characters, lamented end

The Rose family is all here, albeit in small rectangular windows on screens scattered across North America. Dan Levy is in his Los Angeles home with his rescue pup, Redmond. Annie Murphy connects from Toronto. Catherine O’Hara can’t get her video to work but then appears in all her glory from L.A. Eugene Levy is the last to join. Apparently his watch is 10 minutes slow — he holds it up to the camera as proof — prompting an eye roll from son, Dan.

“You could use your phone, you know?” he says, his tone of exasperated reproach instantly recognizable from the beloved television show the Levys created, the late, great “Schitt’s Creek.”

This quartet has done this kind of thing before, gathering with the show’s cast and crew to watch the “Schitt’s Creek’s” series finale on Zoom in April. It was a bittersweet evening. They were together, but, because of the COVID-19 pandemic, not in the same room, a celebration punctuated by laughter and a few tears — not all that different from the conversation today. Of late, almost every time this group unites, there are a couple of lump-in-the-throat moments amid the acerbic humor and good-natured ribbing.

“Here we go,” Eugene says after longtime friend O’Hara reacts with sympathy to an emotional story Dan tells about the final day of filming. “It never ends.”

Except it has. After six seasons and a journey that has taken the series from cult status to Emmy favorite, “Schitt’s Creek” has finished its run in a manner that few shows do — on its own terms, at the peak of its popularity and, perhaps, just a bit sooner than some of its cast members (and nearly all of its devoted fans) would prefer. When Dan Levy, who took over running “Schitt’s Creek” in its third season, laments ending the series just as many people began binge-watching it on Netflix during the COVID-19 quarantine, Murphy perks up.

“Being cooped up in my house for months has led me to write seven more seasons,” he says.

Finding their place

“Schitt’s Creek” premiered on the little-known Pop network in 2015 as a straightforward fish-out-of-water comedy about the wealthy Rose family — businessman Johnny (Eugene), soap actress Moira (O’Hara) and their adult children David (Dan) and Alexis (Murphy) — who lose their entire fortune, save for ownership of the isolated titular town once purchased as a gag. They relocate there, taking up residence in adjoining rooms at the shabby Rosebud Motel.

Initially, the show’s stories followed the Roses’ attempts to scrape some money together and restore some semblance of their old lives. But slowly, over the course of 80 episodes, the family discovers the small pleasures of community and a real love and understanding for one another.

The Roses’ perfectly paced journey of self-discovery, which included David meeting and, in the finale, marrying his fiance Patrick, imbued “Schitt’s Creek” with a warmth that deepened its connection with its audience. You could feel that appreciation not long ago when the cast toured the country with the “Schitt’s Creek: Up Close & Personal” evenings, gatherings that fostered such a sense of tribal belonging that, O’Hara says, “We almost didn’t need to be there.”

“There was a family thing going on in the audience, and we just got to have the love come our way,” she says.

The cast was scheduled to take a victory lap with a farewell tour this spring and summer. In fact, we spoke when they were supposed to be together in Los Angeles for an evening at the Orpheum Theatre. “I miss it,” O’Hara says. “Oh, how I miss the kindness that you’d feel radiating toward you on those nights.”

Planning for the end

But there’s a difference, Dan says, between communing with the fans and being beholden to them. One benefit from having the show fly under the radar for most of its run came with the timing of its conclusion. When “Schitt’s Creek” was renewed for two more seasons after its fourth year, Levy began charting the arc of its ending. The series had seen a bump in its viewership since Netflix began streaming it in January 2017. But it didn’t really start peaking until its fifth season, by which time Levy knew when and how he wanted to wrap up the show. And he had plotted it without worrying about satisfying audience expectations — though, of course, he hoped everyone would like it.

“It was important to make the show’s last episodes just feel like very great episodes and not feel bloated with a backlog of revelations that we need to quickly wrap up,” the younger Levy says. “To me, ‘Six Feet Under’ was one of the greatest finales ever made — fresh, unexpected, creative, emotional. It spoke to the format of the show in a way that was, ‘Of course, this is how it should end,’ and yet, as a viewer, it was the last thing you could have ever imagined.”

Levy did make one concession to fan service in the “Schitt’s” finale. He knew Moira’s ensemble would have to somehow top all the fabulous wigs and iconic couture that had come before. When O’Hara learned she would be officiating David’s wedding in the episode, she suggested a papal theme. That’s the only direction costume designer Debra Hanson needed. Moira wound up wearing a white Alexander McQueen gown, along with a gold chain belt and gold metallic gloves, her Botticelli-inspired hair wrapped around a hat that Pope Francis would bless.

“I will always remember Catherine walking on set for the first time in that garb,” Murphy says. “There was a long silence and then a collective intake of breath and then just slow applause from everyone on set.”

“I loved that the look could be what it was and not take the focus from the beautiful wedding,” O’Hara says. Levy nods. “It’s something to consider when you have a look like that,” he says. “But even though she was in knee-high gold Tom Ford boots,” and here O’Hara bursts out laughing at the image, “there was a calmness and softness about it that allowed it to sit in the background.”

Saying goodbye

Now that we know David and Patrick are married, Alexis is pursuing a career in New York, and Johnny and Moira are heading to Los Angeles so Moira can work on a soap opera reboot costarring Nicole Kidman (“I’m not sure I like the direction my career is heading, but I’d do anything with Moira,” Kidman says with a laugh over the phone from her Nashville home), it would seem the story is over. But Dan, who has a three-year deal with ABC, does remain open to revisiting the characters.

“The hardest thing for me these past few years,” Eugene interjects, “was just to kind of walk in and pretend it’s just another day at work without going up to everyone on set and saying, ‘What do you think about the work this kid is doing?’ It’s been a very rewarding experience for me.”

“And I understand people are sad it’s over,” he continues. “I’m sad too. For the past few years, people have been looking for something to pick them up a little, and they’ve gravitated toward this show as this tonic they could go to for a half-hour and forget what was happening in the world.”

Eugene pauses. “When you think about it, the fact that it went out (during) a pandemic seems almost apropos in a way. People couldn’t feel any worse, and here’s our show going out.”

(X)

[iplaymatchmaker]

hello and good day! i would like a matchup for a3! and ikerev, please! she/her pronouns. you can call me juice, though! hm i think a good description of me personality wise would be im usually cheerful, friendly, childish but i tend to hide a lot of my negative feelings and overthink quite a lot. towards others i'm always curious about the littlest details of someone's hobbies or interest and sometimes i talk more than i listen. love literature and things like fashion or games (1)

Hello, thanks for requesting juice! Sorry for the long wait but I hope you enjoy it! I was pretty excited to write a match up for a3! since it’s been living rent free in my head for the last few weeks. I got a little carried away with the last prompt cause it was so fun to write, but I hope you like it! Also, the ikerev one might take some time but I’ll try to not take too long. Have fun!

I match you with

Tsuzuru!

The two of you first meet after you watch one of their plays, “A Clockwork Heart.” When you realize that the lead and writer is a classmate of yours from college you can’t help but approach him a few days later to discuss the play further.

He seems self conscious at first but quickly opens up as the two of you discuss his script and before you know it one conversation has turned into an in-depth discussion over lunch.

After that first encounter, both of you start talking more often, quickly growing closer. Tsuzuru appreciates your cheerful attitude, making it easy for him to be comfortable around you.

Considering your love for literature, you often help him brainstorm for new ideas, always looking forward to seeing how he brings it to life on stage.

It is easy for you to fit in with the rest of the boys from Mankai, despite their constant prying on your relationship with Tsuzuru. After all the time the two of you spend together, it is no surprise when none of the boys (except Azami) bat an eyelash when you make it official, after a lot of back and forth between friendship and romance.

Prompt: Bonding

“The reason S was created in the first place was because Luke needed a companion. It’s tragic that he was the one who left him in the end.”

“Well, yes, but he also taught him to open up to people, insuring that he wouldn’t be alone when he was gone.”

You and Tsuzuru had been discussing the end of his latest play “A Clockwork Heart” for a while, arguing over whether or not the ending was tragic. When you approached him to offer your praise for his work earlier that day you hadn’t been expecting him to engage in your opinions on a play he wrote, but he was actually deeply invested in the conversation, despite the matter at hand being trivial to the actual substance of the story.

“He couldn’t have known though. He also put his own wishes aside to protect him. That alone makes the ending tragic.” You vividly remembered the tears you had shed when the show reached its climax, a result of both his script and his acting.

“It depends on your idea of what the ending was. S was a machine, so as long as Luke was alive they could meet again, when it was safe for the both of them. That makes the ending-“

Ring Ring

You almost chucked at the generic sound his phone made as it vibrated.

“Give me a sec.” he moved away from the bench before answering. It wasn’t long before he returned, a flush expression on his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I had kept you for so long. I actually need to get going.” He ran a hand through his hair, smiling shyly. It was only then that you noticed what time it was.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you for that long!” Now you were both flushed, the realization dawning on you that you had spent two hours talking.

“I-it’s fine. Um, we can continue this tomorrow, if you’d like?” you were surprised he actually wanted to talk again, a smile spreading over your face.

“Definitely. “

“Okay. See you then!” he waved as he ran off while simultaneously trying to dial someone, resulting in him almost falling on his face. You looked forward to tomorrow.

After that first encounter, you continued to meet during lunch to talk about other works, quickly realizing you had a similar taste in books and movies. It was an easy transition, going from acquaintances to friends.

“How’s the summer troupe’s play coming along?” It was easy to tell that he had been losing sleep again from the – almost – comical black circle under his eyes, but you asked anyway, hoping that you could offer some help.

“I know what I want to write, the words are just refusing to form and settle themselves on the page.” The frustration was evident on his face as he tried to put the pieces flying around his head in order. You tried to think of a way to help him but you knew that he needed to figure this out on his own.

“Come on.” You forcefully pulled him out of his chair, carefully shutting his laptop.

“W-wait. Where are we going?” you pushed him along, despite his protesting.

“Trust me.” You flashed him your biggest smile before setting of, only mildly aware that your hand was still around his wrist.

“The movies?” he seemed confused over what your objective was but you were confident it would help him out of his slump.

“Yes. Come on, I’ll even get us popcorn!” you were beaming as you led him inside.

“What are we watching?” Tsuzuru, finally resigned to his fate, flipped through the leaflet, looking at the moves currently playing.

“Your choice, I’m fine with whatever.” You hurried to the bar to pick up snacks, leaving him at the ticket booth.

“Look at those effects.”

“The acting is top notch.”

Tsuzuru had been so immersed in the movie he seemed to have forgotten all about his tiredness. When you exited the theatre you could practically see the gears turning in his head.”

“It’s a very different take on pirates than the summer troupe’s play, but if I exaggerate the characters even more then there would be great opportunity for comedy.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you as you observed him, completely lost in his own mind.

“So I take it the creative juices are flowing again?” he looked back at you, as if seeing you clearly for the first time in days.

“Yes! Thank you!” He put his arms around you, too far lost in his excitement to feel any awkwardness.

“I-I have to go write! I’ll see you tomorrow.” He continued shouting thank you over his shoulder as he run off with newfound energy. You expected you wouldn’t see him the next day, considering he’d probably be passed out by then, but you smiled anyway.

“See you later!”

Prompt : Cinderella:

“So, you’re thinking of doing Cinderella for the next play?” You and Tsuzuru were hanging out in his room, taking full advantage of Masumi’s absence that weekend.

“Yeah… I’m not sure how to go about it though. Everyone in the Spring Troupe agreed that I should be lead this time around but I just don’t see myself in the shoes of a prince… Itaru would probably be a better fit for the role.” You couldn’t help throwing a pillow his way.

“Hey! What was that for?” You sat up a little straighter, tempted to glare at him until he picked up on your annoyance.

“I can definitely picture you in the role of the prince.” You cleared your throat before switching to your best narrator voice.

A long, long time ago there lived a boy and a girl. They were the best of friends when they were children. The boy would often sneak out to meet with her and they would play for hours. But their happiness would not last long.

You see, the girl grew up to be the maid of one of the less-fortunate royal families in the kingdom. She had been forced into that position by her father’s latest wedding. It would also turn out to be his last, for he died a few years later, leaving her in the care of a wicked stepmother.

One the other hand, the boy grew up to be the most charming prince in the land. The women fawned over him and he always had everything his heart could desire.”

“I’m literally none of those things.”

“Fine then.”

The prince was an idiot who didn’t know how to take care of himself and never asked for help. He constantly worried his friends over his health but they loved him anyway.

“That’s not any better…”

“Shh, let me continue the story.”

Their difference in class ripped the two friends apart, putting an end to their relationship. While they weren’t allowed to meet again, they promised to never forget about each other. To keep that promise, the made matching bracelets and agreed to never take them off until they could meet again.

“Friendship bracelets? Who does that?”

“They were kids! Would you have preferred rings?”

“Wouldn’t those basically be promise rings?”

“I’m coming up with this on the spot, give me a break!”

That bracelet was what gave the girl the strength to continue living, despite her struggles.

When news of a ball arrived at the estate, her step-sisters were quick to start preparations, eager to have a chance at the prince’s hand in marriage. The girl was simply happy at the prospect of seeing her friend again.

When her family found out she was planning to attend the ball, they locked her in the cellar, not willing to risk any competition. The girl wept and wept, until suddenly a kind seeming lady appeared in front of her.

“Isn’t this just the movie?”

“Give it a second!”

The lady promised she would help her get to the ball if that was what she wished. Despite her suspicions, the girl earnestly declared that all she wanted was to see her friend again. And so the kind woman flicked her wrist and the rags the girl had been wearing were replace by a rich ball gown, paired with a glass slippers. The girl thanked her again and again before heading off in search of her lost friend.

“She doesn’t warn her about the time limit?”

“There’s no curfew here, it’s a stupid conflict anyway.”

You couldn’t contain the excitement and adrenaline that flowed through you as you went up the steps of the grand palace. You hadn’t been here since you were a child, when the king’s father still allowed you to visit, and childhood memories flooded your mind. It was difficult to keep your nerves at a reasonable level as you approached the guards at the front gate. By the time you had arrived at the palace, most of the guests were already inside, so you were completely alone when you handed the invitation, hoping the witch had done her work well.

“Enjoy your evening.” They smiled before urging you to step inside. A sense of awe filled you as you walked through the somewhat familiar halls, remembering all the places you and Tsuzuru would hide from the servants, before his title meant anything to you.

You weren’t sure you remembered the way to the main hall, so you followed the noise, hoping you could make your way there.

When you finally stood outside what seemed to be the entrance, you took a few deep breaths before walking forward, determined to see your friend again. When you stepped though the door you quickly realized that the door wasn’t the room’s main entrance, but the top of the grand staircase. Dread filled you as everyone’s eyes fell on you. If it wasn’t for the railing you thought you have fainted right then and there. You breathed in, allowing you hand to wrap around the bracelet the two of you had made so long ago, letting the warm feelings it carried spread through you.

You bowed once before making your way down the stairs, hoping you wouldn’t trip on your dress and make a fool of yourself before the night even started.

The moment you were off the last step, your eyes fell on your step-mother, eyeing you with absolute envy and disgust. You hoped the mask would be enough to conceal your identity.

You walked around the room for a bit, keeping to the less populated areas, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tsuzuru, disappointed to find that he was nowhere to be found.

“Please let this not be for nothing…”

You were about to make your way to the balcony, but a swarm of guests was suddenly in your path, dancing to the waltz the band had just started playing. You frantically looked around, searching for a way out when two arms wrapped around you, pulling you along with the rest of the dancers.

“I guess you’re my partner?” the face of the man that stood before you made your jaw drop. You had thought of so many things to say, but now that Tsuzuru was standing before you, the words seemed to catch in your throat.

“So, uh, are you having fun?” he was as awkward as you remembered. Something about the familiarity filled you with a sense of calm. I found him.

“I am now.” It was hard to contain the smile quickly spreading around your face.

“Actually I was-“that was when it was time to switch partners. When you felt his hand slip from yours, panic flooded through you. No… I didn’t have the chance to tell him.

As he pulled his hand away, his fingers brushed the bracelet on your wrist, eyes widening as he was whisked away by another partygoer, realization evident in his features. You tried to get closer, but were quickly taken away by another guest. Your eyes landed on Tsuzuru a few times but the hall was too crowded. It was almost suffocating. You took the first chance to slip out on the balcony, eager to get away from the crowds.

You stood at the railing, letting the air cool down your heated face. He had seen you, but you weren’t sure he would care enough to search. Negative thoughts occupied your mind as you gazed at the land beyond. Maybe this was foolish… He probably barely remembers me… He’s a prince after all. He was more important matter to attend to than a peasant he used to spend his free time with. You felt tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, your own loneliness catching up with you.

“Please don’t cry!” You were shocked to find Tsuzuru standing a few feet away from you, his face flushed and his knees bent. He must’ve been running.

“You’re the girl from back then, aren’t you?” he glanced down at your wrist, pulling up his own sleeve to reveal a bracelet identical to yours.

“Y-you kept it.” Your voice cracked, barely audible in the midst of the ongoing celebrations.

“Of course I did! It meant a lot to me.” The words seemed to call to something inside you and so you let the tears fall.

“W-what did I do? Please don’t cry!” he took a step closer, still unsure of what boundaries existed between you.

“I-I can’t help it. I’m just so happy!” you wrapped your arms around him, not caring who saw you. All that mattered in that moment was that the two of you were reunited at last.

“I missed you.” You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was crying too, by the way his heart beat against your, the way his hands shook, still wrapped around you in a tight embrace. Year’s worth of loneliness and regret spilled out of the both of you in a single moment.

You stayed like that for quite some time, allowing the relief to wash over you. When you looked at each other again, you couldn’t help but laugh at your state. You knew the scene must look ridiculous to any outside spectators, but none of them mattered. It felt like you were alone in the world, no barriers between you. Your class didn’t matter. You were just a boy and a girl who had been reunited.

“ The king was skeptical at first, knowing a commoner queen wouldn’t create any new alliances, but he could see the love his son had for the girl. And so they married. It’s said that the pair practically run down the stairs of the palace after their wedding, eager to get to their honeymoon, their laughter echoing through the streets.”

“That’s an ending befitting a prince Muku reads about in manga… I still don’t see where I fit into this… ”

“Fine. As they descended the staircase, the prince fell on his ass, causing even more laughter from the girl. A moment she would never let him forget.” You couldn’t help but laugh at the earnest look on Tsuzuru’s face. He may be clumsy, but he has always been kind.

“It will need a lot modifications, especially considering the fact that none of us can exactly pull off female roles, but it could work.” At some point through the story Tsuzuru seemed to have pulled out a notebook, in which he was now scribbling away.

“Are you seriously taking notes?” he was still focused on the story, not letting the inspiration go to waste.

“Of course I am. You’re brilliant!” he pulled you in for a kiss, taking you completely by surprise.

“You’re the best.” He turned back to his note taking, leaving you with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

“You too.”

And they lived happily ever after.

[imaginingsoftly]

Not My Type - Matthew Tkachuk

Type: first meetings, Y/N insert shorts

Requested: No

Warnings: drinking

(Y/N = Your name)

A/N: You all have Matty Tkachuk stuck in my head and I don’t know how I feel about it. #26 from this prompt list, “Just one drink”

The last thing you’d expected to be doing on your first day of summer break was day drinking at a baseball game and then drinking more at a bar afterwards, but here you were. 

Kay was your best friend, and you really couldn’t say no when she offered to buy tickets for the two of you to go see a Cardinals game, on the condition you’d go out drinking with her after. She wasn’t a baseball fan, so you knew it was really the only opportunity to get her to the ballpark. “Come on, Y/N,” she had whined, “you have to stop in St. Louis on your way home anyway. Why not stay a day or two and visit with me before we don’t see each other all summer?” She had a point. After spending three years and two summer sessions together at Stanford, it was the first time the two of you would be spending any significant amount of time not joined at the hip. Besides, it wasn’t like you were really in that much of a rush to get back to Philly. 

You’d agreed eventually, and that was how you’d ended up where you were now, more than a little buzzed and trying not to be offended Kay had abandoned you at the bar to go hunt for a boy to torture until she was ready to go home. Paddy O’s wasn’t that bad; Kay knew how to pick her bars, even if she chose this place purely because she knew you’d find someone to talk baseball with so she didn’t feel guilty about abandoning you. 

Your Phillies were playing the Mariners, and the beers you’d consumed earlier at the ballpark finally caught up to you as you found yourself caught up in the game. “That’s fucking bullshit,” you said out loud, raising an arm at the television screen nearest you. “That wasn’t a fucking strike, it was two feet outside the box! Holy shit are you joking?” You took another sip of beer as you shook your head in disgust. How Joe West was still calling games was a mystery. The guy lost his ability to identify balls and strikes before you were born. 

“You a Seattle fan, sweetheart?” The voice came from behind you, smug enough you were already readying for a fight before you’d turned around. The face smirking down at you was enough to make you take pause before you responded. Matthew Tkachuk may have been one of the most irritating players you’d ever watched, but he was damn pretty. 

Tkachuk raised an eyebrow, and you realized you’d been staring. “Phillies, actually, but I have a problem with shitty officiating.” He laughed, and you relaxed slightly. Sports was your comfort zone. As long as he didn’t start flirting you were fine. His nose was slightly burnt under the shadow of his Cardinal’s hat, and you realized he must have just come from the game as well. “You at the game earlier?” Tkachuk cocked his head in confusion, and you gestured at his attire. 

Realization dawned on his face, and Tkachuk nodded. “My brother and I try to take in games whenever we can. I don’t know if we can watch baseball together anymore though, he picked up a slight affection for the Red Sox when he was at BU.” He took a seat at the bar stool next to you and continued. “I told him he wasn’t allowed to jump on that bandwagon, and he tried to tell me he went to school in Boston so he wasn’t bandwagoning, it was his team now. Kid went there for a year, he doesn’t get to call it a home team.” Tkachuk shook his head in disgust, and you found yourself giggling. 

“So can I get a name, or am I going to have to call you baseball girl all night?” Tkachuk cocked an eyebrow at you, and somehow you didn’t find his attitude as annoying as you usually would. You must have been drunker than you thought. 

“It’s Y/N. Sorry.” Tkachuk stuck out his hand and smirked again. Nevermind, his attitude was annoying.

“Matthew. You can call me Matt if you’d like.” Yeah, definitely annoying. “I have to ask, what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a bar like this all alone?” You rolled your eyes at his lame excuse for a pickup line. Real original, Tkachuk.

There was a reason you never went for the athlete types. Most of them were hot, or at least had hot bodies, but that was about it. Their egos could reach Mars, and a lot of them couldn’t keep up with your brain. Your grandfather had said it best; “million dollar bat, ten cent brains.” They tried, most of the time, but it got frustrating to try and slow down so they could keep up. That wasn’t to say they were all like that; some of the athletes you’d met over the years were good guys with decent minds, but they just weren’t your type. You preferred watching them on their respective fields of play than screwing them. 

You sighed, gesturing in the general direction of Kay. “I’m actually here with my college roommate. I’m visiting her on my way home from Stanford.” Oops. You usually didn’t give away where you went to school, especially to guys you didn’t know. “She likes to flirt. I prefer watching sports.” You took another sip of beer as Tkachuk’s eyes lit up.

His eyes followed the beer as you raised it to your lips, and you squirmed a little at the way he was looking at you. His eyes held just enough mischief to keep you weary as he spoke again. “You a hockey fan by any chance?” You almost regretted nodding when Tkachuk made a self-satisfied face at the admission. “Me too.” Not the response you were expecting. Tkachuk laughed when you cocked an eyebrow, telling him as much without a word. “You know who I am?” The cocky bastard had the audacity to blush when you said yes. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

You almost refused on principle, ready to end the conversation and get back to your game, when he spoke again. “I’m not trying anything, I promise. I just want to talk baseball, and it looks like the two idiots keeping us out here are currently talking to each other.” You looked over at Kay, and he was right. Her and Brady were chatting away like long-lost friends, and you sighed. Of course she would be flirting with a professional athlete and have no idea who he was. “Just one drink,” you sighed as you stared daggers at Kay, “and then I have to go make sure my idiot roommate knows she’s flirting with a guy two years younger than her.” Tkachuk laughed and gestured at the bartender for refills of what you were both drinking. 

The Phillies had begun a rally while you were speaking to Tkachuk, and your eyes flew back to the screen as Molina lined the ball into the right field gap. You cheered without thinking, holding out your hand for a high five. Tkachuk obliged, and you blushed when you looked over to find him staring at you in amusement. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked baseball, eh?” 

You laughed and jostled his shoulder. “You a Canadian or something, saying eh?” Tkachuk laughed at your teasing and shook his head.

“I spend most of my year in Calgary, sweetheart, I’m gonna pick up on some of their lingo.” He was surprisingly easy to talk to, and you found yourself enjoying your conversation a lot more than you’d expected over the next hour or so. Matthew knew a lot about baseball, and somewhere in that conversation he’d become Matthew instead of just his last name in your mind as one drink turned into two. Kay had moved on from Brady, thank goodness, though you found yourself a little disappointed when she’d reappeared at your side. She nodded at Matthew, smiling approvingly at you, and Matthew stopped his spiel about why the Cardinals should bring back their baby blue uniforms long enough to introduce himself. 

Kay almost had to drag you away from Matthew, much to the surprise of her and yourself, and Matthew’s gentle kiss on your cheek as you said goodbye was almost too much to handle. He’d said goodbye with the kiss and a cocky “sweet dreams sweetheart,” and part of you wanted to cringe over how arrogant he was. The other part of you was pretty turned on. 

That part of you left him a napkin with your number and a note reading, “if you ever want to talk baseball, I’m more than interested.” 

You weren’t expecting a response. Sober you never would have left the note in the first place. 

You certainly weren’t expecting to wake up to a text the next morning that said “Sweetheart, I can think of a lot of things I’m interested in with you, and talking baseball is only one of them.” 

Maybe that athlete rule could be broken just this once. 

[goldeneyedgirl]

jaliceweek20 day 2: soulmate au

JaliceWeek2020 Day 2: Soulmate AU

Untitled

Notes: I’m so mad this got so long because I was going to write this as a continuation of the Angel/Demon, but I wanted something shorter, and then this would. not. end. I think the premise was far too big. But alas, we have fic! No title is coming to me, so I’ll think of one tonight. If I get the other prompts done, I might even finish off the Angel/Demon version. 

Words: 6581

--

They meet like this:

The new girl, her hair hanging in her eyes, darts out of the classroom like she’s on fire. She runs straight into him, bounces off the wall of vampiric-muscle and hits the floor. 

It’s hardly the thing of great love stories or cinematic meet-cutes, but it is the beginning. 

He mechanically offers to help her up, but she looks away. That’s when he begins to notice - he doesn’t know how it feels for her, but it’s like someone injected ice into his side, where the mark has been for eleven years. She stares up at him for a moment, her hand fluttering at her collar bone before she’s back on her feet and hurrying down the hall like she’s running away. 

—

The soul mark appears when Alice is six. 

It is a twisted ribbon of a mark, from the inside of her left elbow, up her arm, over her shoulder, along her clavicle, over her right shoulder and down to her right wrist. It is enormous for a soul mark, especially on such a small child. And perhaps that would be okay, if it wasn’t for the colour - deeply and unmistakably red; dark in the middle and light on the outside, like she’s been slashed violently with a knife. 

Alice’s mother screams when she sees it, expecting blood to follow, until she realises what she’s seeing. Lillian stares at her daughter, who seems delighted by her positively disfiguring mark. Her little sister has one, her cousins each have one, there’s only her and Uncle Fred that don’t and now she does. 

But Cynthia’s is an elaborate knot of yellow on her right hip that looks more like an abstract flower. Lillian’s own is yellow and mauve, fanning out like sunburst on the back of her neck. She has never seen a soul mark like this, and she feels disloyal when she allows herself to think it quite hideous as she lets her daughter babble away in joy. 

What ugly, soulless individual could inspire such a mark?

(Then, of course, there is the social faux pas that Alice is obviously older than her new soulmate - just old enough for people to talk. It’s still not really acceptable in Biloxi society for the female half of the couple to be older, but it can be overlooked if its only a year or two. Don’t even get Lillian started on same-sex soulmates; she’ll worry about that if it ever comes to pass, pray to god it doesn’t. 

Thankfully, Cynthia was born with her mark, and Lillian with hers.

It’ll be years before Alice herself understands: the soul mark has less to do with birthdays and ages, and a lot more to do with the path you find yourself on - there’s no point having a map to a place you won’t be visiting. That day when she was six years old was the very day that the seeds of the Great Brandon Feud were planted, and her path was gently diverted into that of another).

—

The official reason they move to Forks is because Brandon Shipping is expanding, and the newest office and facility is in Port Angeles; Lillian thinks the small logging town is charming and a more socially palatable place to live, plus she is excited by the idea of renovating an old house (Alice is positive that every Pottery Barn in the Pacific Northwest is standing-by for her mother’s legendarily dull sense of interior design). 

The semi-official reason is that Alice punched her cousin Marcella at the last family Fourth of July barbecue, and both Lillian and Michael are leaving in shame. Alice resents this justification to her bones because one, Marcella deserved it, and probably another one or two. Two, if it had been any any cousin Marcella had said those words to, it would be Marcella who would be punished. And three, the unspoken reason. 

The unspoken reason was that Michael and his brothers have reached a peak in the Great Brandon Family Feud where ultimatums have been made that can’t be taken back, but all of them are focused enough on wealth and status they aren’t stupid enough to actually break up the company. So Michael is - depending on who you ask - either banished to the newest, furthest outpost of the company, or removes himself and his family from a ‘disturbing, irrational, and toxic environment.’ 

The only one who is actually relieved by their arrival in the dreary little town is Alice; wearing neck-to-wrist clothing all year around will be much more comfortable in Forks than in Biloxi. She might actually get to be normal. No sunshine, no swimming pools, no weddings or volleyball or spiteful, nasty little cousins. 

Just school and home and peace of being left entirely alone. That’s been her plan for years now - hide away and not find whomever branded her like this. She can almost see the disappointment in their eyes when they glimpse her, and all that she is. 

Forks seems like a really good place for someone to hide. 

—

The mark hasn’t changed in eleven years - bright red, enormous, and always there. Lillian has tried every kind of make-up and cover-up, every form of medication, every skin treatment but the red still bleeds through insistently. And until Alice was twelve, she didn’t really notice anyone recoiling from her mark - though Lillian always insisted on high-collar dresses and dainty cardigans, even in the summer heat. 

It was Cousin Grace’s wedding that changed everything - Grace was always a sweetheart, and everyone was pleased for her. All the little cousins would be bridesmaids and flower-girls, of course - that’s how it was down in their family. Alice was so excited - Grace was the oldest, and it was the first wedding she’d actually get to be in. They’d arrived at the bridal store, and everyone was gathered, and the dresses were there on the rack, and everyone laughed at how excited little Mary-Alice was to climb into her bridesmaid dress. 

Lillian was distracted, not thinking, as she accepted champagne and talked to Grace’s mother Susan. Cynthia was already being hustled into a fitting room when Alice emerged, already spinning in the pink lace creation with the sweetheart neckline.

And all went silent. The bride, the children, the mothers, the store attendants - all of them froze at the sight of Mary-Alice in her candy pink dress with a soul mark that looked like she’d just climbed off an autopsy table half-way done. 

Grace managed a sickly smile, “you look so pretty, Mary!” she manages in the same voice she uses for her kindergarten class. “It fits well, not too long.”

“That’s all we need, Alice, put your clothes back on,” Lillian manages in a faint voice before she is swept into a corner with Grace, Aunt Susan, and Grace’s wedding planning. 

The dressing rooms of wedding boutiques are not fortresses of solitude and silence. The murmured and slightly panicked conversation between the four woman about Alice’s Mark, about its hideousness, and the photos, oh my god, everyone will be forced to look at it. 

No, make-up won’t cover it - they’ve tried everything they can find. 

She just can’t be in the wedding. She’ll ruin it. 

Alice stares into the gilded mirror in the dressing room, at the dress she was so excited to wear. At the red slash that she has always loved but… it really is terrible, ugly to look at. Not like Mama’s or Cynthia’s or anyone else’s she knows. It’s so awful. 

She puts on her sweater and her skirt, and hangs up the bridesmaid dress she’ll never get to wear, and she’ll sit quietly as the rest of the cousins try on dresses and she won’t even cry when Grace lies to her so sweetly, and tells her that she’s got too many bridesmaids and would she mind terribly if she was just a very special guest instead. 

She wears a long-sleeved navy blue dress to the wedding and hides in the bathrooms when the photos are taken, not that anyone comes looking for her. She stays quiet and good and doesn’t complain about how hot her dress makes her. Cynthia spins on the dance floor in her pink tulle dress, and Alice tries to push down the jealousy. It’s not her little sister’s fault that she’s too ugly to wear a pretty dress. At least one of them gets to enjoy it. Then she wonders what she did to make her soul mate hate her so much they’d mark her like this before they’ve even met. 

—

Twelve is the year she stops complaining about her clothes, stops having to be reminded to cover herself up. 

Twelve is the year she finds she prefers oversized clothing, clothing she can hide in, so nothing but her face and finger tips can be seen.

Twelve is the year she doesn’t ask even once to go swimming with her friends (even though she’s never been allowed before) - and when she swims in their pool at home, she wears a long sleeved shirt over her swimsuit every single time, and only swims just before it gets dark, where no one can see her. 

Twelve is the year that she thinks, maybe if she was skinner, the mark might get smaller. Her mother compliments her on her diet as she fades away, but the mark just seems to get brighter. 

Twelve is the year she successfully convinces her parents and her fancy school to excuse her from gym permanently, because she’ll faint exercising in all those layers, and none of the other students should be forced to see her. (It takes a depressing lack of effort to secure that privilege, everyone praising her for her maturity and practicality, as if they’ve forgotten how much she had always loved gymnastics and volleyball.) 

Twelve is also the year she works out that she can’t cut or burn the stupid thing away, and no one seems upset with her attempts when they get a good look at what she’s working against. 

Twelve is a horrible year. 

—

The day she runs into the tall boy at school, it all goes to hell. 

She hasn’t really made friends at Forks - she sits next to June in Art, and Katie in History, and they’re both nice to her, but they really leave the new girl alone - she’s too quiet to be befriended. All her report cards have said the same things for years now - she’s polite and diligent but just so shy that perhaps her parents should get her help. 

They don’t, because Michael Brandon prefers his eldest daughter to remain silent and unresistant to his will. Plus, what would people think if they found out Alice needed a therapist?

So, she continues on her quest for complete invisibility, like a rabbit in the underbrush, and that leads her into running into the handsome boy she’s seen roaming the halls, and she falls flat on the floor, stunned but unharmed. 

It happens almost immediately, a burn in her chest that is running down both her arms and … no. No, nope, nada, nyet, nein. No way in hell. The burn is increasing and she gets to her feet, ignoring him entirely to go and hide in the library and wait for the pain to ebb. 

It still hurts when the final bell rings, and she stumbles to the bus, head down and headphones on so that no one can call out to her and have her hear. It feels like an inside-out sunburn, and she’s going home to take a cold bath and cry. 

No one else is home, thankfully, when she barges in the back door and straight up the stairs, pausing only long enough to grab the omnipresent tube of aloe vera gel from the fridge - she couldn’t bare to deal with the expected afternoon niceties with her mother right now. She’s got to get the burning to stop. 

Her bathroom is a tiny ensuite to ensure her privacy - her father has made no secret of how disgusting he finds her mark, and her mother only encourages her extreme form of modesty. She almost regrets all the layers - heavy sweater, turtleneck, camisole, bra, skirt, shoes, stockings, underwear - as she sheds them, wanting to scratch the skin from her body out of sheer frustration and discomfort. 

And then she looks up in the mirror and freezes. 

There’s no doubting he’s her soulmate, not an ounce of doubt in her mind. Because her mark has changed, and it is… like nothing she’s ever seen, not in all her research on the topic. Not in endless scrolling on social media of people boasting ‘before’ and ‘after’ soul marks, in delicate little love knots, and spiralling patterns and bursts of colour. 

This is something utterly unique. The ribbon-like shape is unchanged, but somehow, it looks almost faceted like crystal, like under her skin there is the inside of a geode, colours shifting in ripples of scarlet and gold. It feels no different to touch, but no longer does she look like she’s been murdered. And the very ends, on her wrist and arm, they have darkened to a deep and unexpected violet. 

The heat still rolls under her skin but is slowly dispersing again, as if it was just insistent that she had to take a closer look. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Alice feels… well, not beautiful. But not monstrous. 

So she climbs into the bathtub and starts to cry. 

—

She stays in bed the next day, unable to face school. Lillian indulges her claims she’s sick, everything below Alice’s chin tucked firmly under her duvet, and leaves her daughter to rest. 

She can’t do it, can’t face the idea of having to see that boy again, that truly handsome boy, and let him know that when life was dealing out soul mates, he drew her card. Because she hasn’t been made suddenly beautiful by their inevitable meeting. She’s still a tiny, bony, and pale little creature - her own grandmother assures her every Christmas that she’ll never win any prizes for beauty. 

That doesn’t stop her from peaking under the blankets every so often just to see the impossible glitter of her mark, the way it somehow shifts from ruby to crimson to scarlet, with little veins of gold threaded through. She doesn’t understand - it’s just skin, still flat and smooth, the most remarkable of illusions. 

In the end, she kicks off the blankets and throws on a dress and leggings and boots, and leaves the house. Finds herself walking to the school, hoping that maybe she’s lucky enough to one, not get caught by either her parents or teachers, and two, find Him before he leaves for the day. 

Apparently, she’s just the right amount of lucky. She finds him sitting on one of the benches outside the school, running his hand through his hair and looking stressed. He’s surrounded by others, no one she recognises - one guy appears to be reassuring him; they’re all looking for someone. 

A brunette girl catches her eye and points to her, and apparently the person they’re looking for is her. She tries not to shrink under their gaze, as she crosses the carpark and wondering why on earth she’s here, and not still in bed, why she’s even tempting fate by approaching him. It’s going to go horribly, and everyone in town is going to find out about her mark, and her parents will just outright destroy her. 

She falters, and looks up at him. He looks almost hopeful, as he stares at her, raising his hands in peace when he thinks she’s going to back away. 

She approaches slowly, her arms crossed over her chest as she finally reaches the group. 

“Hello.” The boy stands up to greet her and he is so, so ridiculously tall, it’s not fair. 

“Hi.” It’s awkward. All those soul-meeting stories she read online, they all sounded so lovely, and hers is at a bench at school and… this.

“We’ll leave you to it, man,” one of the other boys says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

The blond boy nods and looks at her. He has kind eyes, which is good, she decides. 

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he offers suddenly. “Just around here? Might make it easier.”

“Yes. That sounds okay.” Her voice sounds small, and they move away from the benches, from the witnesses, towards the oval. 

—

His name is Jasper Hale, and he’s eighteen. He lives with his aunt, uncle, twin sister, and his adopted cousins. They only moved to Forks a year ago. He likes American History, motorcycles, and horses. He plays the guitar. He’d like to get to know her. 

She fumbles through what to tell him. Her name, of course, her family. Why they moved. She likes… that’s a weird question. She’s spent so long hiding everything about herself that she can’t remember what she actually likes and what’s just become routine. 

She can do this. 

Her name is Alice Brandon - Mary Alice Brandon - and she’s seventeen. She lives with her parents and younger sister. They just moved from Biloxi. She likes drawing, she likes fashion, and she likes dancing. 

“I don’t know if this is inappropriate,” Jasper begins, as they take a seat on the ageing bleachers at the back of the school. “But, could I see the mark?”

She visibly flinches from the request, but he’s been very patient and seems to actually be invested in this, and she can’t be outright cruel. He’ll leave her alone soon enough. “C-can I see yours?” she manages, hoping to delay the inevitable. 

He nods, looking at her with concern, but hikes up the side of his shirt. It runs down his side, even underneath the waistband of his jeans, all sharp edges and thin lines jerking out, like a spiking heart rate. It’s mostly a dark gold colour, but with violet and scarlet bleeding into parts of it. It’s the most perfectly normal soul mark she’s ever seen, and she’s not sure whether to be disappointed his doesn’t match hers better so they can be freaks together, or if she’s grateful no one else has to live like she does.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, and it’s true. Beautiful colours, the visible representation of a beating heart. It suits him. 

He nods, a slight smile hovering at his lips. “Yours?” he asks, and this time she knows she cannot get out of it. But she also can’t whip off the dress she’s wearing, in the middle of the school oval. 

“Um, I can’t,” she began, looking at her shoes. “Not here.” She makes a gesture towards her chest. “Not the whole thing - but I can show you some of it.”

He’s curious as she rolls up her right sleeve to her elbow, and holds out her arm. He positively gapes at it, and reaches out to stroke it, making them both jump at the unexpected contact.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. That’s… incredible,” he murmured. 

“Incredible?” she echoes, pulling her sleeve down. He’s staring at her like she’s performed a miracle in front of him, and she doesn’t know how to act. 

“It’s beautiful. But you said you couldn’t show me all of it? How far up does it go?” he asks, furrowing his brow. 

She wordlessly and mechanically draws the path she’s been branded with - for him - and his eyes get wider. 

“I’ve never heard of such a … prominent mark,” he manages. 

“It’s pretty … dramatic,” she admits before sighing and shaking her head. “Before we ran into each other, it was… awful. Hideous - the ugliest thing possible.”

He looks shocked, and moves closer. “Why do you say that?” his voice is low, encouraging. 

“It was so big and bright and everyone hated it, hated looking at it,” she gestured to her chest. “You’ll understand when you see the entire thing. It’s… it’s nicer now, but it’s still everywhere.”

Jasper studied her a moment longer before looking out at the field. “I researched soul marks once, as a bit of a hobby,” he began. “American research on the topic is only very recent, and focused on the science of it rather than the meaning. But you begin to look abroad, or back through history, and what we know or believe it gets interesting.

“For instance, in India, they believe the length of the soul mark determines the length of your time together. Hundreds of years ago, they had a special way to measure a soul mark to determine how many years you would have together. It’s been lost to modern history, but it was once incredibly important a couple to have their soul marks measured and calculated. 

“And then in Ancient Greece, any mark was a sign of great pride. They would cut down their clothing - sometimes quite indecently - to show off - the more prominent the mark, the better.

“And some of the Slavic tribes, they believed that the shape and size and placement of the mark held great significance to the relationship the soul mates would have - the depth and strength of love the pair would carry for each other; that a great size implied that one half of the couple was taking on a burden of pain or suffering from the other, to help them through life.”

She sat there, almost breathless, as he so easily detailed the different things he had found and read. All of them full of acceptance, of hope, and of how… special such a thing was supposed to be. 

“What do you believe?” she manages to ask. 

He looks at her and reaches out to take her hand, gently squeezing it. 

“That there’s nothing you could show me that would scare me away,” he said, and she can feel herself blush. “And that I would very much like to get to know you better, Alice Brandon.”

—

He walks her home, still holding her hand, and they talk about nothing. Movies they’ve seen, music they like, places they would like to visit. He makes it easy to talk, to find things to say. The walk is a lot shorter on the way back. 

Lillian Brandon is not amused to find her so-called ‘unwell’ eldest daughter has snuck out, but is bamboozled and gracious enough to hold back her displeasure when she sees Alice hand in hand with Jasper. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Alice?” Lillian rebukes her daughter, and watches as her daughter appears to shrink back against the tall boy with his gaze permanently fixed on her. 

“This is Jasper Hale,” Alice manages, ducking her head. “He’s a senior.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Jasper replies respectfully, eyeing the uncomfortable girl at his side. “I’d like to thank you for doing me the favour of bringing my soul mate to Forks.”

Later, Alice will laugh until her eyes are watering over the look on Lillian’s face when she computes what Jasper is saying. That this tall, handsome boy who can’t take his eyes off her daughter is Alice’s soul mate. Lillian’s face goes through the full spectrum of emotions - confused, shocked, completely blank, incredulous, and then vaguely dazed. 

The late reveal of Alice’s soul mark is hand waved away with Jasper informing the pair his own didn’t show up until he was seven - that late appearing soul marks aren’t as uncommon as people think. Lillian is utterly flabbergasted and Alice only gets to enjoy it for as long as it takes Lillian to get to her favourite topic - complaining about Alice’s ‘disfigurement’. 

“It’s really quite gruesome to look at - you said your uncle was a surgeon? Perhaps he might know of someone who can tidy it up a little,” Lillian prattles on as the pair sit stiffly at the kitchen table. 

“I think it’s quite lovely, myself,” Jasper responds coldly, but Lillian doesn’t notice the change in his mood. 

“Have you seen the whole thing? Run up and put a camisole on, Alice,” Lillian waves a hand at her daughter. “You’ll understand. We’ve tried everything, but nothing works.”

Jasper looks furious as she leaves the table meekly at her mother’s bidding. Maybe Lillian is right, maybe Jasper will back away when he sees the sheer expanse of all, all that research be damned. 

It feels quite strange to walk around wearing so little clothing, and she’s slower going back downstairs, her face hidden by her hair, as she returns to the kitchen. The camisole is cut low enough to show her barely-existent cleavage, and she really feels like she’s just walking around naked. 

Jasper stands as soon as she returns, and for a split second, she thinks he’s going to walk out, that Lillian was right and she was right and it doesn’t matter it changed, it’s still awful. 

But he moves closer to her, reaching out to gather her hair and push it away from her face. And for the first time since they’ve met, he looks at her. At the faint freckles on her nose, the tiny scar on her cheek, her slightly sunken cheeks, her sad grey eyes, down to the faceted expanse of soul mark that twists up both her arms and meets over her collarbone. 

Lillian shakes her head in despair at the family shame revealed so openly, not remarking - or maybe not noticing - the change of it. 

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Jasper’s voice is firm and clear and appreciative and Lillian looks scandalised, and Alice starts to laugh and cry at the same time, and somehow she finds herself in his arms, clinging to him like a lifesaver because she can’t remember  ever being told that in her whole life.  

(It’s a quiet dinner at the Brandons that night, after Lillian reports to her husband what has transpired. The only comment Michael Brandon makes is right before he gets up, staring at his eldest daughter, and rudely congratulating her on catching a doctor’s son. Alice can’t find it in herself to care.)

—

Nothing worth having ever came easy.

Meeting the Cullens goes… fine. She wears a dress with a high neckline and elbow-length sleeves, but then puts a cardigan over the top because old habits are hard to break. She puts her hair up though, because it makes Jasper smile when she does. 

Dr Cullen seems vaguely horrified at the sight of her (Jasper reassures her later that it was how terribly, terribly thin she was, and nothing more), but Mrs Cullen is delighted by her, clasping her in a hug and insisting Alice call her ‘Esme’. 

Jasper’s twin sister, Rose, seems guarded but very polite to her, whilst Jasper’s adopted cousin (and Rose’s soul mate, which explains the very specific description) Emmett is all fun and games, and at ease with her right away.

“Jas said you had issues with your mark,” he says within the first minutes of meeting her. “Get a load of this.” He pulls his t-shirt up, and turns around to show Alice his back. Like Alice, his spine appears to have split perfectly down the middle to reveal a faceted crystal effect in deep pink and forest green. It starts at his hairline, running down his neck and stretches across his shoulders before narrowing again. 

“Very appropriate timing, Emmett,” the other cousin, Edward, sighs. 

“What? Jas was pissed she was upset,” Emmett tugs his shirt down, and Alice isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry that the whole family knows something she’s been ashamed of for so long. “We thought it might be, like, a freaky genetic thing but then Edward’s girl showed up with one like it on her leg. Some people just get lucky, I guess.”

“Ignore him. He’s got the tact of cinderblock wall,” Edward says to her. “He’s never had a moment of self-doubt in his life.”

That makes her giggle a little, and everyone relaxes. It’s a nice visit after that, but both Dr Cullen and Mrs Cu- Esme look at her with worried eyes, and that makes her worry more. 

At school, apparently being Jasper Hale’s soul mate is a scandal of the highest degree. Her locker is defaced twice, and one girl body-slams her into the wall as she walks past. Everybody suddenly knows who she is, and she has a place to sit at the cafeteria, and it’s not as bad as she thought it would be because the Cullens don’t eat much either. 

Jasper fusses over her a lot; he picks her up for school every day in a shiny black truck, and he walks her to every class. He takes her back home every day, and most days they sit in her room and talk. Nothing inappropriate, especially since she has to keep her bedroom door open whenever she has guests. She asks him about college, but he is dismissive of it - entirely focused on her and her plans. He helps her with her homework, helps her move her bedroom furniture - nothing is too much trouble. 

He only leaves at dinner time, when her father comes home. Sometimes she wonders if he’d ever leave her if he wasn’t forced to. 

She knows she runs hot and cold. Some days she clings to him like a limpet, reluctant to seperate even for their respective classes, quiet and solemn. Other days, she is distant, uncomfortable with being touched. Those are the days she drags the turtlenecks and heavy sweaters out, the ones that cover her right to her hands. And then there are the days she is her best self, when her smile is bright and she can wear a top that bares her forearms and forces herself to ignore people staring at her soul mark. Those are the days she can relied to eat lunch, to have a conversation with his family, to be the person she was shamed into not being. 

And Jasper stays for all of it. He doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t insult her, he doesn’t yell. He’s just right there, by her side, right up until graduation. They don’t go to Prom because the idea of wearing an evening dress makes her feel woozy and hide in the immense fabric of one of his hoodies and watch bad movies with aggressive focus. Instead, they stay at the Cullens house, and Mrs Cullen makes them crepes - she eats more than Jasper, she’s sure of it, but they’re very good - and he plays music in his bedroom and they dance there, instead. 

That’s where he admits he’s putting college off for a year and working for Esme - a very successful architect and interior designer - for a year. And not for college money; apparently that isn’t a problem. No, because he wants to wait for her, so they can go to college together. He doesn’t care where - it’s her choice. That she’s letting him tag along is all he needs. 

It’s all very romantic and it’s also their very first kiss, and then their very first make out, and nearly their very first time except she’s still messed up in the head, and the idea of getting really naked with anyone is so bad she hyperventilates and he has to calm her down. 

She’s not sure what he gets out of having her as a soul mate, but she hopes he knows that he’s saving her life. 

—

It’s late August, just before she starts her senior year with Edward and his girlfriend, Bella, when Jasper brings her to the house to tell her something.

She worries the entire trip to his house, piling anxiety on top of anxiety. It’s definitely her - they kiss sometimes and it’s nice, and she doesn’t mind when he sees her in her bra now, but anything else is too much and maybe he’s tired of waiting?

Or maybe he’s realised waiting around for a whole year in a town like Forks for a girl like her is actually really dumb, and he’s going to college after all. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The thing is, in all her catastrophizing, she thought she had everything covered. Every single thing, from a break-up, to terminal illness, to joining the military, to world collapse. She feels like her head is spinning by the time she gets to the Cullens, and she’s positive she’s either going to faint or vomit by the time he tells her whatever he wants to tell her. 

“We’re vampires,” is absolutely and most certainly nowhere on her list, and she bursts into tears, and the entire family freaks out, and then she has to admit she thought she was being dumped, and both Emmett and Carlisle burst out laughing because apparently Jasper has been mooning over her since the day she ran into him, without exception, and the idea that he’d choose to leave her for some petty human reason is the height of comedy. 

She has to lie down after that revelation, as Jasper and Carlisle slowly explain to her that all those ‘quirks’ she evidently didn’t pay attention to where indicative of being a fucking vampire, with various interjections from Emmett that are unhelpful but funny. 

The end result is that she starts her final year of high school with the knowledge that her soul mate is a vampire - one that hunts animals but is physically unable to drink her blood thanks to soul mate biology; that they will respect her choice to remain human if that is what she wants, but that allowing him to change her will give them forever together. 

It’s a lot of pressure. She loses some of the hard-won weight she has gained, and she’s not sleeping well, and Esme - when she finds out - is fairly pissed they’ve rattled her to that point. When she goes to Esme for advice, the woman is more than happy to offer counsel, to listen to her hopes and fears and dreams and all the things that rattle around in her brain that she can’t stop thinking about.

It’s Rosalie who helps, who finds her in the Cullen’s kitchen inspecting the calories on the peanut butter jar.

“You know, I didn’t want this,” Rose says brusquely, taking the jar out of her hands and shoves Alice out of the way to make the sandwich for her. “I hated Carlisle for years for changing me without consent - I was dying, he made a choice,” the blonde girl says, slicing up the banana. “Then I got my mark, and found Emmett.” She cuts the sandwich likes she’s stabbing a dead thing. 

“Eat. There are a lot of things I regret and I resent about this life. We all have them - I know for a fact that Jasper has sanitised most of his own history to ‘protect’ you, and I disagree with that. But never have I looked at Emmett, had Emmett beside me, and regretted that. I love him more than I thought possible.

"We’re given these damn marks for a reason. I’ve never seen Jasper as… at peace as he has been since he found you. There’s never going to be a time - not today, or next month or even in the next twenty years - that he’s going to look at you and not see his entire world. Stay human, become one of us - only you can make that choice. But don’t make that choice because you think that it will change how it will make him feel. Because that’s not happening,” Rose finished, putting the peanut butter in the fridge. “You’re smart, you’re pretty, you clearly love him. Anything else is just your own neuroses. Eat the damn sandwich.”

She eats the whole thing. 

— 

‘Nothing worth having ever came easy.’ 

She reminds herself of that over and over again when things get hard. When she goes up a clothing size, when she wears a t-shirt that fits for the first time since she was twelve, when she’s staring down a perfectly ordinary bowl of fruit salad. 

When she lets him put his mouth on her soul mark, her chest bare, and her breathing only a little bit panicked. But it feels kind of nice and she makes a few sounds that are embarrassing but Jasper seems to like them a lot. 

When her mother drives her to Seattle to pick out a dress for prom, and she immediately reaches for a blue one. A vintage-style strapless cocktail dress in deep blue that she’s immediately in love with. It fits like a glove, and as she spins in front of the mirror, she chooses to ignore the look that Cynthia shoots Lillian, and Lillian’s wince. She loves it and she’s going to wear it.

And she does. She nearly hyperventilates, and changes into her back-up dress twice (one that covers her from wrist-to-throat-to-knee) before she commits. It’s what she wants to wear, it’s how she wants to look for him, and he loves her soul mark. He loves her. He’ll love her in any dress, but she wants it to be this one. 

And as she comes down the stairs, to go to her senior prom, in a dress that exposes every inch of what she’s tried so hard to hide, his eyes widen and he gapes. He loses all composure for a moment and that makes her laugh and he calls her beautiful, just like he does every day, except she’s almost started believing him. 

And decades later, when she remembers that night, it’s not the snide remarks she recalls. It’s of being in his arms as he dances with her; it’s her hand in his as she tugs him along. The way he looked at her, and the way she looked at him. It was the pride in his gaze, and the love, and the promise that no matter what, they would always be together. 

—

A few years later, her soul mark has changed again. Carlisle affectionately calls her a chameleon before delving into an academic recitation on the biology of soul marks and how great upheavals - physical, mental, or spiritual - can affect their appearance. 

“Duh,” Emmett says after a moment of silence, and even Edward and Rose are sniggering at that. 

Her soul mark has not shrunk or changed shape, as she once wished so passionately. And the beautiful crystal effect has remained, even more beautiful not that she truly sparkles in the sun. 

But the scarlet has faded away, giving way for swoops of gold and violet that twist together in a way that she adores.

It’s the very same gold of Jasper’s eyes.

The very same gold as the diamond in the ring he presents to her, down on knee, and she knocks them both to the floor in her delight and rush to accept. 

It’s the same gold she hopes her eyes will be.

Someday. 

—

[cloveroctobers]

HOW DOES IT MAKE YOU FEEL — RIO [Summer Prompts]

A/N: I was debating between making this Rio or Manny based and usually I like to alternate but for this prompt it felt more Rio like 😂 so hopefully for my October prompts if I write for Mayans again I’ll probably write for Manny. Anyways! Hope you guys get a kick out of this as much as I did writing it.

WARNINGS: language & things actually got a little 🌶️ towards the end which isn’t normally my thing but I guess I got inspired 😈 Enjoy!

SYNOPSIS: Rio’s so productive he hardly gets a day where he can get enough rest in…what happens when you disrupt that over something so irrational? He swears he loves you but he’s also not putting up with your shit.

PROMPT IS FROM HERE & I’m using: "what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?" "it's for show!" "oh for the love of god-"

<- check out my previous summer anthology writings here.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎ

Rio preferred it cold.

It just made sense for the weather to be cold or cool rather than as hot as Diablo’s breath. He wasn’t made for hot weather and he couldn’t get away with his dark attire in the hotter months either. That’s where you two deferred, you loved the heat over the cold any day so as soon as the first day of summer hit…you seemed to glow more even when it wasn't golden hour.

You were outside way before the official day of summer hit because the warm weather was actually sticking around in Detroit and usually Rio was down for whatever, in fact he already booked a trip to Grenada in August (which his skin would probably regret as soon as y’all touched down in the West Indies), but for this particular outing felt like a waste of a time. A older Australian couple that the two of you became acquainted with when the two of you picked up the sport of pickleball—Rio still liked tennis better—invited you two to celebrate their furbaby’s (a Chinese Crested) birthday.

Thats right a whole ass birthday party for a dog who was now widowed, you two attended the wedding just last year and the Chinese Crested, Harlowe was still dealing with the loss of their loved one so the couple thought a party would uplift his spirits. It was ridiculous what rich people got up to but you liked to entertain it sometimes.

For Rio? It was all about networking considering that the wife of the pair was a retired attorney and her husband owned a billionaire company. You knew it wasn’t really a genuine friendship (more so out of convenience) they were the couple you mainly chatted with just to past the time when you all appeared at the same events. So the both of you didn’t appear that disappointed when the husband called Rio up just fifteen minutes before the both of you were getting ready to leave telling you that they, “regretfully want to inform that their beloved Harlowe was not up for a party and rather a intimate gathering with just his parents.”

“Do you think they’re still having something but much smaller and we got uninvited?” You asked, already stepping out of your heels when Rio came back into the bedroom to tell you the news.

Rio lifted his shoulders, “we’ll find out if they did but I didn’t want to go no way.”

“I know you didn’t,” you laugh as you spin around motioning for Rio to help you out of your dress, thanks to a old shoulder injury that had you attending PT from time to time.

He pauses with his fingertips brushing against the nape of your neck, “whatchu getting undressed for? You don’t want to find other plans for tonight?”

This wasn’t shocking, usually when plans got dropped the both of you always found something else to get into. It was rare for either of you to just take cancelled plans for what they were since the both of you stayed busy as a couple and separately.

“Nope…we can stay in. We’re hitting the gym in the morning anyway right?”

“I did say that didn’t I?” Rio sighed while you laughed to yourself, knowing he would prefer doing his own workout at the park or even in the backyard of your contemporary colonial—when you were with him—rather than at the gym.

He already had to put a few people in check for looking at you too long or even turning a friendly conversation into flirtations. Of course you loved Rio letting his protectiveness come out but you drew the line at him causing a few to lose their jobs when it was never that serious (to you). In this economy?! He even tried to persuade you into another gym—which was about an hour AND thirty minutes away from home but you liked the set up of your current gym and already made a few friends there as well.

Which is why he was putting in that work to get ownership over the building these past few months (which went from professional to lethal) but that was a need to know basis for you.

“Uh huh,” you nodded holding the front of the now slumped cowl silk aqua dress, “I know you can’t hang with me, so I’ll let it slide and you can enjoy your PTO.”

“Thank you for your permission, mama.” Rio rolled his eyes playfully, which then proceeded to follow you as you disappeared into the closet by the bedroom door.

Rio leans against the doorway just watching you as you shoved into some loungewear.

“I think I washed these on the wrong setting, ain’t no way these shrunk after only having them for a month.” You stated, pulling at the ends of your plaid boxer shorts with a huff.

Rio hummed, tugging his bottom lip into his mouth while he viewed the length of your legs in those shorts, “nah…that ass is growing and it’s giving me and those shorts something more to eat.”

Throwing your head back with a shake of your head you sharply exhale through your nostrils in warning, “behave.”

“It’s kinda hard to when you look like that.” He licked his lips, tempted to pounce.

“Please, I’ll put you to sleep as soon as you get up in it.” You tease as you step to cradle your husband’s face, “get some rest first honey and then we’ll talk.”

Patting his cheek, you went to squeeze by him but Rio caught your wrist to gain your attention once more. Peering up at him, Rio let his eyelashes flutter as he took his time analyzing the shape of you which was part of the many reasons he loved you, “you’re lucky I could use a few hours.”

You just smile at the heaviness in his raspy tone, leaning forward to press a kiss right to his plump and always moisturized lips. “I’ll be downstairs deciding on bourbon chicken or honey pineapple salmon for dinner.”

Rio kept a straight face as he fought back a yawn but still nodded his head at your retreating form. It felt like as soon as you told him to take his rest, his body was underneath your spell and normally he liked having that effect on you more so but he’ll fight you on it later.

What he hoped you didnt fight him on was taking a spot right on the couch to get these much needed hours in. He couldn’t exactly hide it as the kitchen and living room were basically side by side in an open floor plan but once you got on the phone with your girlfriends…that Kiking was unstoppable and lengthy. Moments later it only took you placing the fillets into the oven, sides done and covered to keep warm, with you getting off the phone and finally glancing to your right to notice the lanky frame of your husband snoring on the sofa. His limbs were always too long for the couch in the living room, which is why majority of the time he spent time on the 2-piece sectional downstairs.

Thankfully Rio wasn’t much of a snorer but sometimes when that sleep really hit? It came out and you knew he needed it. Rio was always sitting on ready regardless of his laidback but cardinial personality but you knew his profession as a, “businessman,” was anything but sweet—unless it came to counting the bag that is. You didn’t get much into his business, always being the one to turn the other cheek until necessary.

The both of you shared words a few times at the start of your relationship when you became serious and found out that Rio had people (before Mick) following you. You were an artist with a successful art gallery, which contained half of your artwork along with other local artists, new and young, and you even had some imported from all over the world. Rio tried it with the import portion of your gallery once before but you shut that shit down and the both of you didn’t speak for at least a week—almost two until the gym became his second focus—after making things right with you. Take that how you will. At the beginning you didn’t appreciate being followed and figuring out that Christopher had something to do with it after pulling out your own piece—something you hated to do but you knew how to handle your own business—Rio tried to persuade you later on that it gave him comfort knowing that his men can keep a eye on you when he can’t.

Some may have felt like that was a red flag (half of your girlfriend’s being the “some,” but one of them always had something negative to say about anything you had going on…which is why you weren’t friends at this point in time) but with a love so immense? And a career like Rio’s? You grew to accept it as a source of another security blanket since you didn’t like to get your hands dirty. Having that kind of power where someone could do that for you? Was indescribable. Sure Rio’s methods of getting to the money may require things you didn’t really agree with, you kept your own business clean just how you wanted but the way you felt about Rio was not something that could just vanish. You knew what his business entailed but you didn’t need to see the grit of it.

So maybe you did get off just a little at your man having that kind of pull on these streets.

Somebody should sue oh wait…they tried that and were part of a missing person’s report but that case was closed back in January.

You leaned against the white marble countertops, another small smile playing on your lips as it was your turn to watch your lightly snoring of a husband on the couch. He didn’t even get the chance to turn the tv on to fall asleep to, another opposite of your relationship, he needed some noise while you preferred it quiet and no light. His ankles hung off the sofa, one hand crossed over his chest as he held onto his shoulder in slumber. It wasn’t until you noticed the bright colored fiesta floral blanket pulled up and slanted underneath his chin that had you entering the living space.

You almost stopped your actions as you stared down at him in peace. You hated him watching you sleep and here you were doing the same but that didn’t last long as you shifted the spatula in your hand.

SLAP!

The stinging Rio felt against his forehead jolted him awake. His lengthy lashes popped open, making him sit up some as he tried to figure out what and who just assaulted him. He blinked a couple of times, trying to focus his vision before he shifted his view to you and that teal silicone spatula.

A furrow appeared seconds later, hand going from his shoulder to rub at the spot in between his thick brows. “What’s goin’ on?”

His voice is groggy and you almost felt bad for slapping the mess out of him. Yet he should be thankful that you didn’t slap the eagle tattoo right off the skin of his throat. The blood rushed to that spot on the center of his forehead but him rubbing at it only made it worse.

“I can ask you the same thing, why are you cuddled up with that blanket?” You motioned to the item with the cooking utensil.

Rio licked his lips, glancing down at the peach, orange, yellow, green, and navy blue blanket. He clears his throat, “Whatchu mean? I’m sleeping and the air’s on.”

Not Mr. Cool needing a blanket when he’s the one who loved having the house set on: icebox where his heart used to be, Omarion needs to slide glide and collect his boy real talk.

“Whose fault is that? I told you it didn’t need to be lower than seventy.”

Rio side eyed you a bit and proceeded to close his eyes again, ready to check out but you kicked at the cushion he laid against. Which made him sit up on his elbows, pinching the space in between his brows, “what’s good wit you? You think that makes sense to have the thermostat set on seventy when it’s damn near ninety out that front door?”

“Yes. It’s all about comfort.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do with this blanket, thank you.” He went to plop back down, ready to pull the fallen object back over his shoulders.

You snatch it right off his body, “this blanket isn’t for you to get your drool on.”

“I don’t drool and wait a minute…did you hit me with that? A used spatula? You’re about to mess up my skincare and that’s feelin’ a little disrespectful to me.”

You scoff as you proceed to fold the blanket how you previously had it tossed along the couch, “No it wasn’t used! You know me better than that and I know you take pride in self care. I wouldn’t do you like that but it’s clear you’re disrespecting me by using this blanket that abuela gave to me.”

Rio felt his eye twitch as he exhaled his rising nerves, “…what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?”

“It’s for show!” You exasperated as you finished brushing over the fur of the oversized blanket.

Rio snorted, “oh for the love of almighty!”

You huffed with your hands on your hips, pulling your attention away from the blanket that was back to the way it was, “What?”

“Be real with me.” Rio jabbed a thumb at the direction of the blanket, “you want me to believe that you’re being this extra over a blanket my abuela got you from fucking Marshall’s?”

You tilted your head to the side, “oh no you didn’t, not you being uppity Mr. Serena & Lily.”

“I didn’t even mean it like that.”

“Now you’re disrespecting Abuela!” You pointed at him accusing, “Just wait until she hears about this!”

“Nah you’re not telling her nothing!” Rio latched onto the waistband of your shorts, yanking you right on the couch as you squealed feeling the air hit your lower back.

You elbowed him as you collapsed right on his lap, “are you trying to get me to moon you? What’s wrong with you?!”

He shushed you with a smirk, “Thanks for confirming just what I needed to hear…” his hands slip down your sides and towards your bare hips beneath the fabric, squeezing the sides of your ass.

“No, we have beef now you pervert.” Your attempt to get off his lap was not working for you, at all.

His lips are at the space beneath your earlobe and the way he’s sucking on the skin is definitely leaving some tingles all over your body. Rio chuckles as he feels you shudder in his lap, “what beef? I think we should talk it out, don’t you?”

He moves one hand from the side of your ass to travel up the valley in between your breasts, grabbing a hand full of the one on the left and his right. Your breathing is picking up now as Rio settles you both back against the couch and it isn’t until you feel the plush of the blanket against your shoulder that you come back to your senses.

You pull yourself from Rio’s hold, snatching the spatula back to aim right at him in defense, “that wasn’t talking.”

“Well I disagree and thought it was until you rudely interrupted me.” Rio briefly rests his elbows against his knees as he sizes you up while you cautiously step back towards the kitchen, “you clearly don’t want me getting in that overtime of sleep anymore so I guess I’m well rested enough to spend quality time with my wife.”

Rio has his eyes set only on you and he can visibly see you gulp at the distance you put between you. That feeds his ego enough, he sniffs as he pushes himself to his feet, stalking over you to pluck the spatula out of your hand and to slide it against the counters towards the deep sink. Rio towers over you, using his fingertips to grip your jaw firm enough to get your sight back on him. Quickly he latches onto your thighs, lifting you against the counter and making space for himself right in between.

His forehead is pressed against yours breathing you in as he yanks you right to the edge of the counter, his hands caressing the warmth of your upper thighs, “you care about that damn blanket so much, I want your eyes to stay only on it while I sample my appetizer, you got that?”

A finger ran over your clothed center and you pushed your moan back down your vocal cords. The both of you were famous for your poker faces but eventually one of you would take it off of the other.

Your heart was pounding against your chest along with the adrenaline also running wild at the way Rio was looking at you, seeking to devour you while biting down on his bottom lip as he fought to keep his eyes on you and not on the increased rise and fall of your chest.

His hand snakes up to your throat, squeezing just enough to let you know what time it was, “I said, do you got that?”

You sucked your teeth, “I heard you—

You started just for Rio to push you by the throat with the swiftness against the counter, other hand flying behind your head just in time to protect the back of it while your thighs instantly latched around his hips in alert.

He laughs a bit, “yeah I knew you’d like that shit,” as he lets go of your throat after turning your head to face the living room, right where your blanket sat then using both of his hands to nudge your thighs apart so he can leave you bare from your shorts.

Curiosity got the best of you as you tried to take a peek to see what your husband was up to. Usually he was the light sleeper but you didn’t miss the sound of the pop of his lips, making you turn your head to see two damp digits.

“What did I say?”

Quickly shutting your eyes, you shielded them with a free hand trying to fight back a smile and still holding your “innocence,” as you waited to open your eyes again.

“Wait!” You called out, just knowing what was to come, “…check the timer for the salmon.”

Rio barely let the annoyance hit as he gazed over his shoulder to the clock on the stove, “ten minutes left. That’s all I need for right now…desserts a different story.”

And with that being said you let his touch be felt in the most pleasing of ways, folding at the way Rio knew just what to do to set you right.

Sitting in the dining room, since you refused to sit at the island—which Rio found humorous and promised he would clean—you can’t be eating at everybody’s house y’all—the both of you sat face to face with you on the bench and Rio in the navy chair across from you.

He chewed on his last piece of fillet, hand underneath his chin as he stared at you slouched over a bit. His long limbs tapped against you underneath the table, watching you flinch as you pushed your shoulders back, which added to more of Rio’s amusement.

“What’s the matter?” He questioned, his dark eyes can’t help but to falter down to your white tank top, “you look cold and might need a blanket? There’s one not far from us actually.”

You scowled while he laughed grinning at you, “you’re such a dick!”

“And you took it so well.”

A gasp fell from your lips while you tossed a folding napkin right towards Rio’s smug face, who snatched it before it could touch him. Leaving him to mockingly kiss his lips at you, “it’s all love.”

“We’ll see.” You chewed back a smirk but Rio can read you just by looking into your eyes.

Rio raised his brows, “That a challenge? I can guarantee you we can make it happen.”

Rio loves leaving you a crying mess and talking you down from your high. His drive was hardly ever low but he thought it was respectable for the both of you to get some nutrients in before the full rounds started.

You held up a finger, grabbing your glass to chug the rest of the water, making Rio rest his cheek into the knuckles of his hand with a glint in his eyes.

“Okay,” you exhale, “but it’s my time to set it off.”

Rio nodded his head ready for whatever you had in mind although he’s envisioning reverse cowgirl, “cool, no complaints on my end.”

“I bet,” you raise a foot to caress his lap, “Can help you back to sleep in some blankets that are actually meant for sleeping with.”

Rio groaned for two separate reasons of course, reaching one hand down to grip your ankle, “lead the way, mama.”

“Not until you do the dishes and clean the counter. I know how much you hate going to bed with a dirty kitchen and we ain’t got shit to do so…get to it. I’ll be waiting.” It was your turn for some small payback as you hopped up from the bench, a glare crossing Rio’s features.

You laughed as you gripped his shoulders, leaning down to press your lips against his. The both of you tilted your heads just right as your lips battled against each other soon before you slipped your tongue against Rio’s. It was getting nasty again and he was ready to pull you right in his lap and let you do your thing right there but you pulled back with a bit of saliva between your lips.

“Hurry up, I’ll be ready to take my own nap myself soon.” You wink at him before you quickly pulled yourself from his grasp.

Rio swallowed his own breathing down, hands rubbing at his wet lips first and then the tension in his jaw all while feeling the twitch below again. Looking at the dishes and feeling the pull towards you was another battle within itself. Usually he wasn’t the clean up crew, he had people for that professionally and personally and as he started cleaning one dish he checked his own pocket to book a cleaning service for the morning. However he did take his time cleaning down the island, he wasn’t that cruel.

And who needed the gym anyway when you had his heart pumping enough?

He didn’t have to cancel that too.

Rio always ran shit.

The gym was just as much as his now as you are.

Just how he liked it.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎ

Continue with my summer anthology prompts & writings here.

[pebblysand]

of tyres that blow (extended author’s note of chapter v. of castles)

- - TO READ THE CHAPTER ITSELF, CLICK HERE. - -

Oh, what a month it has been. Well, a month and two days - I’m a bit late updating. I’ve had two good things happen, writing wise. 1) I got my first original short story published (!!!!) (you can read it here) and 2) I put out a little one-shot about Fleur Delacour that I’m super happy about and gave me an idea about a new series (more on that later this week, I hope. I might need help with prompts!). Regardless, this latest Irish lockdown is fucking endless and I sometimes wonder if this fic isn’t just an outlet for my feelings of lockdown-induced loneliness, apathy, but also a constant argument that I have with myself thinking: for the love of god, just pull yourself up, will you? You’re a Gryffindor, goddamn it. I certainly wish my fucked up sleeping patterns on no one, although I may or may have Mary-Sued that onto Harry, lol. (Spoiler alert: he’s scheduled to get some real sleep in next chapter. All bets are off regarding whether I will.)

This chapter was surprisingly easy to write (I basically vomited out chapters iv, v, and vi over the span of a week in December) but incredibly difficult to edit. For days, I just couldn’t concentrate, wrote and re-wrote and felt like everything was shite. Then, I realised it’d become this 19,000-words long monster so I had to cut a lot of shit out. We ended up with 15,898 words which I suppose is better? 

I do wonder: do people mind long chapters? Like, I know as fanfic reader, I personally prefer longer formats and rarely gravitate towards works that are less than 3,000 words. I love just getting buried into a story, into plots rather than single scenes. This being said, every time I write something that I deem too long (i.e. above 10k) I have these excruciating struggles where I wonder: should I cut it in half? should I leave it as is? I decided to split the last one. Then, I decided not to split this one because (you may notice this or not, I’m not sure) it’s kind of built a certain way, geared towards basically getting to the last two paragraphs. Like, when you get there, it’s a bit of an ah-ha moment, but I couldn’t get to that ah-ha moment without all the build up before it. It’s the accumulation of all of these little details that feel like they don’t matter. And as Harry says in the end, they don’t, in the grand scheme of things, but also they do. Like, everyday life doesn’t matter until you lose it. Then, it does, if that makes sense.

In terms of next update... I’ve decided to get my law licence transferred to France and the EU (it’s a long story), which means that I need to bloody, fucking study. The exams are at the end of March so my current plan is: hardcore study until the end of february. Mix study/writing in early march and hopefully get chapter vi out mid-March, then hardcore study until the end of March. Please, if you see me posting then, tell me off in the comments cause god, I really need to pass. Now, I will go have my traditional i-ve-put-a-chapter-out shot of limoncello and let you read the below :).

...spoilers for castles, chap v. under the cut -

I’ve done a lot of thinking about what this chapter is meant to be about. Obviously (I hope), every chapter has a point, in this story. Chapter 1 is about time (the way it passes and blurs when your mind’s a complete mess), chapter 2 is about hope, chapter 3 is about inevitability and the consequences of trauma, chapter 4 is about becoming an adult and growing into your own skin, etc. I think this one is about fear. How you feel it, and how you overcome it. Like, Harry takes a decision to stand up, fight, do the interview, regardless of the fact that he is scared (for his life, for that of the people he loves), and finds buried inside him a lot of the courage that he (felt) he lost, after the war. He learns to control his fear of the world by figuring out how apprehend it, through the training Giulia gives him, through learning how to kill, too. 

But, it’s also about fear in society. How the attack on Robards sets everyone on edge and how they keep going regardless. I initially wrote this chapter with the idea that it was going to be about speaking out and being brave, but obviously, fear and fighting against it is a huge part of that, too. 

Then, there’s Mia. Obviously, this fic is Harry/Ginny endgame but I do like the idea of Harry (and possibly Ginny as well) dating at least one other person, before officially tying the knot. Like, yes, Ginny is obviously coming back next chapter. She’ll probably own the second half of next chapter, if I’m honest, considering they’re obviously going to the burrow for christmas. I love Ginny, I’ve missed her and honestly, I can’t wait to bring her back. This being said, to be fair, I’ve kind of realised that this fic may actually be the first I ever write that isn’t strictly “shippy.” Like, yes, their relationship is a huge part of it (it’s a huge part of his life) and it will and was always going to be a huge part of this story but I think this fic is larger than that. It’s a result of my years-long obsession over: but what happens next? Over what “all was well” really means, in a general sense. How do they get to “nineteen years later” and beyond. But yeah, I’ve missed Ginny and I’m glad she’s on her way back to us now. 

Now, obviously. Giulia. I’m sorry. This was always going to happen. Well, almost always. I remember when I first wrote her in, she was a bit of a filler character. At the time, the thing with Mia was supposed to happen in last chapter and I actually had (have) much more backstory around her, than around Giulia. She and Harry were going to have proper conversations (will they ever, who knows?), really get to know each other. But then, Giulia came first narratively and shone through the page. I started writing her and she had this personality and life of her own and I couldn’t bring myself to curtail her. 

Now, we all know how it is: fanfics can only tolerate so many OCs. So, I had to choose between putting Mia at the forefront, or Giulia. I chose Jules. 

Then, in chapter 4, I wrote this: 

Her first lesson is to teach him how to drive the patrol car. ‘I don’t know why we use them,’ she explains, honest, and Harry vaguely wonders if he should be taking notes. ‘Reckon the Ministry saw them being used by Muggles, had to prove they could do better. They like making noise, the Ministry, don’t they? Lots of sirens and shite.’

Politely, Harry hides a chuckle behind a cough. He clearly doesn’t know yet that he doesn’t need to, that Giulia’s sarcastic sense of humour is one of the things that he’ll come to appreciate the most in this world, over the next few months. That the sound of her voice is one he’ll try to never, ever forget. That in the speech that he’ll give when he makes Head Auror, over a decade later, he’ll think of her and say: ‘Okay, let’s try to not just be sirens and shite, all right?’

This kind of tumbled out without me really thinking about it until I really looked at it and thought: fuck, why is he talking about her past tense, like that. Like “the sound of her voice is one he’ll try to never, ever forget.” Why would he forget it, though? And so, just like that, came her death sentence. For that, I apologise. It killed me too, and I cried when I wrote it in (especially when I wrote next chapter, actually, first time I ever made myself cry writing, if I’m honest) but it just needed to happen. It’s how Ginny and he get back together (I mean, obviously - is that even a spoil) because he’s grieving but she’s grown stronger and steady and she’s able to be there in a way that she wasn’t last summer. It did occur to me that god, all his mentors/father figures come to die, don’t they? But honestly, I kind of thing that his real mentor will be Robards, at the end of the day. She was just the one who allowed him to get back on his feet. 

One last note: I’ve been meaning to put this into the fic for ages but have never found the right moment to write it in. In the meantime, I’ll just say it here, because I don’t know if this has frustrated some of yous - I know it might have driven me mad. There is a logic to the Muggle/Wizard swearing/exclamations in the fic. Obviously, this is an adult fic so they swear normally, like eighteen-year-olds would in this (I decided that very early on), but also there’s “God”-s and “Merlin”-s and things like that. 

Now, I think that throughout this fic, although Harry hasn’t mentioned it yet (cause it never fucking fits anywhere) Hermione’s been having a sort of Muggle reckoning. She - in conscience - decides to start swearing/exclaiming “like a Muggle” after the war. If you notice, she only ever says “god”, never “Merlin.” Harry uses both interchangeably although he tends to use Merlin more when he thinks about wizard stuff, but God when he thinks about Muggle stuff (like when he’s with Mia). Ron only swears in “wizard” but I think he might start using Muggle expletives as well in the later chapters because of Hermione rubbing off on him. 

The fact that I even think about all that stuff is pathetic and I need to get a life. But that’s for another post, altogether. 

Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you liked it :). 

[archadianskies]

Captain Allen Appreciation Week Day 3: Coffee

→ part of A/9 on Ao3

They know his name is David and his usual order is a venti triple shot long black with a pump of caramel. That’s it, that’s all they officially know about him. 

Physically they know he has olive green eyes, a Clark Kent jawline and though he has dark hair when he’s sporting a little weekend scruff there’s some salt and pepper going on. If he’s got time to stay and read, he sports a pair of reading glasses. 

His manners are impeccable, he knows all their names and always has a dashing smile for them. It’s no surprise everyone’s a little bit in love with David.

“You’ve been here a month now, and you’ve served him what, at least ten times?”

“Oh she wishes she’d served him-”

“Shut up!” 

“What do you think he does for a living?” Her manager prompts, arms crossed over his chest as he nods in David’s direction, the man walking across their line of sight outside before turning the corner.

“College professor?” She hazards a guess. “He seems like a guy who teaches Humanities. Or Literature.”

“I think he’s a personal trainer. You haven’t been here that long but in the summer? You’re going to see him come in a shirt and honey are you in for a treat.” Her colleague snorts back a laugh.

“Lachlan thinks he’s either an author or a journalist.” Her manager adds, before shrugging. “I think he’s a CIA agent. He gives off those ‘harmless but not actually harmless’ vibes. Plus he pays great attention to detail; remembers all our names, remembers even the most boring tidbits we mention.”

“He could just be really nice!” She protests. 

“Or both. I’d love for it to be both.” 

*~*

It’s a beautiful day in late Spring, with the sun out and the breeze finally lacking Winter’s chill. She sees David walk by the window and she can’t help but smooth her apron and thank her luck she’s the one closest to the registers. Pivoting briefly to hand her colleague a spare tea towel, she turns back to find him in front of her.

“Hi David.” 

“Good morning Kelly.” He smiles and she feels her heart leap into her throat. Oh god. Weekend scruff. Reading glasses in the breast-pocket of his button down. “I’ll have the usual, please.”

“Of course sir.” She rings up the amount and plucks up a venti cup, scribbling down the side before reaching over to pass it down the line.

“Will you be a good girl for daddy?” His tone is stern, his voice an octave lower. Heat pools in her cheeks.

“Uh-um- yes?” She squeaks, absolutely certain she’s bright red. When she turns back he’s holding a puppy in his arms. Oh god. Is there an option for employee termination to be literal?

“This is Rosie.” David announces with a proud grin. 

“O-oh! Oh!” She gasps, reaching across to let the pup sniff her fingers before mussing between her ears fondly. “German Shepherd?”

“Yes, ten weeks old.” He crinkles his nose as Rosie licks his chin, laughing softly and holding her a little lower so she can’t reach. “My baby girl.”

“She’s adorable!” Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and is there anything hotter than a hot guy with a cute puppy? She’s yet to discover otherwise. He taps his phone to the terminal before heading to the other end of the counter to wait for his coffee, blissfully unaware a good portion of the cafe is making desperate heart eyes at him. 

A shame she’s not an android like Lachlan and can’t record this memory and replay it over and over whenever she wants. That’s alright. She looks over and Lachlan winks at her discreetly. He’ll send her the file later, surely. It’s what good co-workers do, right? 

“Here you go David, and a little something for Rosie too.” The android smiles, offering a small espresso cup with lactose-free milk foam. 

“Look baby girl, something for you too.” David gasps as Rosie wriggles excitedly in his arms. “Thanks Lachlan.”

“Not at all, sir. This is actually a bribe.” Lachlan grins, laughing in delight as Rosie sticks her nose into the small cup. “In the hopes little Rosie accompanies you often.”

“Oh you don’t need to bribe me for that to happen.” David laughs, kissing the top of the pup’s head as she licks her mouth clumsily to try and clean the last of the foam away. His phone buzzes insistently in his pocket, and he sets Rosie down by his feet, leash looped around his wrist as he answers the call. 

“Allen.” David Allen? Is Allen a surname? His second name? His first, but he prefers his second name David? “On my way.” His whole expression changes and it seems like an entirely different person is standing there. “Thanks again, guys.” David manages, smile small and nowhere near as bright as he scoops up Rosie, grabs his cup and hurries out of the store. 

“CIA agent it is.” Her manager whistles low as they watch David vanish around the corner.

*~*~*

Captain Allen is known for his firm, unwavering leadership, his strict work ethos, and his loyalty to his team. He is known to be a self-sufficient man, neat and orderly, with a wardrobe to match. The man who rushes into Central Station certainly looks nothing like the Captain Allen she is accustomed to, not with the way he’s dressed in a Henley and dark jeans, nor the stubble on his cheeks and jawline, and certainly not the puppy tucked under one arm.

“Stephanie I’m so sorry I just got called in, can you mind Rosie until we’re back? Has Caleb arrived?” He looks harried, hair wind-tousled and she figures if he were an android his LED would be spinning yellow. She leans over the counter to accept the squirming German Shepherd, giggling when she nips at her chin. “Of course, Captain. Caleb arrived three minutes ago and is gearing up with the others.”

“Thank you.” He nods, darting through the security gates.

“Well now little Miss Rosie.”  Stephanie sits the pup on her lap. “Looks like you’re stuck here with us girls!”

*~*

Of course he’s called in when he made plans to have no plans at all. Introduce Rosie to his local Starbucks, buy a coffee and go for a walk. That’s it. The rest of the day would’ve involved whatever crossed his mind until Caleb was to meet with him in the early afternoon. He got as far as introducing Rosie and buying a coffee, which he’d then downed in record time in the taxi. So much for a relaxing morning. 

“Rosie?” Caleb frowns, pausing as he pulls the chest plate over his head. 

“With Stephanie until we get back.” David opens his locker beside him, tugging the shirt off over his head and reaching for the underarmour inside. “So much for our nice day huh?”

“It can still be nice.” The RK900 says lightly, and David can feel his eyes on him, watching him shuck off the jeans in favour of pulling on the standard black trousers. “Just postponed for a little while.”

“We owe Steph a large Tearium when we get back.” David says, knowing the android will note that as an objective. 

“And the two of us can have a proper drink at the cafe afterward.” Caleb nods with a small smile. “Without rushing.”

“Alright.” David sighs, already longing for that soft, lazy promised afternoon as he smooths his hair back in preparation for his helmet. “Alright everyone let’s get this shitshow over with.”

[deepseacritter]

OC Interview: Jast Drocan

I may have been tagged, I don’t remember.

Tagging @sleepswithvillains @outcastcommander @chaoticspacelesbians @starlightjedi and anyone else who might not have done this (or who has and wants to write up another one)

Jast

Name ? “Drocan, Jast...ah, sorry. It’s a habit. It’s Jast.”  

Are you single ? “Wait is everything going to be personal? And this was cleared with Intelligence? How...” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath. “No, I am not single.”

Are you happy ? “Overall? As a person? Or as in right now am I happy...because right now, at this moment, I’d say not quite.” He shakes his head, muttering something along the lines of “Unbelievable. How did this get approved....”

Are you angry ? “Angry, no. I’m just a little confused as to why you’re interviewing me...ok not important right now.”

Are your parents still married ? “My father died when I was a few days old. My mother remarried before I turned one, and she’s been with my step-father ever since. I’m sure you know that, it was a bit of a scandal back then.”

NINE FACTS

Birth Place ? “Corellia, but Dromund Kaas has been home since I was a child. My step-father moved us all here when I was three.”

Hair Color ?  “Uh...dark grey. But it’s not from age, that’s just how it’s always been.” Jast runs a hand through the cut lines of his hair. “It does match me, you know?”

Eye Color ? “Officially it’s listed as green. They’ve been described to me as light mint, which sounds nicer.” He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Birthday ? “Month 9, day 13. That’s the part that matters I suppose.”

Mood ? “Right now? Suspicious, to be honest. What’s with all the incredibly personal questions?”

Gender ? “I’d ask if you’re joking, but you don’t look like it. And I’m really hoping it’s a standard question and not because I’m Cathar...” He scoffs when told it’s standard, and asked again. “Fine. Male.”

Summer or winter ? “Winter. Summer is too hot and humid. Does nothing for my hair. Or fur.” 

Morning or afternoon ? “Ugh, afternoon. Mornings are awful and meant for sleep.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE? “Wait, wait...what? You’re serious...”

Are you in love ? He stares straight ahead for a good 30 seconds, as if trying to decide to answer the question. A couple deep breaths later. “Yes.”

Do you believe in love at first sight ? “I didn’t before, but I do now.” 

Who ended your last relationship ? “It was a mutual break, and I’m not sure you could call it an actual relationship.”

Have you ever broken someone’s heart ? “Not that I know of. Perhaps. Things happen on the job, during missions. Or they did, they don’t anymore.” That last part is said quickly, and Jast looks slightly flustered. 

Are you afraid of commitments ? “Afraid, no. Just cautious. You have to be, especially with my job.”

Have you hugged someone within the last week ? “Of course. Every day.”

Have you ever had a secret admirer ? “Me? Ha! No. That was the least likely thing to happen to me on this planet.”

Have you ever broken your own heart ? “I’m sure as a child I did, over toys and whatnot. I make it a point to not do that now.”

SIX CHOICES

Love or Lust ? “Primarily love, but lust can play a part too. A good balance of both seems to work just fine. And I just said that out loud...excellent.”

Lemonade or iced tea ?  “How did you come up with the order of these questions? I’m trying to figure it out, and it just...doesn’t make sense. Ugh, fine. Iced tea.”

Cats or Dogs ? “Cats I suppose. Less needy.”

A few best friends or many regular friends ? “Many regular friends build a better network, you never know who might be helpful when you need it.”

Wild night out or romantic night in ? “Romantic night in. Quiet. Intimate. No one to bother you. No one watching what you’re doing.”

Day or night ? “Night. Definitely night. Usually I’m done with work by then, so the pressure is just off. Night is less stressful.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

Been caught sneaking out ? “Sure, that’s pretty much standard for kids on Dromund Kaas.”

Fallen down/up the stairs ? “You don’t have proof, it never happened. But yes, I have. Both. Does it count if I’ve been pushed? Because that happens at a surprisingly frequent rate for agents.”

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? “Yes...but it was more of me thinking that I could never be with that person that hurt.”

Wanted to disappear? “I’m an agent. That’s part of my job. That’s...what I’m trained to do.”

FOUR PREFERENCES

Smile or eyes ? “Eyes. Definitely eyes. Eyes you can get lost in...” He shakes his head quickly. “Smiles are nice too though.”

Shorter or Taller ? “Ok, that’s vague. Do you mean do I prefer to be with someone shorter or taller than me? I guess shorter, but I’ve found that height doesn’t really mean much.”

Intelligence or Attraction ? “Why do the two have to be separated? What if you��re attracted to someone who is intelligent? What if that’s something you need in a partner? It’s not possible to choose.”

Hook-up or Relationship ? “For a long time I didn’t believe being in a relationship was possible. An agent’s job is perfectly designed for hook-ups. But that gets old, and it’s nice to be with one person who I can trust.”

FAMILY

Do you and your family get along ? “Yes, although they never quite approved of my career choice. I just didn’t want to get into business and trading like my father. Yes, I mean step-father. He’s been my father for pretty much my whole life, so he’s my father.” 

Would you say you have a “messed up life” ?  “Quite the opposite. Until I went into training for intelligence. That...well, I’m sure you’ve heard stories.”

Have you ever ran away from home ? “No.” He scoffs at the question. “Where exactly on Domund Kaas would I run to? I stick out too much.”

Have you ever gotten kicked out ? “Of where? Cantinas? Plenty of times.” *pause* “Oh, from home. No, never. That would never have happened in my family.”

FRIENDS

Do you secretly hate one of your friends ? “Well they wouldn’t be a friend then, would they. Now work colleague, that’s a different story. But for my safety I won’t go into that.”

Do you consider all of your friends good friends ? “I don’t have many friends that I’d consider close. The close friends are good friends.”

Who is your best friend ? “I have two. Tavi...I’ve worked with him for a while now. He’s been there for me when I needed it most, and he’s talked me out of a lot of bad situations and decisions.” He stops, as if he answered the question. When prompted for the second person, there’s a long pause. “Ralka.” Jast does not offer another other information.

Who knows everything about you ? “Ralka. Although I’m sure Imperial Intelligence would say they know everything. Still, there’s a few things they don’t know...and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

[loserslibrary]

pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier [Reddie], Stanley Uris/Patricia Blum Uris [Stanpat], Mike Hanlon/Bill Denbrough [Hanbrough] & Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh [Benverly]  written by: Ashley rating: Teen word count:  2,905 prompt: from @ticomat​ “Ok, so, for a prompt, how about the Losers having a Dinner night in which all pairings have big news they planned to tell the others, and end up collectively stealing each others thunder?”

Eddie knew that he and Richie were the boring friends. They had been for years, and Eddie supposed that was normal. When you’ve been in a serious, committed relationship since… well, forever, it seemed only natural that they wouldn’t have as many crazy stories as their friends. Especially since Richie had been banned from telling sex stories. Eddie didn’t mind, he was never bored with Richie, and he much preferred the most adventurous part of his month being he and Richie trying a new brand of pasta sauce that gave Richie stomach cramps over failed Tinder dates or coworkers setting him up on blind dates with horrible, poorly smelling people. 

Eddie and Richie have been together officially since he turned sixteen, but they’d practically been together for years before that. They’d had their rough spots like any other couple; choosing colleges had been one of the lowest points that Eddie could remember and he still sometimes felt sick when thinking about how close he and Richie had come to ending things when it came down to New York City vs Los Angeles. Richie had crawled through his bedroom window, crying and swearing to go to with him to New York City- or “wherever the fuck in the world he wants to go”- and Eddie couldn’t imagine them ever living anywhere else.

So, no. Eddie didn’t feel any lack luster in his life and he didn’t envy his friends’ wild stories whenever they got together the past couple of years. As they rapidly approached their thirties, Eddie was more than content with being settled down and married. Job he liked, financial stability, a loving husband in a surprisingly spacious New York apartment. It was more than Eddie had ever thought he’d be able to have growing up, and he wouldn’t trade it up for all the dating scene moments in the world. He wasn’t sure why anybody would. 

There was, admittedly, one thing in his life that he and Richie had been discussing. Something that could only make things even more perfect. And tonight, Eddie was sure that he and Richie would finally have the most exciting news at the reunion table. 

“You sure you want to tell them?” Richie asked, rubbing his hands between Eddie’s shoulder blades as Eddie used the mirror to do up his tie. Dressing up to Richie was a button up shirt with jeans that didn’t have rips in the knees or thighs, but Eddie always tried to go that extra mile when they were going out for a meal. Especially one that felt as important as this one.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie said, finishing up the tie and pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s cheek. “I know that maybe we should wait until we have more news but- the Losers are as much family as your mom and dad, Rich. I want them to know.”

Richie smiled and pulled Eddie in for a quick kiss, and rubbed their noses together as he pulled back. “Alright, then I guess we better get going then. Bev is going to talk our ears off the second she sees us. Since the dweeb skipped Christmas.”

“I’m sure that her finishing the designs for her first leading collection  was more important than our Boxing Day dinner.” 

“You sound just like her.” Richie swung his car keys around his fingers as Eddie slipped into his jacket. “You’re such a sham, Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak. You don’t need a jacket from here to the freakin’ car. You just wanna show off your nice threads to our friends when we get there.”

Eddie buttoned up the jacket up and beamed at Richie. “So what if I do? My husband has a big fancy Saturday Night Live job now, so I can spend my salary on whatever I want. Jackets included.”

Richie rolled his eyes and guided Eddie out of their apartment door. “Yeah.” He said in a soft voice. “For now.�� Eddie never thought he’d be so happy to have financial restrictions.

Bill and Mike were already sitting around the table when Eddie and RIchie were shown to the Losers’ usual table. “Hey guys!” Richie half-jogged over to them as Eddie thanked their hostess. He tossed an arm around Bill’s shoulders and tugged him into his side. “Mikey, I swear you get hotter every time I see you. How do you do it?” 

Bill yanked away from Richie and punched him in the side. Richie made a loud, wounded noise and Eddie came over to give him a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Hush.” He said softly, before smiling at their friends. “How was Florida?”

Bill and Mike exchanged small looks that made alarm bells start ringing in the back of Eddie’s mind, but they both quickly replaced the looks with smiles. “It was amazing!” Mike said happily, waving towards the entry of their private room as Stan came in with Patty on his arm. 

Stan had started dating Patricia Blum about three years earlier, and she had been an instant click with their tight knit group. It was rare for anybody to connect with the other Losers so quickly, more often than not the Losers’ partners found their little group hard to fit into. Patty hadn’t been like that, thankfully. She and Richie had been practically best friends by the end of their first meeting. 

This was made apparent again, as Richie launched himself from Bill’s side and rushed through the little room to scoop Patty up in his arms and spin her around. 

“I swear, Richard.” Stan rolled his eyes but there was smile spreading across his face. “We saw you not even two months ago.”

“Awwe.” Richie cooed, putting Patty back on the ground and moved to kiss Stan hard on the head. “You know me, Manly Stanny. I’m like a dog, waiting for you to get back from work. Very over excited when you come back inside because you forgot your keys.” 

Stan chuckled at Richie’s awkward analogy and flicked him in the face. “Yeah, you’re a big oversized lap dog. I don’t know how Eddie puts up with you.”

Eddie walked over and wrapped his arms around Richie’s mid section and stuck his tongue out at Stan. 

“I told you we’d be the last ones here.” Ben said, quickly undoing his scarf and giving everybody a forced smile. “Sorry, sorry! Somebody claimed the traffic wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Don’t blame me!” Beverly said, swooping into the room in all her usual beauty. She pressed a kiss to Mike and Bill’s cheeks before turning to look at Ben with her arms on her hips. “I live in New York! I don’t drive. I take the subway like any self respecting New Yorker.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Richie cheered, despite none of them having ordered any drinks yet. The group all started moving towards the big round table, chattering amongst themselves. Richie bumped his hip against Patty’s and grinned at her.

“Take your hand out of your pocket, baby doll.” Richie whispered in her ear. Patty turned him, cheeks turning a little pink even under the red tinge of the dining room. She just shook her head and Richie leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Well, congratulations. Even though I’m not supposed to know.” 

Patty smiled to herself, and reached out to grasp Stan’s hand under the table with her own. Richie couldn’t hide his own grin as Eddie took the empty seat next to him. Never one to disguise his affections, Richie leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s cheek. 

Beverly made overly loud gagging noises and Richie rolled his eyes lovingly at her. “Cram it, Marsh. Let me love on my husband!” 

“Oh I’m sure that you smother Eddie enough in the privacy of your own home.” Bill said with a chuckle. 

“It’s not smothering!” Eddie shot to him, before pressing an almost rough kiss to Richie’s stubbly cheek. He immediately pulled away and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Oh god, Richard, you need to shave. I’m not going to keep kissing you if it feels like rubbing my face against sandpaper.”

Richie tossed his head back and cackled, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him against him. Eddie whacked at his chest lightly, and Richie kissed him on top of the head.

“Truly disgusting.” Bill said with a roll of his eyes. “But enough of Dad and Dad’s domestic crap. How have you guys been. Some of us haven’t seen each other since the summer.”

“How targeted.” Beverly laughed, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. “But I’ll admit, I actually do have some news since the last time I saw you guys. And before you ask, no, it’s not about my new line so you don’t have to pretend to understand what I’m talking about.”

There was a moment of relief around the table, as they all smiled at their childhood female friend. Even after they’d started having more women in their group, Patty, or Bev’s roommate from college Kay, or Bill’s ex-girlfriend Audra whom he was still friendly with, they’d never really joined forces with anybody who was on Beverly’s level with clothes or trends. The closest was probably Richie- and only because with his career, he has to at least attempt to keep up.

Beverly reached out and tangled her hands with Ben’s on the top. Eddie looked at Richie from the corner of his eye, getting a raised eyebrow in return. Ben and Beverly had been having the ultimate will they or won’t they story in the history of the world, tracing back all the way to the eighth grade. They’d dated off and on all throughout high school, somehow always finding some sort of reason to break up, and then another to get back together. Two years earlier, they had rekindled the high school relationship and the Losers had been sure that they were going to be in it for the long haul this time. Then Ben’s job had promoted him six months into the relationship, sending him to live in Chicago, and they had broken it off once again. Not feeling as though the long distance could work for them. Though the two years had passed since then, the Losers could all tell that the feelings still lingered. Would possibly always linger between them. It was one of the few things that they all knew better than to interfere with. 

Ben smiled sheepishly, rubbing his thumb along the back of Beverly’s hand. “My company are starting a new project to create affordable living in New York City. They want me to head up the project.” His sheepish smile broke into a full blown grin. “I’m moving back. For good.”

The table erupted into cheers, which were quickly and embarrassingly quieted when the waitress came to take their drink orders. As she left, the gang all turned their attention back to Ben and Beverly, whose hands were still clasped together on the table. 

“So…” Richie sang, wagging his eyebrows. “Somebody’s gotta address the elephant in the room-”

“Jesus, Rich.” Bill groaned, though his voice hinted at laughter.

“Are you guys gonna be New York’s Next Hottest Couple or what?” Richie barrelled over top of Bill as though he hadn’t spoken. 

Ben and Beverly glanced at each other, stars in their eyes, before Beverly looked back at Richie and nodded. “That was my news. Ben and I are back together- and we’re moving in together.”

Softer, but no less enthusiast, cheers broke out then. Mike reached over and clasped Ben on the shoulder. The other man’s face had turned a bright red under the attention, always a shy boy deep in his heart, and started waving the others off. “Thank you guys! Really! But Mike and Bill! How was Florida?”

“Yeah!” Beverly jumped onto Ben’s attempts to deflect. “We want to hear all about it!” 

Bill cleared his throat. “It was great. You know, it’s always nice to go somewhere warm and know that your friends are all somewhere else freezing their asses off.”  

The group all grumbled and complained, while Eddie narrowed his eyes at his oldest friend. His hand was clenched around his glass and he used it to gesture towards Bill. “You’re holding back. Something happened. What is it?”

Bill and Mike glanced at each other. “Welll…” Mike said slowly. “I sort of feel like we’re stepping on Ben and Bev’s toes here but… Yeah, something did happen.”

“Oh shit, did you guys fuck?” Richie blurted out. Stan let out an exasperated “Richie” while Eddie swatted at his arm. “What!?! We were all thinking it!” 

“That’s not exactly the tactful way the rest of us would have put it.” Eddie said before knocking back the rest of his drink. 

Richie just rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat, pouting until Eddie reached over and rested his hand on Richie’s knee. Richie dropped his hand on top of Eddie’s and squeezed. 

“Okay, so that’s not exactly how we wanted to say it either.” Mike said with a small smile. Bill was watching him from the corner of his eye, leaving all eyes on Mike. “But yes. We’re dating now. We’ve taking it slowly because we weren’t sure what this was, so please don’t be upset that we didn’t tell you right away-”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Billy. Richie and I were together for like two years before you we told you guys. We’re the last people be mad about that.”

“We weren’t talking to you.” Bill said happily with a toothy grin. “We were talking to all our normal friends.”

“Well, that’s fucking rude.” Richie muttered under his breath. A small rumble of laughter moved through the group, even Eddie chuckling. “Whatever. I haven’t decided if I saw this coming or not, and my gaydar is definitely a little off, but I’m so happy for you guys!”

“There’s no such thing as a gaydar.” Ben said with confidence.  Eddie, Mike and Richie all exchanged looks and Beverly kissed Ben gently on the cheek. 

“Well…” Patty spoke up then, her face looking like her cheeks were about to burst with joy. Richie nudged Eddie and wiggled his eyebrows, while Eddie frowned at him. 

Patty lifted her hand up away from Stan’s and held it out towards the table. The light coming from above them reflected off the rather large diamond on her left hand.

“Oh my God…” Beverly whispered. A hush fell over the table following Beverly’s words, everybody silently awaiting the confirmation of what they’d already pieced together. 

“We’re engaged.” Patty said softly. Stan’s ears and the back of his neck were both a deep red under the attention. The group remained quiet for a moment, then broke into cheers so loud that Richie was surprised they weren’t kicked out of the restaurant altogether. 

Everybody jumped to their feet, quick to hug the happy couple. Richie scooped Patty up in his arms and spun her around slightly, nearly sending their table flying. Both laughing, Richie sent Patty off into a teary Ben’s awaiting arms and turned to find himself facing Stanley. Stan’s cupped the back of Richie’s head as he pulled him into a hug. 

“You’ll be my best man, right?” Stan whispered directly into Richie’s ear. Though his friends would often say he had none, it took every inch of Richie’s self control not to immediately burst into tears as he nodded into Stanley’s shoulder. 

It took a couple minutes to get everybody calmed down and back into their seats, and their poor waitress came in to take their food orders. Richie was sure that once they sat back down all the couples were holding hands under the table. They all gave small chit chat until their meals showed up, and Richie dug in excitedly. 

“Oh, wait!” Beverly lowered her spoonful of pasta and blinked dramatically. “We totally forgot! Eddie, Rich, what’s new with you guys? Anything big happening in your lives since the last time we all hung out?”

Without even needed to look at his husband, Richie knew exactly what to say.

“Nope. You guys know us.” Richie draped his arm around the back of Eddie’s seat. “28 going on 88. Watch the news, in bed by 7.” 

The table all laughed, and dinner carried on without anymore cheering. The meal was peaceful and comfortable, Richie feeling almost blissful with Eddie’s heat pressing into his side while surrounded by their closest and most beloved friends. 

After saying their goodbyes, Eddie and Richie walked hand in hand to their car. “So,” Eddie started, with a smile in his voice. “Not ready to tell them after all?”

Richie laughed. “Nah, we’re ready.” He said. “But I didn’t wanna steal anybody’s thunder. We got enough news tonight. Ours can wait.” Richie pushed Eddie up against the car and kissed his jaw lightly. “What do you say? Let’s keep it our own little surprise. Just show them all by posting it on Instagram. Show up at the next get together with a baby.”

Eddie grinned. “We wouldn’t be the boring friends anymore.”

“Hell the fuck no.”

[iloveyou3thousand]

honeyed

Pairing: Starker Rating: Mature Word count: 2966 A/N: This is for the @starkerfestivals summer bingo, filling my prompt "skinny dipping". Enjoy! Summary:

Peter is on summer vacation in France with a few of his friends, and has a crush on a guy with a guitar, beautiful eyes, and the loveliest voice he's ever heard.

Read it on AO3 here!

TWs: some pretty tame (public) nudity

—————————————————————————————

Peter always loved the nights the most.

When the temperature cooled enough to be bearable, with a warm breeze and a dark sky littered with stars, that was when he was most at ease. Happy.

He’d never really gone on vacation out the country before, let alone out of state, and while he’d been skeptical at first when his friends suggested they go to France, of all places, he was glad that he’d eventually agreed.

The country was stunning, the weather was great, and they were lucky enough to have found a campsite that offered all kinds of entertainment, from nighttime discos to pool parties to campfires on the beach. Granted, the latter wasn’t necessarily organized by the campsite itself, but they happened, and they happened frequently.

Every night, they would gather on the beach, and start another fire. And every night, campsite-goers would swarm the fires they created, with music and drinks and games.

Peter liked those nights all the better because of one person who never failed to show up.

He seemed, to Peter, like the kind of person who got along with everyone, but didn’t really appear to have any actual friends. Which sounded sad, and maybe it was, but that’s just what Peter observed. Everyone loved him, and everyone wondered where he was when he didn’t show up with that signature smile and his guitar, but aside from that…

Peter liked to watch him while he played.

He wasn’t really the type to drink and party like the rest clearly was. Instead, he preferred to keep to himself a little bit, maybe drink a beer and enjoy the lower, actually bearable temperatures while he sat by the fire and listened to whatever music was on.

Tonight, there were two fires, a little way’s apart from each other. One fire was surrounded by people drinking excessively, listening to loud music blaring from a speaker someone had brought along, and chatting loudly. And while that could be fun, too, Peter gravitated toward the other campfire instead. There, people sat chatting quietly among themselves, lounging around the pit in the center and watching the guy with his guitar.

Peter had understood that he was Italian, from his friend MJ. She’d done some asking around after she’d caught Peter staring. His name was Tony, and he was there because of a business trip his parents were on.

He often wondered how long he’d be staying for. To be honest, Peter knew he’d be kind of sad if Tony just stopped showing up to these nightly parties one day.

He sat down in the sand and was passed a beer almost instantly, which gave him a sense of belonging that he’d only ever really felt here. He’d made friends very quickly, far quicker than back in New York. Maybe France had that effect on a person, because that really wasn’t usually him. God knows he was bullied more often than he cared to admit.

But that’s not what he wanted to think about. Not when Tony was playing, sending soft, gentle tunes his way, across the fire between them.

Peter was positively mesmerized. It was safe to say that was a good enough word to use. Entranced, head leaned in his hand, elbow on his knee, staring through the flames to where Tony was sitting, guitar on his lap and hand strumming almost absent-mindedly. It seemed to cost him no effort, and Peter was almost jealous. Especially his voice was lovely, although he didn’t often sing very loudly, so Peter had to strain his ears in order to hear.

Of course he could just sit closer. But… Yeah. He couldn’t say he was confident enough to just get up and drop himself down in the available space next to him.

Lost in thought, Peter barely noticed how Tony glanced up from where he’d been looking down at his guitar, and flashed Peter a smile when their eyes met. Clearly he’d felt Peter’s eyes on him, and now Peter’s face was warm, and it had nothing to do with the fire burning just a few feet away from him.

Peter smiled back, and averted his gaze until Tony looked back down at his guitar, and he could safely return to staring at him. Maybe he should have realized that if it happened a first time, it might happen again – but Peter didn’t even consider the possibility until Tony looked up again a minute or so later, his smile wider this time, eyes crinkling beautifully at the corners.

Ugh.

Peter hated getting crushes.

He could easily admit when he had them, to himself at least, but they never worked out in his favor. And they definitely weren’t going to work out for him now. But again, Peter glanced away, and cursed himself a little bit for allowing that to happen a second time.

And yet it happened a third time, a few minutes later. Peter had lulled himself into a false sense of security by looking at the label on his beer bottle for a little while, picking at it until it came loose under the condensation, and then he deemed it safe enough to spare another glance.

The second he looked up, however, he caught Tony looking at him, this time. He flashed a quick smile, and took a large swig of his beer to distract himself. He should have probably made a quick escape right then, call it a night, but he didn’t want to seem like he was fleeing. Even if he was. He wouldn’t.

Tony’s song came to an end, and Peter clapped a hand halfheartedly against the side of his bottle to show his appreciation. Others did the same, and someone even whistled. Peter didn’t notice how Tony got up, but if he had he would have probably assumed he was leaving.

Peter had always, secretly, wanted to walk him back to his tent. Maybe he’d find the courage to stand and do so some time. But not tonight.

Tonight, Tony dropped down into the sand next to him, guitar discarded somewhere, beer in his hand and a smile on his face. Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up expecting to find MJ, or Ned, or anyone else, but was instead met with kind, dark eyes and a honeyed smile. His heart leapt just having Tony so close.

“Hey,” he said, and Peter stared. “I’m Tony.”

“Hi,” Peter managed to squeak out, offering his hand, which in hindsight was so very stupid he’d be thinking about it for days. But Tony graciously took it, and squeezed it gently, and Peter was on the verge of melting.

“You are…?” Tony coaxed.

“Peter,” he blurted out quickly, and grimaced out an awkward smile, “Sorry. I’m Peter.”

“I saw you looking. A couple times.” Great, Peter thought, emphasize on how strange that must have been. “You like my music?”

For someone people had insisted was Italian, Tony spoke with little to no accent. If anything, he sounded American. But his voice… Peter could listen to that on repeat for the rest of his life and die happy by the end of it. Was that extreme? Yes it was. But it was absolutely, 100% true. He’d known him officially for maybe ten seconds, and already Peter knew that he’d be thinking about him for years to come.

“Yeah,” Peter replied, “It’s… Very soothing. You’re a very good player.”

“Thanks,” Tony chuckled, “You know you can request songs if you want me to play anything specific. Right? I’d love to play something for you.”

Either there was a bit of a language barrier there, or Tony genuinely meant that he wanted to play a song for Peter, specifically. Peter tried to convince himself that it was the language barrier, had to be, but a little voice in the back of his mind was secretly smug that someone like him might have caught the attention of someone like Tony, something that was really a once in a lifetime experience.

Peter looked down, feeling suddenly shy. Or, shier than before, anyway. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said. Tony leaned over, and nudged his shoulder with his own, making Peter smile.

“You think about it.”

Tentatively, they chatted for a little while, keeping conversation light. Peter told Tony about his trip with his friends, and Tony told him about his parents’ business in the big city just a few miles away, and that he’d insisted they let him stay somewhere a little more private – hence how he’d ended up here. Peter assumed he must have had one of those little furnished houses on one side of the campsite, all luxury that he and his friends couldn’t afford.

Sleeping in a tent was fun, and cooking on this little gas stove was also quite adventurous, but Peter sometimes missed the comfort of a normal bed and a normal kitchen with normal appliances. He didn’t want to complain though. He was likely never going to be going on another trip like this again. Not for a long while, anyway.

Time ticked by, but Peter barely noticed how late it was getting. It felt like he was in his own private bubble together with Tony, talking quietly and nursing their beers while the sea nearby lapped at the sand, and people around them talked quietly among themselves, just like they were doing.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Until Tony started to get to his feet.

For a moment, Peter thought that he was going to call it a night. He didn’t think he’d had enough time chatting with him yet, and he didn’t want the night to end like that, so abruptly, with Tony leaving him behind to sit by himself in the sand once again while Ned played card games with some friends he’d made back at their tent, and MJ was off drinking with this girl she’d met over at the other campfire.

But Tony held out his hand to Peter, and Peter took it confusedly, letting Tony pull him to his feet.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he suggested out of the blue, and Peter blinked at him. Before he could say anything, Tony had already turned to the others, and announced his plan to the rest. People looked up with interest, and some started getting to their feet as well.

“But I don’t have my trunks on me,” Peter protested to Tony, who just grinned at him, and started pulling him toward the sea by the hand he had yet to let go.

“You don’t need shorts, Pete. C’mon. It’s dark, no one’s gonna see. And the water’s the perfect temperature at this time of night.”

That, he had to admit to, was true. Peter had gone and dipped his toes into the water before, and it was still slightly warm from the day’s sun, but a little bit more on the cool side. Perfect after the scorching heat they’d experienced during the day.

Peter let Tony tug him along toward where the sea crashed waves against the land. Some people followed after them, but it was Tony that Peter only had eyes for. And, maybe he was mistaken, but Peter felt like he was the only person Tony was looking at, too.

Tony wasted no time taking off his clothes while Peter stood by, equal parts mesmerized and terrified. He’d never gone skinny dipping before, and definitely not with someone he was into the way he was into Tony.

But Tony’s confidence was kind of infectious. He tossed his shirt to the ground and immediately pushed his shorts down and stepped out of his underwear shortly after, even twisting around to Peter to look him up and down and notice that he hadn’t even taken his shirt off yet.

“C’mon, Petey. See you in the water?”

Peter couldn’t reply. He was too busy watching Tony’s ass retreat, and disappear beneath the waves as he entered the water and almost immediately took a dive.

He knew that it was now or never.

So, with a surge of confidence he’d never felt before, Peter quickly started taking off his clothes, and the second he was naked he hurried into the water.

It was definitely very different from swimming during the day. But that didn’t mean that it was bad, necessarily. The water was lukewarm, almost on the side of a little cool, and it seemed even quieter out there. As if the thumping music from the other campfire was even farther away than usual. Maybe the sound of the waves swallowed it up.

Peter looked up at the moon hanging overhead when he couldn’t find Tony for a second, wanting to memorize this moment. He wanted to keep it forever. Whatever happened tonight, it would have been fun, and he would have spent some time with Tony, which was honestly a dream.

The other boy resurfaced a couple of feet away and when he turned and found Peter and grinned at him, Peter knew he was a goner.

Tony’s hair was dripping, stuck to his forehead before he slicked it back with a hand. From where Peter was standing he could see that little droplets gathered on his lashes, making them appear thicker than usual, framing his eyes in a way that had Peter positively stunned. Peter couldn’t do much but stand still and watch as Tony approached, wading slowly through the water until he was just a few feet away. And there was that hand again, palm up in offering, until Peter put his own on top and allowed Tony to pull him in deeper until his feet barely touched the sandy bottom.

Peter’s other hand, as if on its own volition, moved up to Tony’s shoulder to brace himself. Tony wasn’t taller than him, but it was still good to be able to hold on, keep himself grounded. Peter’s heart skittered when he felt Tony’s free hand on the small of his back, which he quickly realized was tugging him in even more, until they were practically chest-to-chest.

Peter suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that he was naked, but if Tony knew that, he didn’t seem to care. The hand on his back was still pressing, the water making their movements slow, but inevitably, Peter felt their chests touch, and he swallowed heavily as their hips did, too, only a moment later.

Now both of Tony’s hands were on the small of his back, and both of Peter’s hands were on Tony’s shoulders. Peter didn’t have the time or the mental capacity right now to wonder how they got there in the first place, brain too full, short-circuiting when their legs slotted together and Tony just kept looking at him with those large, doe eyes.

Shit.

Shit.

Peter let out a soft, shuddery breath that apparently made Tony smile.

The boy leaned in, and pressed that same smile to the corner of Peter’s mouth. All it took to seal their lips in a kiss was for Peter to turn his head just a fraction, and when he’d gotten over the initial shock of everything that was currently happening, he did exactly that.

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed anyone. And he certainly couldn’t remember it feeling like this.

Tony’s arms wound around his waist more firmly, trapping Peter’s body against his own, which Peter couldn’t say he minded. His own arms snaked around Tony’s neck to keep their lips together for as long as the other boy would allow it – but he was showing no signs of stopping, so Peter didn’t have to worry about that.

Tony licked across the seam of Peter’s mouth, and Peter parted his lips. It was a little bit clumsy, maybe, a little inexperienced, but Peter could follow Tony’s lead, and make it feel perfect all the same.

Even though Peter knew, logically, that they were surrounded by others, it felt in that moment like it was just the two of them.

They parted only when a particularly strong wave sent them nearly toppling over, and they were both laughing, already reaching for each other again the second they both regained their balance. They didn’t kiss again, but they held onto each other, Peter’s legs around Tony’s waist, and Tony’s hands large, fingers spread, across his back.

It was a good feeling. A great feeling. A feeling that Peter didn’t think he wanted to let go of again.

He’d never kissed a boy under the light of the moon, neck-deep in the sea, naked and tangled together – and he knew that he likely never would again.

Either way, it’s not like it would ever live up to this first time, if it did happen again.

They stayed in the water until their fingers pruned, sticking close and usually touching, and if they parted then it wasn’t long before they found each other again. As if they gravitated toward each other, like the moon pulling on the sea and creating the waves that pushed and pulled at their two bodies.

When they got out and got dressed again, Peter was afraid that the spell was broken. Tony didn’t touch him while they each put their clothes back on, barely even looked at him. But that fear was in vain, useless and unnecessary, because the second they were both dressed, Tony held out his hand again in what was now becoming a familiar gesture.

“You wanna come back to mine?” He asked softly when Peter reached his hand up to put it in his.

Peter twined their fingers together, and tried to ignore the butterflies going wild in the pit of his belly.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod and a barely suppressed smile, “Yeah, I’d love that.”